- 9 -

  The Tombs

  Fenrir stood in the hall as Terrant brought Matthew back inside. Ambrose pulled him to the side and expined what had happened. Yaro was the st one to re-enter the building. "I need to report back to the guard. They’ll need to know about this immediately."

  With that, Yaro was gone. Terrant found himself cradling the boy in his arms again. Fenrir beckoned them downstairs into his celr, located behind a door as secure as the entrance to the vil. Here, there were several box beds. Unfashionable amongst the human popution for decades, these were staples of a vampire's living quarters. Effectively rge cupboards, they could lie inside in complete darkness and wait out the sun. These box beds were not like any Terrant had ever seen before however, they were made entirely of metal.

  Of course, there was one made of gold, but there were also plenty of others made from different types of composites. Fenrir opened the golden door and motioned for Terrant to y Matthew inside.

  "We’ll leave the door open," Terrant said softly.

  With a loud cng, Matthew pulled the door closed, and darkness enveloped him.

  In the darkness and silence, Matthew finally let out his tears. He turned on his side and held his face in his hands. All his grief came to the surface. He thought about his parents and naively wondered that if he had been there, could he have done anything to save them. He thought of Tom and how he, too, had lost his life at the hands of a vampire. Had it not been for the fact that he was a "marked one", he would have been dead as well.

  Although it would be easy to y the bme squarely at the feet of vampires, Matthew knew they weren’t the problem. Ultimately, people had killed the ones he loved.

  Terrant had saved him, after all; without him, he would have died anyway, suffocating under the weight of his attacker's body. Bck blood wouldn’t have saved him from that.

  It was so dark that he hadn’t realised he had closed his eyes; it wasn’t long before he fell into a deep sleep.

  On the other side of the door, Fenrir offered Terrant a bed for the day, but the offer was rebuffed.

  "Come back tomorrow. I have something you and the boy can do for me. If it works out, I may be able to offer him something long-term. That is, unless you want to look after him?"

  Terrant was expressionless. He had his own family to try and look after. He did not need another mouth to feed.

  He briefly considered the logistics of looking after the boy before quickly realising how ridiculous the notion was.

  "There are none of his kind at the tombs; here is the safest pce for him."

  Terrant still had no expression on his face as he weighed Matthew’s options for him. In truth, he was incredibly lucky to be taken in by Fenrir; whatever work he had for them would be a small price to pay for the safety that was offered.

  "I’ll return tomorrow. I expect to be paid as well."

  Terrant's facial expression finally changed, only to raise an inquisitive eyebrow.

  "Of course, of course." Fenrir waved his hand dismissively as he opened the door to one of the silver beds. He nodded at Terrant and then at Ambrose before closing the door, leaving the two alone. Knowing it was time to go, Terrant and Ambrose headed for the stairs together. On their way up the stairs, Terrant spoke to Ambrose, "Nice of him to give up his bed for the night."

  "What do you mean? Fenrir went to his usual bed. The gold one doesn’t work as well as the silver."

  Terrant looked up, confused at Ambrose. He reasoned that the mattress and sheets inside the silver bed had to be of higher quality than the gold.

  "The men in these portraits," Terrant started as they walked down the hall, "are they Fenrir’s old business partners?"

  Ambrose ughed but continued walking. "No, quite the opposite. These people were his competition. Vampires and humans alike." There was a short pause as he reached the door and held it open for Terrant. "He outlived the humans and outmatched the vampires."

  Terrant walked through the door and bid Ambrose a polite goodbye before stepping out into what could now be called early morning. The street was still abuzz with people talking about the recent events, breaking the normal routine of a fresh start as night turned into dawn. There was an air of general disbelief that pirates had struck so far innd. There was no ck of opportunities along the expansive coastal waters they patrolled.

  Terrant had met a pirate once. In a tavern, deep inside the vampire district. The man was trying to recruit vampires for a new crew. Evidently, a ship had ventured too far after dark and had fallen victim to a vampire vessel. The advantage a vampire ship had over a human-crewed boat was literally night and day. A vampire ship requires no light, and its sailors can see as easily in the bckest night as a human could on the brightest, clearest day of spring. Drawn like moths to a fme, woe betide any stray ships foolish enough to leave a ntern lit by night.

