Prince Lestat and the Realms of Atlantis Read online

  "I knew they were dead last year," I said in a small voice, "when we gathered at Trinity Gate and they hadn't come, because they would have come, had they been living. I knew. I thought it was in Maharet's compound that they died, when Khayman was first driven by the Voice to burn the archive in which they'd been studying. I had letters from them. They had loved studying with Maharet. They wondered that I wasn't there, studying with them, talking to Maharet...."

  What was I saying? What did it matter? Maharet and Mona and Quinn gone.

  "I am so sorry," said Arion.

  He spoke so low no mortal spying on us could have heard him. He talked of his grief, his pain, of those he'd loved, loved for so long, now gone, of his paradisal palace being destroyed, and of all the things within those walls he'd collected over the years, destroyed, and how he'd gone off to Roland, Roland who had been his old friend from times when Pompeii had been a thriving city, and of how Roland had taken pity on him and how, thanks to Roland, the blood of the strange non-human Derek had restored him.

  "Very well," I said. "You're here with us now."

  "Yes, and I mean to stay," he said. "That is, if you will have me."

  "This is your Court and I am your Prince, and of course you may stay," I said.

  I closed my eyes. I was remembering Mona's voice, Mona's laugh, Mona the witch who had become Mona the blood drinker, naive, brash, courageous, and in love with the Dark Gift and with all the gifts of the world of day and the world of night.

  "Come," said Arion. "Let's go back up the hill. Your friend Louis is outside, and he's waiting for you."

  I followed him down the aisle. Before we left I looked up at the narrow stained-glass windows. The five joyful mysteries of the Rosary were depicted down one side of the nave; and the five sorrowful mysteries of the Rosary depicted down the other side. Very much more beautiful than in my time. But strange, wasn't it, that the scent of wax was the same, and the scent of wood. And the flicker of the vigil lights before the Virgin's statue exactly the same as it had been over two centuries ago.

  I stopped to light two candles, one for each of them.

  The little phone suddenly vibrated in my pocket as if it were a tiny rodent come awake to plead for mercy. And I could hear Benji shouting as he ran towards the church.

  "She is on the line," cried Benji. "It is Kapetria."

  16

  Derek

  AIX-EN-PROVENCE

  HE WASN'T FRIGHTENED anymore. Not now. Not with Kapetria holding him in her arms. He wasn't frightened. Oh, how beautiful she was, his Kapetria, with her hair swept back into a braid pinned to her head, in her fine saffron silk blouse and sleek black skirt, legs sheathed in translucent black nylon, and feet so dainty in her high-heeled shoes, Kapetria here, the real Kapetria sprung to life in a cloud of French scent, her mouth rouged, and eyes as dark as the night sky above them. No, no longer afraid.

  She kissed his tears, kissed his eyelids, made the others stop questioning him. "Quiet now, both of you! And to think, this is your brother, and after all this time, what do you do, but interrogate him?"

  And indeed they had, as to how in the world he'd ever been held captive for all those precious years, and why hadn't he done this to escape, and that to escape, and finally she had said,

  "Welf and Garekyn, if I had a riding crop, I'd whip both of you."

  Dertu sat there on the long low modern couch with the most placid expression on his face, studying the others intently, never saying a word himself, just studying them as if he were learning marvelous things from their gestures, their expressions, their horrid questions.

  No more fear. No more tears. Kapetria had her arms around him.

  He'd been terrified when he'd called the radio phone line, speaking as fast as he could in the old tongue, giving the number of the throwaway cell to his kindred along with the actual address of the old farmhouse outside Derry in which he and Dertu had found temporary lodgings, and terrified when the smiling gentlemen came to take them to the private airport on the other side of town, and terrified when the little plane had taken off right into the bloodred sunset sky--certain they would crash into the North Sea and never reach France. He'd been terrified when they landed in the early winter dark, and the big black car took them racing over the dimly lighted roads and into the quaint city of Arles and to a small hotel where the keys to a private car had been waiting at the desk for them. He'd been terrified as they walked two miles on narrow, crooked little streets to find the car to which the keys belonged and terrified as Dertu drove this roaring little monster down more dimly lighted roads to the pretty city of Aix and finally up into the hills to a lovely whitewashed house with white shutters where Kapetria and Garekyn and Welf had been waiting for them.

