Man Friday

him a few months ago in London, just before she was hired to look after your father. He recruited her as a spy in your household while she toured Windsor Castle. A Queen-in-Council meeting was being held at the time."

  "I still don't see--"

  "Madam, please." Despite his lack of expression, she realized from the tone of his voice that he was displeased with her interruptions. "Everything will be explained if you will give me the chance to finish."

  She swallowed her irritation. "My apologies; please, continue."

  "Thank you. Based on her description, I was able to identify the gentleman as Sir Grant Moresby, chief aide to Andrew Sullivan Baron Stadford, who is a Counsellor."

  "Very well, but it doesn't make sense. If the Council was against me they wouldn't need to kill me. They could just issue an Order-in-Council to put me aside."

  "She claims it is a rogue operation within the Council."

  "How so?"

  "I've discovered that the Council is deeply divided over recent incidents. Some Councilors would like to put you aside; others are willing to allow you to take over when you turn 21, but insist upon there being a regent; still others are willing to allow you to take on the directorship now, with suitable guidance. Some are calling for the Order's abolition, some for Vlad's destruction, others for your arrest on charges of murder. Unfortunately no faction has sufficient support to force a vote in its favor."

  "How is that unfortunate?"

  "It allows rogues to operate without the Council's knowledge, Madam."

  "I see."

  "But of course, you're right in that it also plays to our advantage. As long as the Council is divided, we have time to deal with the situation. Especially since we have Her Majesty's support."

  She did a mental double take. "She supports us?"

  "Along with most of the Great Officers of State. Never think you are without friends, Madam."

  That bit of news made her feel better. "What makes you believe the nurse's claim of a rogue operation?"

  "Lord Stadford had been a vocal critic of the Order throughout your father's tenure, but he has recently stepped up his attacks, declaring his opposition to a 'female child' taking over operations. As well, he has declared the resurrected Vlad a menace and is convinced you will use him to control the government, if not mount a coup. He is also convinced that you murdered Miranda to take control of the Order. He would be my primary suspect as the instigator of an assassination plot against you."

  "I see. So, what would you recommend?"

  "We inform Sir Edward of what we've learned and let him deal with it."

  "No."

  "I beg you pardon?"

  "We don't know how extensive this conspiracy might be. We can't even be sure Sir Edward isn't a part of it."

  "He's your godfather."

  "And Mandy was my aunt.

  " Madam, please, be reasonable. He could inform Her Majesty of Lord Stadford's treason. She could remove him from the Council."

  "How certain are you this information is accurate?"

  "Very, Madam."

  "And what proof do you have?"

  Aelfraed started to speak, but said nothing as a look of consternation came over him. "No actual proof, as yet, but still--"

  "Still nothing. If we tell Sir Edward about this, we would also have to tell him about my disability. If he tells the Council but has no proof to back it up, the accusation could garner Stadford sympathy, perhaps even support. It could be seen as a desperate gamble by a cripple to hold on to her power at all costs. That could persuade enough Counsellors to side with those who want to destroy us."

  "I'm afraid it's more serious than that."

  She felt her gut turn to ice. "What do you mean?"

  "While you were resting, I was informed that the Council has formed a special committee to investigate your fitness to be Director of the Order."

  She frowned, confused. "I don't understand."

  "Apparently, the division within the Council makes it impossible for that body to come to a consensus. Instead, it commissioned the committee to investigate the matter, and empowered it to render a binding recommendation."

  "A what?"

  "Legally, the committee's report can only recommend a decision, but the Council has voted that it will be bound by that recommendation. In other words, whatever the committee decides should be done is what the Council will actually do."

  "Bollocks!" She couldn't help herself; the news was too surprising and frustrating.

  "You watch your mouth, young lady!" Mrs. Widget said.

  Differel sighed. "My apologies. Who told you this?"

  "Sir Edward, Madam."

  "Did he recommend any options we could exercise to mitigate this?"

  "No, Madam, but he did say that he was on the committee, and that its membership is evenly divided between those who support the Order, those who oppose it, and those who are undecided."

  "That sounds like a recipe for a stalemate."