  Even taking the greatest care, it is more than probable that one of these vessels will sneak up and snatch the ship and its crew. On clear nights with the stars and moon, you might have some small warning of an approaching ship. For this reason, these were the types of nights when pirates came ashore, either to raid or, as in this rare case, to look for prospective crew members.

  As with all walks of vampire life, gender had no bearing on the suitability of a sailor, whether they were male or female. Vampire pirates had no use for superstition.

  Terrant, like so many others, was briefly taken in by the pirates' stories of easily gotten treasure and wealth. The trinkets the pirate wore were a testament to the veracity of his accounts. He was only slightly less well dressed than a wealthy city vampire. The biggest difference being that everything had frayed edges and who-knows-what stains at the ends of his sleeves. The stains were a mixture of fluids, but the overriding scent that emanated from him was salt. It was a smell that stuck right at the back of the nose. Years at sea must have made the man oblivious to it, as Terrant could smell it from every article of clothing he wore and emanating from each one of his pores.

  The rings and jewellery were set with gemstones and jewels in colours he'd never seen before. One of the rger gems on his rings gave off a blinding light as it caught the reflection from any light source. The pirate took great pleasure in trying to catch the light in the stone and the blinding effect it had on those he had drawn in. He stopped to take off the ring and used a knife to hold it directly over the fmes of a candle. The outside turned bck and took away all the sparkle. He took out a handkerchief that reinvigorated the stench, as if he had reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of salt, and wiped the gem back to its original gleaming brilliance. He then held it before the crowd and decred, "See, it hasn’t shattered. Not a single bit."

  Everyone could tell from the way the pirate delivered this information that this was indeed proof of the authenticity of the gem, though no one knew why. His weapon, as well, was different from what Terrant was used to. The bde was curved, and the sheath was decorated with even more gems. Pirates did not smith their weapons, so this had to have been plunder.

  The intense pleasure the pirate took in describing the bloodshed and capturing human prisoners kept him from signing up for all the jewels he could carry. To the pirate, humans had no station above cattle. The only thing separating them from beasts of burden was their excellent ability to take commands.

  "They row the ship and do every task required to maintain it while you practise fighting and gambling. If you need to drink, you grab the nearest one and have what you need. You think these jewels are valuable? Humans are the most valuable commodity, and we take ‘em wherever we find ‘em." Some of the crowd who were swayed by this alone let out a rowdy cheer.

  Terrant had family, even if they didn’t feel like they had him. Would this man indiscriminately take them if he happened upon them?

  He knew the answer, and it lit an anger inside him he hadn’t known he had. The pirate tilted his head to the side and met Terrant’s gaze. The disdain from Terrant had caught the pirates' attention.

  "Of course, this life isn’t for everyone," he started. "In this city, more so than anywhere else I’ve had the pleasure to visit, there is a belief that they can live side by side with us." He was goading Terrant into saying something. Instead, Terrant advanced until he was nearly face-to-face with the pirate, who responded by reaching to his side and releasing his bde concealed behind his back.

  The anger subsided as quickly as it had risen, and Terrant turned and left the scene to the sounds of ughter and bravado from the pirate. It made no difference to Terrant; if he was injured or hurt, he would be unable to provide for his family. Avoiding trouble was his number one goal in his second life.

  His routine for the past few years had been rigid. Guard caravans, rest, and drop off money to his family every month. He added the unnecessary risk of travelling to the house himself. It had begun as an inability to trust the money with a courier but had morphed into a means of feeling close to his family. Even if he didn’t see them, which was most often the case, he still felt like he was part of their lives, despite his wife's protestations.

  He resented the fact that drinking blood was a part of his life that he had to accommodate. Rat's blood was disgusting, but he felt some justice in having to force himself to drink it. That’s what he felt he was worth, and it gave some bance to the world.

  STOP!! As he trudged through the darkness, mentally chiding himself, he found himself in front of where he had come to call home. Indeed, for most of the popution of the vampire district, this pce was home—the pce that was colloquially known as the tombs. Years ago, it had been the city’s wine celr, a pce where wine was stored for the richer patrons of the city. Deep corridors were carved out of the underground that stretched for miles in some pces. The walls were carved into arched tunnels to store bottles. These spaces made perfect resting nooks for vampires and, of course, pces to store fresh bottles of blood. The abattoir was not so far away that its scent couldn’t be picked up if you focused on it. It provided a lifeline of blood to the tombs, a means of ensuring the urges of the people living there did not take over.