  He had seen demons in the sky, monsters ready to swoop down and snatch them all up and carry them back to that hideous dungeon cell, demons coming forth from the dark trees that encircled the house, demons hovering at the top of the stairs in the shadows. Cloud Gift, Fire Gift, Mind Gift, he'd repeated the old lore in whispers to Dertu who had only nodded and held Derek's hand all the way, trying to calm him. Brave Dertu who had pumped the pilot and attendants of the little plane for all manner of knowledge, and chatted away with the chauffeur of the black car about tourism this time of year in the South of France, Dertu who drove the car with amazing ease and dexterity commenting on the speed and the handling!

  But he wasn't frightened now.

  Not now that she was holding him in her arms and she was saying all will be well, all will surely be well, and there was no reason ever to fear again, and no matter how many questions he asked, repeating the same entreaties and frantic what-ifs over and over again, she held him and comforted him and told him that all would be well. Fire Gift, Mind Gift, Cloud Gift notwithstanding. She, Kapetria, would take care of it and them and him, Derek. No one would ever do to him what Roland and Rhoshamandes had done. And she would, in her own time, see that these monsters were punished.

  Suddenly Dertu gave her the phone. "The Prince is on the direct line," he said. "He's off the air. This is private."

  She hit the button for them all to hear.

  "I want to come to you," she said. "We have enemies as you know who are searching for us."

  "I know," answered the Prince in the same French. "I want you to come."

  Without a single condition, and in an even, confident voice, he gave her all the relevant information, the location of the Chateau, the distances from the closest towns, the electric codes for the different sets of gates, assuring her that his staff would welcome her and bring her to the village inn and then escort them all up the mountain to the Chateau itself. "But you can't attempt to come here until well after the sun rises," he said. "And you must be inside the Chateau itself before sunset. We are here. And you will be safe. And we will be with you."

  "My brother Garekyn cannot be harmed over what happened in New York," Kapetria said.

  "No, under no circumstances," said the Prince. "I can assure you of this." Such a pleasant voice, the French so crisp yet melodic. "We want to know what you know about us and about Amel and why you've been watching us. We want to know everything."

  "Yes, everything," she said.

  "I give you my word," said the Prince.

  "And what about these bad ones among you," asked Kapetria, "who imprisoned my brother Derek?"

  "They're not part of us," the Prince said quickly. "But can we not agree for the moment that the death of our fellow blood drinker in New York, and the wounding of the other...can we not agree that this cancels out for the moment, just for the moment, the matter of Rhoshamandes and Roland?"

  "Yes, for the moment, we can agree to this," she said. "Of course, this is reasonable."

  "I promise you, no harm will come to you under my roof," said the Prince. "If I could compass your old language I would say it in those words. But I can't. I give you my solemn word."

  "No one there knows our old language?" Kapetria asked. "No one?"<
br />
  "No. No one here," said the Prince, "as far as I know." Once more he said, "No one."

  Did he realize what he was saying, that the spirit Amel inside him, this spirit which supposedly spoke to him all night long if he chose, did not know the language?

  Derek could see her disappointment, and see the disappointment in the others.

  The Prince went on speaking politely. "You will come here and inevitably you will leave here without being molested by any one of us, I assure you, unless you yourself or one of your kindred tries to harm one of us."

  "Thank you," said Kapetria. "And you have my word that we will not do anything under your roof that would be a sin against your house. If you only knew how much we want to come to you."

  "Is it possible we could come for you now, you and your friends?" asked the Prince. "If you allow that, we can protect you completely."

  "No, it would be too soon," said Kapetria.

