A Loom of Years

Fourteenth Weaving
@Anne E. Fraser 2006

 
Travelling with the undead was no easy matter, especially with a Prince who must be protected during the daylight hours.  Although Blaine grumbled about being treated as luggage, the safest thing was to have crates (not coffins, they drew too much attention) made to accommodate the Prince and his consort and carry them in the back of a cart.  Blaine and Olivia would ride horseback as far as possible in the night, then wait for the cart to catch up and sleep in the crates during the day.

Olivia wondered, as she watched some of the household attempt to make the crates more comfortable–not that it mattered, once the deathsleep took hold–what Corbeau did for protection during the days when he was on the move.  There were many possibilities, other than dragging his own coffin with him everywhere.  Abandoned homes and outbuildings.  Caves.  Holes dug in the ground.  Even dead trees, overturned carts... it was possible for a rogue vampire to save themselves

It was a very long way to Shrewsbury from the outskirts of London.  Corbeau could easily move on in the time it would take them to get to the Birmingham area.  But it seemed he had a comfortable berth, as a Baron’s steward, so he might be settled in.

“I thought you didn’t like Barons,” Olivia commented to Blaine as they supervised the loading of the crates onto the cart in preparation for leaving.

“I don’t,” Blaine replied, off-handedly.  “I’ve never cared much for the mortal aristocracy.  But I hate rogue vampires far more.  Plus, according to Brengy, this particular Baron is only nineteen or something like that.  Brengy made some inquiries about him. Seems a decent enough chap for a landlord.”

“What have you got against landlords?”

“Professional rivalry.”

Olivia had the distinct feeling that there was something Blaine wasn’t telling her, but she did not press.  Even after all this time as a married couple, even though their relationship now was intimate and loving, there were closed-off areas in both their lives.  Neither of them ever spoke about their mortal lives.  Many vampires didn’t; it was too painful.

“We may not be on time to save him,” Olivia said.

“We have to try.  Come, Olivia, the game’s afoot!”

“I beg your pardon?”

Blaine shook his head.  “Nothing.  Ah, here are the horses.”  Windborne and Marcus  were duly brought forth, saddled and bridled and chomping on the bits.  The draft horses were hitched to the cart.

Diccon, left in charge, bid his Prince and consort farewell and good luck.  They were taking only a handful of the court with them; their need was for as much speed as possible given the roads and the method of transport, not brute force.

Orrick, one of the Nameless Ones in the court, drove the cart, with Holden of the weres riding in the seat beside him.  Naomi, a witch, rode with her Prince and consort.  It was a small party, but they would travel more quickly and draw less interest that way.

It was a long, dreary trek but entirely without incident.  When they could, Blaine and Olivia overdayed with other vampires, in actual homes or safe inns, but many times they were forced to resort to the crates while the cart either continued on or was pulled into a hidden clearing in a forest or behind a high wall where it would not be disturbed while the escort slept and ate.

At long last they neared Shrewsbury; days, weeks on the road after setting out from the court.
None of them ever wanted to see a cart, a horse, a crate, an inn or a road again.  Which was unfortunate, as they had to make the return journey.

The town was quiet when they rode in, but of course it would be.  It was somewhere around midnight, after all, and all the good little mortals were tucked up in their beds.  People still measured their lives by the sun; and when it set, so did they.  Blaine sincerely hoped that these people had not met Corbeau; but the town seemed peaceful enough. No sheriffs roamed the streets with torches blazing; there were no crosses on the doors.  Perhaps the rogue was content with the blue blood he was currently sipping.

“Which way to this Baron’s holdings?” Blaine asked.

“North-west a few miles,” Holden replied, sniffing the wind.

“Ah, God,” Olivia complained, rubbing her backside.  “I am numb from the saddle, and from that damned crate.  Why can’t Barons live in town like everyone else?”

“I could rub that for you, darling,” Blaine offered.

“Keep your hands off, or I cut them off.”

Holden grinned.  Blaine twapped him on the nose with a riding crop. “Bad wolf.”

“Let us go find this damned estate, then,” Olivia sighed, accepting Blaine’s assist back into the saddle.  “What is it called, again?”

“Redoak Hall, m’lady,” spoke up Naomi, who knew Olivia knew that.

“Ah, right,” Blaine nodded, swinging himself up into Marcus’s saddle.  “One of those cases where the family name is the same as the title, I believe.  Let us go find this Lord Redoak, Baron of Redoak, before he’s Baron Red-blooded Vampire.”

Orrick clicked “gee up” to the horses pulling the cart and the party set forth on the road to Redoak Hall.