  Immediately inside the entrance of the building was a rge pit. Circled by a metal staircase snaking its way into the darkness. On the low ceiling above, converted ship's rigging hoisted crates and bottles of blood. Full on the way down, empty on the way back up. When someone opened the entrance, the wind pyed eerie tunes with the bottles.

  At night, the pce was always busy with the coming and going of vampires. These were people who had lost their lives, their families, and everything dear to them. Terrant wondered if any of them took the risk he did in venturing past the night-gates to visit their families or where they used to live their normal lives. They could have their pick of any number of vacant houses in the district, but being underground offered them additional protection from the sun's light, which appeared early in the morning and lingered te into the night.

  Most of the houses had, by now, fallen into disrepair. The ones closest to the night-gates that could be accessed by humans were vandalised. Homelessness and overcrowding in the human part of the city were major problems, and as was commonly the case, vampires made an easy scapegoat. Empty, unused houses taunted those who needed them but were too afraid to make them home.

  There was safety in numbers too, and vampires had no qualms about sleeping next to others of their kind. When the sun came up and was active in the sky, it took no effort for any of them to fall into their dreamless sleep. They had extended the tunnels and vaults that had existed below ground level. The pce had earned its nickname—a pce where the dead come to rest.

  New vampires would always try to stay in houses to begin with, trying to hold onto some sembnce of their previous life. It was inevitable that nature would run its course, however, and the tombs, or somewhere like it, would inevitably become their home. Only richer vampires lived in houses permanently using wooden box beds. Realistically, it required high-quality bed boxes made of pure metal, like the ones Fenrir owned. If he was the benchmark for how rich you had to be, then it was no surprise how scarce this living arrangement was.

  Terrant descended the spiral staircase as he began to feel the subtle onset of tingling in his extremities. True dark was coming to its end. There were others on the stairs below him, but no one passed going upwards. He turned left and entered the first corridor. He had bargained for a bunk near the stairwell but was disappointed to find only a nook three stories above ground. He used the bottom two to climb into his own, failing to disturb any of the occupants, bar the one who had waited up for him to return.

  "Where have you been?" A woman lying on her side asked.

  ***

  Terrant was too tired to go into detail. The woman spoke to him while lying on a tattered bedroll; she didn’t bother to lift her head as she spoke. She was taking up a little more space than she had to, which was getting Terrant's back up. It was obvious she wasn’t looking for an answer anyway; she had been waiting for Terrant to return, and now that he was back, she was ready to sleep.

  Terrant had found the woman wandering around outside the entrance of the tombs just two nights ago. She was demure and softly spoken, completely lost and confused. She had gentle good looks, which would have helped her in the same situation anywhere else in the world but here.

  With their selfish and base motivations, human men would have been lining up to help a lone woman with nowhere else to go. Vampires had their own problems to worry about; even vampire women, who could be expected to be more understanding of the woman's plight, did not stop to help her.

  It was a common sight for shiftless vampires to hang around the tombs looking for handouts of blood when they couldn’t obtain any themselves. A vampire was never selfish with the blood they had, but giving some away for nothing felt like a curse on the life it had been taken from. There was an attitude of, "If I have to work for it, then why shouldn’t you?"

  Terrant had mistaken her for one of them. He wouldn’t normally try to encourage their behaviour, but he had bears' blood to drink, and the rats' blood he carried with him was about to go to waste anyway. Surely throwing the blood away would have been worse than giving it away? It wasn’t long before Terrant learned why others had ignored her.

  With his one act of kindness, he had picked up a stray. She drank the blood quickly, her face screwing up as she did so. It wasn’t pleasant, but she knew it was what she needed. She handed the empty bottle back to Terrant without saying a word. He should have turned away and entered the tombs, but a part of him felt responsible now. He nodded his head towards the entrance, and she picked up a small bag on the ground beside her and followed him.

  It was obviously her first night as a vampire, and as they descended the helix staircase, he watched as she stuck her hand out and touched the walls and the railings, struggling to believe that she could see everything in complete darkness.