  "Sir Edward explained that the Council hopes enough of the undecided will vote one way or the other to make a clear decision."

  "And there's nothing we can do?"

  "I'm afraid not, Madam. It rests entirely in the committee's hands now; all we can do is wait."

  "Hmph. This is even more reason not to report anything yet. Even if Sir Edward managed to get Stadford removed from the Council, this committee could decide to oust me because of my disability."

  Aelfraed looked uncertain. "I understand, Madam, but I don't see that we have much choice."

  "I agree with Dame Differel," Mrs. Widget said. "We need proof before we can go public with this."

  "I would agree, but the question is, how do we get it?"

  "The Vampire," Mr. Holt replied. "He could infiltrate the Council and keep an eye on Lord Stadford, possibly even search for records."

  She did a mental double-take. Why hadn't I thought of that?! She backed the chair up and turned it around to look up at him. "Could you do that?"

  He gave her a predatory grin. "I can do more than that, My Master. I could kill him."

  Her gut clenched as her blood turned cold. "What? No! We have no proof!"

  "He is your enemy; he deserves to die in any event. Just command me, and he will be a greasy spot on his office wall in five minutes."

  Now her temper flared. "I said no! I won't have a man killed just because he opposes me! That's his right under our society and it's part of my job to protect it! You will not harm him, or anyone else without my express command! Is that clear?"

  He bowed. "Crystal, My Master."

  His ready capitulation mollified her. "Hmph. Very well. Now, go watch him, and report back to me anything you learn that could tell us whether he ordered the attempt on my life. And keep out of sight! I don't want to have to explain why you're there."

  "I shall be as discreet as death, My Master." And he disappeared into the floor.

  "Are you sure you can trust him?" Mr. Holt said.

  She turned the chair back towards the table. "No, but we have to; otherwise we might as well put him back where I found him."

  "I'm not sure that isn't the right thing to do," Mrs. Widget muttered.

  She decided to ignore her. "All right. Until we hear back from him, Aelfraed, I want you to continue your investigation. If you have any questions that are unresolved, try to get some answers, no matter how trivial they may seem. There's something about her story that I don't find convincing, but even so we might as well sew up any loose ends. Mr. Holt, how are the transfers coming?"

  "Lt. Maudine has agreed to leave a skeleton force in the compound and transfer the rest to the house. I managed to convince him that for the time being, any attack is likely to be directed again you and the house rather than the manor as a whole."

  "Excellent work. And training?"

  "Most should be transferred tomorrow, the rest by Saturday. I have orientation lectures prepared for Monday morning, a tour of the house in the afternoon, and training regimens sta
rting Tuesday. Though training will be ongoing, I expect everyone to be up to speed by the following weekend. Meanwhile, I've assigned former Royal Military and Marines Police to key posts. They will also assist in the training."

  She nodded. "Commendable effort. Keep an eye out for a possible replacement for yourself. I will rely heavily on your recommendation."

  "Certainly, Mum, and thank you."

  Mrs. Widget frowned and raised an eyebrow. "Mum?"

  Differel grinned at her. "I prefer that over 'Madam'. Doesn't make me sound so bloody old and stiff."

  Her housekeeper flashed a livid expression. "You watch your mouth, young lady!"

  "Yes, Ma'am. Now, if you'll all excuse me, I have an appointment with the physical therapist."

  Back to TOC

  +++

  Spy

  Over the next three days, however, nothing changed. Even with physical therapy, her paralysis persisted. She had daily conversations with Doc LeClerc, which she suspected were dress rehearsals for the full-blown psychotherapy sessions that would start the following week, but she didn't mind. She didn't really believe it was in her mind, but neither could she discount the possibility that she was in denial.

  Vlad returned each night after Lord Stadford went to bed, but his reports were unrevealing. Though she didn't expect miracles like a smoking gun, she had hoped that with the failure of the assassination attempt he might show his hand somehow, but either he was being very cagey, or he had been scared off, because he made no mention of it or any further attempts to anyone, despite holding a number of clandestine meetings. Aelfraed did not find out anything either, but his certainty that Stadford was the villain never wavered. For her part, she felt increasingly guilty about spying on him. She could easily imagine that that was one of the fears people had about her mastery over the infamous Dracula. She decided that when Monday came, if Vlad learned nothing definitive, she would call off the surveillance.