It was one of the older baronial halls, really a fortified house, with its tenants’ cots all neatly laid out and a dower farm a short ride through the hills. The Prince’s retinue stopped at the gates.  The Hall had torches lit outside it and lights shone in many of the windows.  The peaceful atmosphere of sleeping Shrewsbury did not prevail here.  Shadowy figures could just be made out searching the perimeters of the Hall.

“I fear we are too late, my Prince,” said Orrick quietly.

Blaine’s mouth was set in an unusually grim expression.  “Orrick,” he said, “You are the most human of us, other than Naomi, and a woman would have too much explaining to do as to why she is on the road at this time of night.  See if you can find out what has happened here.”

“Yes, sir,” Orrick replied, and climbed down from the driver’s seat of the cart, after handing the reins to Holden.

As he walked towards the people he could make out searching the grounds, they saw him.  Pistols were levelled towards him, and swords were drawn.  A bullet through the heart or a sword severing the neck were fatal to Nameless Ones, although they were tough to kill otherwise, but he spread his hands to show he was unarmed.  It was a lie, but he doubted these people would search him. At least he’d left his sword in the cart.

“We are but benighted travellers along the road,” he said, “and thought to beg a night’s shelter from the lord of this estate.  We mean no harm and bear no weapons.”

“There is no shelter here,” said a young man, stepping forward with a lantern held up so he could see the interloper’s face.  “You’d best go back to Shrewsbury, there is an inn there.”

“Are you the lord of this estate, young master?” Orrick asked.

The question seemed to give the lantern-holder some difficulty.  Finally he said, “There is no lord of this Hall, goodman, but a lady.  And she is abed this hour, nor will I disturb her.”

“Ah, your pardon, young sir,” Orrick bowed, though he still had no idea of the social status of the man with the lantern.  “I had thought a Baron ruled these lands.”

The young man’s face screwed up with several emotions at once.  “No.”  He added, under his breath, “Not any longer.”

Blaine had dismounted. He could hear all this perfectly, as could Olivia, and they decided it was time to get some further information.  Their way.  They approached the little group by the walls of the manor.

“You did not tell me your party included a lady,” said the young man who seemed to be in charge.  He bowed.  “Your pardon, m’lady, even in our troubles we can perhaps find accommodation for your party.”

“I would not dream of causing you any more distress,” Olivia replied.  “What is your name, young man?”  Her eyes met his, and she saw his start to glaze over as the vampire mind spell took him.

“Jamie Carter, m’lady.”

“And what has happened here, Jamie Carter?”

“The work of the devil, begging your pardon.  My lord Baron is dead.”

“I am sorry to hear that.  Was he elderly?  Has he left an heir?”

Jamie Carter shook his head.  “He was but a lad of nineteen, m’lady, and unwed.  There is no heir, save a cousin far away who must now be alerted of his inheritance.  My lady wife, the Baron’s sister, rules until this cousin can assume the duties and title.”

“My sympathies to you both,” said Olivia.  “Only nineteen!  So young to die. Was it an accident?”

Unaware that he was within a vampire’s mind spell, Jamie replied, “No, it was murder.  He was led astray and murdered by his own steward and seeming friend.”

“I see.  And do you hunt for this villain tonight?”

“My wife bade him leave the estate the night Gideon died,” Jamie replied, “and it seems the villain did indeed do so.  But he has taken her poor brother’s body.  We cannot even bury him.”

“How long ago?” Olivia asked, giving Blaine a warning look, since he’d been about to ask.  That might have broken her spell.

“Two nights, m’lady.”

“Thank you, Jamie, very much, for speaking to us.  We shall be on our way and not disturb this house of grief.  You will not find the young Baron’s body, I am sorry to tell you.  Nor will you find the villainous steward who has robbed you of him.  We shall do that, never fear.  Go to bed now, young Jamie, you and all these good people, and in the morning, you will not remember us.”

“Yes, thank you, m’lady.  Sirs.”  The young man nodded to their party, called together his own group, and they vanished into the Hall.

“Two nights!” Blaine exclaimed in dismay.  “The damned fox could be anywhere!”

“I know,” Olivia said, equally frustrated and upset.  “But we still must try.  Think logically–he must know we are after him.  Where would he go?”

“The nearest port,” said Orrick.

“We’re miles inland,” Blaine pointed out.  “The nearest port is in Wales!”

“Nearly a straight line, sir,” Orrick replied. “Barring a few mountains.”

“After him, then,” said Blaine.  “He’s travelling with a newborn, after all, that will slow him down.”

“That poor lad,” Olivia said softly, looking back at the hall, where the lanterns and torches had now been doused.

“We may save him yet,” Blaine said.  “Chin up.”

“Yes.” She swang back up into Windborne’s saddle, ignoring Orrick’s offer of a hand up.  She gathered the reins in her hands. “Let’s go hunting.”


 

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