  "Be careful when you leave pitch darkness; any small light source will feel like it’s blinding you. You have to give your eyes time to adapt."

  She nodded respectfully, thankful to her guide in this new world. They reached the bottom of the stairs, and even the fmes of small candles appeared as miniature suns. She held her arm up to her eyes, and Terrant chuckled.

  "I told you."

  Each nook had a light, which shone brightly out into the communal hallway. These were not lights for the occupants but were small sources of heat.

  It didn’t take long for her eyes to adjust, but she had learned her lesson about just how sensitive they were to different levels of light now. Small changes in ambient lighting necessitated refocusing and becoming sensitised to them. She saw Terrant climb to his nook, where he reached out his arm to help her. She grabbed his arm and began to climb, but Terrant effortlessly lifted her up to his "room".

  "Sorry about the mess," he said, embarrassed by the spartan quality of his sleeping space. Other vampires would think nothing of it, but he was conscious of the fact that this could well be the woman's first experience of a vampire’s living quarters. Against the back wall he had a decent mattress, and the only other furniture in the room was a rge ntern close to the edge they had just climbed. Terrant lit the ntern, which was full of kindling at the bottom, and opened two retively rge doors that opened from the ntern like wings. The doors angled the heat out into the space.

  The woman looked worryingly at Terrant's mattress, a look that told him more about her story than Terrant had wanted to know.

  "I’ll find you something suitable to sleep on tomorrow. Do you have anything in your bag that will make do tonight?"

  She went into her small bag and pulled out some rolled-up clothing items.

  "I didn’t know what to take." She looked at him, tears failing to form in her eyes.

  He took the dress she had and id it over the stone floor. He returned the other items to her bag and pced them in pce of a pillow.

  "That will do fine; it doesn't take much for us to sleep. What’s your name?"

  "Sara," she said as she looked down at the dress, unconvinced.

  Terrant y on his side and turned towards the wall.

  "You’ll have to come up with something new."

  "Yes, I suppose I will," she thought to herself, trying to find a comfortable way to lie on the dress.

  "I don’t imagine I’ll sleep much, so at least I will have time to think."

  Terrant did not reply; it was obvious from the way in which he was breathing that he was already asleep.

  Sara id her head on her bag and prepared for a rough night's sleep. No sooner had she rested her head and closed her eyes than she was dead to the world.

  ***

  When he got back to the barracks, as dawn was breaking, every conversation was about the pirate attack. He had been foolish to think that he might beat the news back to the citadel. He remembered going to his room and sitting on his bed. This was the st thing he recalled before waking up.

  SHIT!

  He had fallen asleep in his gear once again. If not for the armourer taking liberties for him, who knows what punishment may have awaited him?

  How deep of a sleep was I in?

  Deep sleep wasn’t familiar to Yaro. The smallest motion usually disturbed him, but he guessed his body was recuperating from the day before.

  Something caught his eye; a rectangur scrap of paper had been shoved under his door.

  He opened the letter and perused its contents. The tidy handwriting was joined up, as though whoever had written it had a thorough understanding of calligraphy. There was only one person Yaro thought it could be from, and its contents only sought to confirm his suspicion.

  Dear Yaro,

  Do not bother with your usual work. You will perform your guard duty under me today. Report to my vil when you are ready.

  Sincerely,

  Fenrir.

  It was highly irregur for Fenrir to contact someone of Yaro’s standing, but he knew he daren’t refuse the vampire's command. He questioned why Fenrir wanted to see him, but given the contents of the letter, he could only assume the vampire had a task for him. That thought only bred more.

  Who delivered the letter? What would the day commander say about the assignment? What was being done about the pirates?

  Once in the yard, he stared at the sun in the sky and assumed, by its position, that it was te afternoon. He sheepishly approached the commander’s office. Yaro was going to wait outside to collect his thoughts, but the door was already open. He rapped on the door and skulked inside. A selection of captains were already there, gathered around a map of the city. Carved effigies of guardsmen marked positions on the map, and even a quick gnce at it demonstrated the massive task of guarding the human part of the city.

  The commander stood over the map with both hands ft on the table. He looked up despondently to see who had disturbed the meeting. Yaro stared back at the commander.