  Since the coup attempt, Aelfraed had kept her out of Gresham's School to prevent anyone from finding out about her paralysis, using the need for the graze wound on her arm to heal as the excuse. She spent a few hours of each day studying so that she would not fall too far behind, but used her extra free time to train herself to use her wheelchair effectively; to accelerate quickly, to stop and spin on a dime, to operate it with one hand, even to use it as a weapon. Vlad helped her with that when he returned, mostly by acting as a target. Meanwhile, she exercised gymnastic routines with the still rings, the parallel bars, and the high bar to strengthen her arms, torso, and hips so she could switch to leg braces and crutches. Mrs. Widget and one of the stronger junior maids assisted her, mostly by lifting her so she could grip the apparatus and making sure she didn't injure herself if she lost her grip and fell.

  Holt provided her with a pair of gloves to protect her hands and give her a better grip on the chair's wheel handles, but he discontinued his weapons and martial arts training. She understood that Defendu, jujitsu, and bartitsu practice would be more difficult as long as she was crippled, but she didn't know why he stopped her pistol and knife fighting practice as well. She figured she needed to learn those more than ever, especially if her condition became permanent, but even the martial arts had techniques that would be useful without legs, particularly stick-fighting and Defendu, which was just a fancy name for commando and street fighting. When he told her she tried to ask him about it, but he rebuffed her. She let him have his privacy, but she felt hurt that her former bodyguard and confidant avoided her.

  On the afternoon of the second day, she met with Holt and Lt. Maudine in the meeting room to review the progress of the transfer of troops to replace the house guard. As she listened she was satisfied they were on schedule and with the thoroughness of Holt's training regimen.

  When they had finished she said, "Mr. Holt, could you please remain for a moment?"

  He nodded and resumed his seat, a cautious expression on his face. Lt. Maudine saluted and left, closing the door.

  "Have you found a replacement yet?"

  His face relaxed. "I've identified four possible candidates so far. I will choose the best two and give you a formal recommendation on Monday."

  "Very good. Meanwhile, I would like to talk to you about something."

  His look turned wary. "Mum, please--"

  "It's not about my training or your resignation. I need your advice, and as long as you are still in my service, I expect you to help me any way you can."

  He gave her a comfortable smile and nodded his head. "Certainly, Mum."

  "I had a talk with Vlad a couple of days ago. He...made an offer, that I'm seriously considering, but I'm having difficulty sorting out the consequences, pro and con, of accepting, or not. I would appreciate it if you could give me your insight on the matter."

  "I'll be happy to try. What kind of offer did he make?"

  "He--he offered to let me drink some of his blood." And she explained about how Vampires were made, and about the differences between them and Dhampyrs. Throughout her lecture he didn't say a word, but listened with an intently serious look on his face. When she finished, he stayed silent for a few moments as he considered his answer, rubbing his moustache in an absent manner.

  "How do you feel about it?" he finally asked.

  "Well, on the one hand I can see the advantage of having that kind of power, but on the other hand I'm concerned about the sacrifices I will have to make, especially the personal and political costs--"

  "No. I meant how do you feel about it?"

  That caught her by surprise. "I don't understand."

  "Rational decision making is important, but more often than not we Humans make decisions based on our emotional reactions. I'm no psychologist, but it seems to me that our guts tell us what to do and all our rationality does is provide justifications for that decision."

  "Vlad told me something similar earlier that same day. I asked him for his gut reaction on the nurse's story, and he replied that was a human trait. He also gave me the impression it was a liability."

  "Sometimes it is, when we allow our prejudices or fears or desires to override undisputable facts."

  "Then, shouldn't we rely solely on logic and rational reasoning to make our decisions?"

  "Sometimes we don't have all the facts to make a reasoned decision. That's when we need to make a leap of faith, and usually the only impetus we use to make that leap is our gut reaction. Besides, sometimes we don't have time to think, just react."

  "But what if our guts are wrong?"

  "Did you ever read Watership Down?"