  But why? Derek wondered. He had told her how he'd been carried through the skies by Rhoshamandes. But then, she knew all the lore and powers of these beings. The Prince and his companions could come now through the air.

  "Very well," said the Prince. "But you do understand the quality of the danger?"

  "Yes, I do," said Kapetria. "We'll be there well before sunset tomorrow."

  "Excellent. And I make one final request. Say nothing whatsoever of our private concerns to my village people, my workers."

  "You don't have to worry in this regard at all."

  "Glad to hear it," said the Prince. "Then tomorrow night we can discover what it is that we have in common, and what it is that concerns us in common."

  "Exactly," she said.

  It was over, done, finished. Dertu collected the little throwaway phone.

  Now they only had to survive for the next eight to nine hours of darkness in this nest of human dwellings, with the car safely hidden in the garage, without being discovered by Rhoshamandes.

  None of the others had spoken a word during this exchange, but Garekyn had been called away for a call of his own, and when he came back into the room, he looked deeply disturbed.

  "The monster burned my house in London," he said. "That was less than an hour ago."

  "Contemptible," said Kapetria. "But it does mean the monster has no idea where we are. Or he wouldn't be wasting his time with such gestures."

  It will be fine, thought Derek. It will all work. We will be safe, thought Derek, because she is here now to think of everything.

  Welf was the first to dispel the gloom.

  "It's time for us to feast," he announced. He had cooked a roast for them earlier, and he was ready to serve it up with cold beer, which should not affect their senses too badly. Welf and Garekyn set the table in the dining room. Dertu went about checking the locks of the house, though what good that would ever do Derek did not know.

  At last they sat down, and clasped hands and bowed their heads, and they were together again, breaking bread, for the first time since those ancient days and nights, and Derek found himself weeping. He was ashamed and wanted to leave the table, but Welf sat beside him, and comforted him, saying how sorry he was for all his early questions.

  Kapetria was cutting Derek's food into small pieces as if he were a child, and Dertu was devouring everything in sight, carrots, potatoes, bright red slices of tomato in olive oil with garlic, hot bread dripping with butter, and slabs of pink meat.

  They began to talk, asking about how Dertu had been born, wanting to know all the details, even the smallest, and soon they were going over the whole story in the ancient language. Dertu was struggling to describe what he didn't know--how he had developed from the severed arm and precisely how he had come to consciousness. Derek tried to describe the little face on the palm of the hand and the mouth sucking at his nipple, and the heat in his chest, but he remembered mostly the shock and the pain, and then opening his eyes eventually to see Dertu standing there.

  Memories swept over Derek as the others talked, of that first night on Earth when they had feasted with the savages. The drums, the reed pipes, and the gentle face of the headman.

  And another memory came to him unbidden and fresh, of the Festival of Meats in Atalantaya, when the whole city was allowed to feast on lamb and fowl before returning to its regular diet of fruit and fish and vegetables. Six times a year came the Festival of Meats.

  He remembered standing in their apartment gazing down on the streets, at all those lighted tables in courtyards and little parks and rear gardens, on all those balconies, with so many happy people gathered in the candlelight to enjoy the Pleasure of Meat, and how much he had enjoyed it when they had gathered over their meal on the rooftop, where they could see out over countless other rooftops.

  Atalantaya had seemed too beautiful to be described in words that night, and through the crystal-clear dome he had seen the stars spread out over the sky in their eternal patterns, and the bright burning light of Bravenna up there, Bravenna, the satellite or the planet of the Parents.

  "I feel they are looking at us right now," Derek had said.

  "But they can't see us here because of the dome," Kapetria had reminded him. "And surely they are becoming anxious. We've been in Atalantaya a month."

  All had fallen silent. Derek remembered the taste of the ice-cold beer. He remembered the juices of the lamb from the slices on the plate, such a pretty plate, translucent as was so much else. He had put his finger in the juices from the lamb and licked his finger. He could no longer remember the name of the red fruit on his plate, the fruit with all the tiny seeds.