  "Dismissed," the commander said to the other captains, but nobody moved. "Didn’t you hear me? I said you’re DISMISSED."

  Yaro was nearly pushed to the floor by the group of captains ignorantly brushing past him.

  "Come in," the commander stated calmly.

  "Sir," Yaro said. "I want to apologise for ---."

  "Where were you st night?"

  "I went to see Fenrir."

  "Ah. Went to arrest him for the attacks, did you?"

  Yaro shook his head. "I wanted to see what he knew."

  "He has a history of not being very forthcoming with us. What did he tell you?" Rothrock picked up one of the few wooden figures from the vampire district.

  Yaro could swear the figure was markedly close to the area he and his squad patrolled. "He had nothing new to report, although he did have a rather detailed report from yourself." Yaro wasn’t sure where the courage to be so direct with the commander had come from. He had come here to get chewed out for failing to report, not to take the day commander to task.

  The commander shifted nervously, avoiding eye contact with Yaro. "Magnus has requested that you move to the human side for the next week." He pced the wooden figure down on the other side of the night-gates. "He is keen for you to re-educate some of your peers on the advantages of mixed units."

  "Does this mean we’ll be allowing the vampire guards to patrol the entire city?" Yaro asked with surprise in his voice.

  "Ha!" the commander responded, his prejudices betraying him. "Let’s see if we can encourage more human captains to work the vampire district at night first...baby steps."

  There was an odd silence in the room. Yaro could tell that Rothrock was on the cusp of saying something but couldn’t bring himself to mention it. As he turned to walk away, the day commander decided to unburden himself.

  “Have you been speaking with Magnus?”

  It was an odd question. Yaro could count on one hand his number of interactions with the night commander since his training all those years ago. He thought it entirely possible that Magnus might even take a few moments to recognise him if they crossed paths.

  “It seems he’s agreed with your proposition of manning the entirety of the outer walls. He’s sent my guards to postings miles away.”

  Rothrock would never tell Magnus that he resented his actions. It felt like he was even reluctant to verbalise it to Yaro for fear that he might inadvertently pass the message along.

  “Luckily we have enough men to do something as audacious.” The day commander was doing a poor job of hiding his anger.

  “Will that be all, commander?” Yaro kept his back to Rothrock.

  At least one of the commanders had enough sense to take action.

  Then the awkward realisation set in that Yaro now had conflicting orders. Fenrir wanted him back at his vil, but both his commanders were requesting that he complete his night on the human side.

  "I have these orders from Fenrir." He pulled the letter from his belt. Yaro fully expected to be instantly dismissed again, but the commander recognised Fenrir’s seal and took the letter. Rothrock’s face contorted as he read the message.

  "Take it up with Magnus. He’ll be taking training in the yard at true dark."

  Yaro could not hide his confusion as he took back the letter from the commander. Maybe there was some truth to Fenrir using the guard as his personal army when he felt like it.

  "Dismissed," the commander said.

  Yaro stood straight and nodded firmly. He turned to the door and walked into the corridor. He could see the other captains waiting to be called back. They each gave him a disapproving look but said nothing. They filed back into the room, this time closing the door behind them. Yaro had one more apology to make. He made his way down to the armoury, only to be met by a sympathetic smile.

  "This is becoming a habit," the armourer said.

  "I’m not the only one breaking the rules."

  The armourer turned around to collect the paperwork. "Here I was thinking you were out fighting pirates."

  The comment shocked Yaro somewhat. In the safety of the citadel, news of pirates only brought excitement.

  Entering the main yard, Yaro could see men congregating on the high walls, jockeying for position to see the justiciars’ wrath that evening. Elsewhere, men were practising archery as the light slowly diminished. Historically, this was an important part of military training, as being able to hit a target with limited light was vital to survival. Having to fight unified groups of vampires in low-light situations was a fraught affair.

  Given the increased difficulty, you would be forgiven for thinking that ditching the bow and arrow in the fight against vampires would be the sensible option, but any alternative to getting into a melee with a vampire force was always the preferable circumstance.

  As with the archers, many years of fighting vampires reflected the training undergone by the hand-to-hand troops. These were rge, tightly grouped units equipped with rge rectangur shields. Each man could fight individually, but their true strength y in numbers and their ability to interlock their shields to give themselves cover. Vampires weren’t always the enemy, but adapting to fight them and the challenges that came with it had galvanised their tactics and strategies. Any army that could effectively fight vampires was a force to be feared.