  She did a mental double take. It was a fantasy novel he had recommended to her. "Um, yes, last year."

  "By the time the rabbits reached the down, Hazel had become their leader. Why do you think that was?"

  His question puzzled her. "I'm not sure."

  "Was he the strongest rabbit? The swiftest? The smartest, the best fighter, the most prescient?"

  "No, of course not."

  "Then why was he the leader?"

  She felt her irritation flare. "I don't understand what you're getting at."

  "Wasn't it because he had the courage to make decisions no one else wanted to? That he took the responsibility, both for his decisions and for their consequences?"

  The shilling dropped. "And he didn't always have enough information to make a rational decision, especially in the beginning."

  He nodded. "All he could rely on was his belief in Fiver's talents, his faith in his friends' abilities, and his trust in their advice. All of these are emotional reactions, part of our gut. A good leader is not necessarily someone who is the best at everything, or even anything, but that person who is willing to take responsibility, who can inspire others, and who trusts her instincts."

  "I don't think Vlad has instincts anymore, just intellect."

  "I don't know much about Vampires, except what I've read in the orientation handouts and the intelligence bulletins, but it seems to me that, other than certa
in behaviors that are beyond their control, such as the Hunger, they have lost their emotions and operate on almost pure intellect. From your description, I wonder if Dhampyrs are any different. Is that what you wish to become? A being devoid of feeling, compassion, of faith and trust?"

  She felt dumbfounded. That was something she hadn't considered. Based on his behavior, it had been easy for her to imagine that Vlad had emotions, but suddenly that seemed ridiculous, especially if she was right about him being pure intellect.

  "There's one other thing you should also consider."

  She blinked as he startled her out of her stupefaction. "What is that?"

  "You said the parasites protect a Dhampyr from aging. That suggests maturation as well. Do you want to be 12 forever?"

  That thought made her giggle. "You have a point. Thank you, Mr. Holt, you've given me much to think about. Dismissed."

  "My pleasure, Mum." He nodded and left.

  She rolled into the office and up to the desk, to use the intercom to call Aelfraed, but hesitated at the last moment. He was right, she didn't want to be an eternal child, no matter how powerful, but far more disturbing was her new picture of Vlad. If he truly was devoid of emotions that would make him sociopathic, while his behavior suggested he might also be psychotic. She had been willing to give him the benefit of the doubt since he had saved her life, but she considered that might have been a grave error. She had no idea why he had been locked away in that sarcophagus. Could it be that he had become a dangerous threat? She realized she had no means to control him except his cooperation. And yet, considering his great power, how could anyone forcibly imprison him against his will? It didn't make any sense.

  "Is everything all right, Madam?"

  Differel jerked her head around and saw Aelfraed standing in the doorway to the hall. For a moment, she feared it might be Vlad.

  "Yes, Aelfraed, everything's fine. Why?"

  "I met Mr. Holt in the great hall, and he told me your meeting was over. Since you hadn't called for me, I was concerned."

  "Thank you, I appreciate that. Is lunch ready?"

  "Yes, Madam. It's being set up even now in the morning room."

  "Very well." She wheeled herself out into the hall and let Aelfraed push her from there.

  "There is something I would like you to do for me."

  "Of course, Madam."

  "Could you check the Order records and see if there is any information on why Vlad was sealed in that sarcophagus?"

  "Certainly, Madam. May I inquire why?"

  He has a right to know. "I'm starting to believe that I made a mistake in releasing him."

  His step faltered. "What brought this on?"

  "A number of things, but ultimately, I'm not sure I can trust him."

  "If that's the case, why not have him destroyed?"

  "Because I may be wrong. I won't condemn him until I'm certain, but I'm torn between my rational analysis and my instincts. Somehow, I believe it all hinges on why he was locked away in the first place. Your investigation of the nurse's story has priority, but Vlad's future depends on what you find."

  "Very well, Madam, I will give it my fullest diligence."

  "Thank you, I know I can count on you to give it your all."