  Welf and Kapetria had spoken often of Bravenna, of the Parents in their rooms with the talking walls, walls filled with moving pictures of the jungles of Earth and the savages, the savages making love, the savages hunting, the savages feasting....

  "Are you sure they can't see us?" he'd asked then as he'd gazed up into the sky as if the dome weren't even there.

  "Yes, I'm sure," said Kapetria. "The Parents told us they cannot see through the dome."

  The shadow of their purpose had fallen over them. They had continued to eat, to feast, to drink the delicious cold beer that was brewed in Atalantaya, and they had been slightly drunk when the moon was at its highest. And all of them, look at them, the mammalian humans, how innocent they are, thought Derek, all of them all around us in these mighty towers and in the old Mud City and the old Wooden City, dining together, happy together with no thought of what it meant, that bright star in the sky!

  "Oh, I wish," he'd said. "I so wish we had another purpose."

  No one had answered, but Kapetria had been smiling at him in her loving way.

  And now he was in a country called France on a continent called Europe again, and they were all together and he wondered did they still have the power--? You must lock arms! You must stand together, with arms locked....And what about Dertu? Bright new Dertu? And they were still talking about how it had happened, the slice of the ax, the fallen arm, the fingers crawling....

  Finally Kapetria said, "I want Derek to sleep, to be restored. He's hollow eyed and weak from his ordeals."

  She rose from the table and took Derek by the hand. "You come into the bedroom and sleep now," she said. "The rest of you, wait here for me. You wait as well, Dertu. You remain here."

  He welcomed it, the quiet of the bedroom. Such a pretty house, but the French windows everywhere made him anxious; the black night pressing on the glass made him anxious. The sound of wind moving in the black trees made him anxious. He wanted to walk outside, see the stars, see the stars he hadn't seen in all those long years in that basement tomb under Budapest, but he was too sleepy, and when Kapetria helped him to remove his boots and lie down, he plumped the pillow under his head and fell asleep.

  How many hours passed?

  When he awoke, it was from a happy dream but the dream was gone, like a gossamer scarf of bright colors ripped away from him. Like a flag blowing in the wind.

  A woman was standing in
the room, a woman with golden hair. He couldn't see her face because the light of the hallway was behind her. Then Kapetria switched on the light and he saw that the woman looked just like her.

  "It's almost morning," said Kapetria. "This is Katu," she said. She spelled it out for him. "And in the living room there is Welftu waiting to meet you. We are now seven in number. And by midmorning when we leave there will be two more. Garetu and Dertu's child, though we don't know what to call him. They are being born now."

  Derek was in shock. "How did you have the courage to try it?" He'd been so afraid that it would not work for each and every one of them. He had been so afraid of so many unknowns about it.

  "We had to try it," said Kapetria. "We had to try it before we met the Prince. We had to know. And what better time than before going to see the vampires with their astonishing powers. My left foot was sufficient to make this child," said Kapetria, "and Welftu was made from Welf's left hand. And had those appendages failed to develop into new beings, had our own appendages not regenerated, we could have taken the severed hand and foot to Fareed, the blood drinker's healer, and asked for his help in restoring them."

  "And you think he would have done it?" asked Derek.

  "Oh, yes. I think he's ruthless for knowledge," said Kapetria, "just as I am. I think he regards us as a treasure, a resource beyond imagining, just as I regard them as a treasure and a resource beyond imagining, a resource that has kept Amel living and breathing and now speaking."

  The smiling Katu came towards Derek. She was clothed in a smooth, tight dress of printed silk and wore those same fashionable black stockings that Kapetria wore, and the same delicate high-heeled shoes. She was Kapetria's duplicate, of course, he thought, and only the hair, mingled gold and black, was different, the hair that had been brushed free.

  But when she sat down beside him, Derek saw that her expression and demeanor were wholly unlike those of Kapetria. There was that same resolution and cleverness in her eyes that he'd seen in Dertu's eyes. What was it? Emotional innocence?