  He returned to the barracks as the sun completed its descent. He wanted to let his squad know he wouldn’t be with them for the next few nights. Making his way downstairs was like descending into a cave; the soldiers down here had taken every step possible to block out every possible source of light. Yaro lit the small ntern he carried with him and walked to his team’s bunks.

  Groggily, they all sat on the edges of their beds. They rubbed their arms and legs, trying to disperse the aches and pains the small remaining part of the day had cursed them with. He knew how weak they were at this time of day; he nudged the man closest to him, Ockham, with his index finger, easily knocking him over. Ockham gave a pained grin and feebly waved his hand away. He waited for them to get ready before walking them to the armoury.

  "I won’t be with you for the next few nights," Yaro said as he waited for his team to be kitted out. "I have different orders. Conflicting orders even, and I need to sort them out. You should all be fine, but if there’s a problem, you can come find me after your shift or before the next."

  He wished them goodnight and good luck as they entered the vampire district, leaving him alone in the yard once more. A select few archers were practicing on the targets with much greater success; elsewhere, entire units practiced formations. All at once, everyone in the yard stood to attention. A man walked out of the doorway. He passed the archers, observing their shots and patting them on the shoulder. He yelled at one of the units to form up and battered the shielded units with his sword.

  The man sheathed his sword and attempted to wrestle a man out of position. His strength enough to wrench him loose, but the men on either side grabbed their comrade and pulled him back.

  "Outstanding!" the man yelled.

  As the man moved along, Yaro followed him, trying to intercept him while he was in good spirits. When Yaro managed to get within speaking distance of the man, he turned quickly and addressed everyone present.

  "Challenges accepted."

  Cheers erupted from everyone in the yard. A couple of newer recruits, keen on making a name for themselves, stepped up to try their luck. Behind them, the better human fighters joined the queue. Maybe to learn something, maybe to try and prove a point.

  The man was big, but he moved gracefully. His movements cut through the air, each one more purposeful than the st; everyone cpped as he dispatched each of the challengers. Morale remained high even when the challengers took heavy blows, thanks to the shouting of non-stop encouragement from the man wailing on them. Others were prepared to step up, to take part in the ceremony of being battered to rapturous appuse, but it was Yaro who caught the man’s attention.

  "Care to show them how it’s done, Captain?"

  Yaro stared at the man known as Magnus, eyes wide. He was surprised the night commander remembered who he was and even more surprised he had picked him out of the crowd. Not wanting to embarrass himself, Yaro sidestepped the question.

  "I don’t want to jump the queue, Commander," Yaro said. "I’m here about your orders."

  "What about them?" Magnus asked as he moved on to the next challenger, dodging before sending them to the floor.

  Even as he locked eyes with Yaro, he pointed to another challenger with his sword to come at him.

  "Apologies, sir, but I already have orders from Fenrir."

  Magnus stopped his toying with this opponent and pushed him away with a riotous blow to the chest. "May I see them?" He was hardly even out of breath.

  Yaro handed the letter to Magnus, hoping to get a simir response as he had gotten earlier from the day commander. Magnus quickly read the letter and passed it back to Yaro. He folded his arms and looked Yaro up and down.

  "Strike me, and he can have you."

  "Sir?"

  "You heard me." Magnus grinned as he adopted his fighting stance.

  Yaro collected a training sword and made his way to the centre of the circle that had formed of curious onlookers. Their swords ccked and crashed as they came together. Yaro could feel the massive weight of Magnus’ strength with each blow. He was sure he could smash right through the training sword if he wanted to. Whether it was through Magnus’ compcency or Yaro’s dumb luck, he dragged his sword along Magnus' side as he passed. Had this been a real fight, it would surely have been a fatal blow.

  Before he could even turn around, Magnus was on him again and had him by the scruff of the neck, toes barely touching the ground. With the smallest of movements, he sent him flying across the yard. The circle of onlookers broke as he flew past. Looking up to protect himself from the next blow, he met Magnus' gaze, which changed from fury to a grin in an instant. Magnus began cpping, and soon everyone had joined in.