  On the evening of the third day, Vlad returned early because Stadford had retired early. Aelfraed had taken over her knife fighting training and Vlad supervised her pistol practice, but because of his current assignment, she normally had to wait until late at night for the latter. Fortunately, the shooting range outside the paramilitary compound on the estate was well lit. However, that evening she took advantage of his premature arrival to conduct practice at a more reasonable hour.

  At her current level of training she didn't need formal lessons, just lots of practice. Vlad made himself available to offer advice, but mostly he spent the time shooting with his own guns. He did initiate one change to Holt's regimen. The ex-marine had had her concentrate on the British Army issue L117A2 and L106A1 semi-automatic pistols. Both fired 9mm Parabellum rounds, but the compact 117 was for concealed carry and only held thirteen cartridges, whereas the 106 could use fifteen or thirty-round box magazines or ninety-round drum magazines, thereby providing greater firepower. Vlad, on the other hand, indulged her wish to learn how to handle the Beretta Model 93R machine pistol. It could use a thirty-round box and ninety-round drum like the 106, but also a 120-round drum, giving her a total of forty shots on semi-automatic. Though it had been the weapon with which Mandy tried to kill her, she appreciated its virtues. The Parabellum round could cause damage by hydrostatic shock alone, and getting hit by three bullets almost simultaneously would effectively take down just about anything.

  She expended two magazines with each firearm, but hesitated before starting another round. She understood how important it was that she be a good shot, and she was willing to push herself as needed to increase her marksmanship skill, but she couldn't help feeling bored. For once, she decided to slack off, and she rolled down to where Vlad had set up. Besides which, she had a good excuse: she wanted to talk to him.

  "I haven't seen the weapons you use yet. Do you mind if I watch?"

  "Not at all, My Master." On the table in front of him lay a pair each of three different guns surrounded by ammunition. Two pairs were six-chamber revolvers with long barrels, one chrome, the other black, with wooden grips; the third were big, heavy weapons whose main bodies looked like those of assault rifles, but with wooden pistol grips instead of stocks, and much shorter barrels.

  "Why do you have three?

  "One is my main weapon, while the others are backups. Also, I cannot depend upon just one weapon to destroy all monsters I encounter. In some cases it could be too weak, while in others it could be overkill."

  "You're worried about overkill?"

  "It is a question of economics: why destroy a target for 200 pounds, or 2000, when you can do it for twenty."

  "Yes, yes, I get your point. So what are these?"

  He picked up one of the black-metal revolvers. "This is a Colt Python: eight-inch barrel, three-pound weight, double-action trigger. It fires the .357 Magnum cartridge, with a muzzle velocity of 1,375 feet per second and an effective range of 150 feet. Though I can hit targets at ten times that range."

  He raised the pistol at a barely visible point downrange. She covered her ears just before he squeezed off a shot. He then gestured at a spotting scope and stepped back. She rolled closer and peered through the eyepiece. She saw a hole dead-center in the bullseye, and the distance marker on the platform read 500 yards.

  "Impressive." She looked up at him. "Assuming that came from your latest shot."

  "Observe."

  She looked through the scope again, but saw him press a button out of the corner of her other eye. She watched as the target disappeared down into the platform and was replaced by a fresh one from below.

  "Attend."

  She leaned back and saw him pick up one of the chrome revolvers. "This is the Smith & Wesson Model 29: eight and a half-inch barrel, four and a half-pound weight, double-action trigger. It fires the .44 Magnum cartridge, with a muzzle velocity of 1,490 feet per second and an effective range of 160 feet." He raised the pistol; she covered her ears and looked through the scope. A moment after he fired she saw a hole appear dead-center in the bullseye.

  "Very well, I'm convinced."

  "I use the Smith & Wessons as my primary backup, but also for moderately powerful and armored creatures, such as Gargoyles. The Pythons are my secondary backup, but also for slightly powerful and armored monsters, such as other Vampires and Lycanthropes. Your grandfather, Sir Miles, decided that with paranormal activity dropped off, my weapons should emphasize stopping power over rate of fire. But I compensate by using speedloaders"

  "I see." She touched one of the modified assault rifle weapons. "Are these your main guns?"

  "After Sir Miles took over the Directorship from your great-grandfather, he instigated a program to determine if
any weapons from the Second World War could be