“I don’t smell the undead,” Sharif said.
“But you do smell something. If Nez has resorted to snatching people from isolated communities, he wouldn’t use the regular bloodsuckers to do it.” Hugh straightened.
“But why?” Sharif asked.
“That’s a good question.”
Vampirism came about as the result of infection by the Vampirus Immortuus Pathogen. The pathogen killed its human host and reanimated it after death. Because every loose vampire would slaughter anything it could get its claws on, to an average human, the idea of vampires was terrifying. But to Roland, the undead were an effective tool. He’d made his first one accidentally, thousands of years ago, and he found them exceedingly useful. He wanted to seed his Masters of the Dead into every major city. They were his spies and his secret arsenal.
To accomplish this goal, Roland had to position the People as an operation with a flawless record, beneficial to the community. They presented themselves as a research institution with a focus in undeath, financed by casinos and other similar venues, and they offered a valuable service. They removed and neutralized any undead reported to them free of charge, and they offered the dying a chance to guarantee a payout to their families. If you were terminally ill and chose to donate your body for voluntary infection by the Vampirus Immortuus pathogen, the People would deposit a substantial sum into the account of your choice. The People acted like academics, dressed like high-priced lawyers, and treated the general public with utmost courtesy, and it worked. The general public happily forgot that each Master of the Dead, armed with just one vampire, could wipe out ten city blocks in less than an hour.
It was one of Roland’s greatest cons. He would go to any lengths to preserve it. If said general public suspected that the Masters of the Dead had begun grabbing warm bodies to turn into vampires, people would panic, and the entire carefully constructed network of the People’s offices would collapse. Roland would be livid, and the guilty would be dead before they had a chance to repent their sins.
But the pattern did fit the navigators. A fast, stealthy surgical strike.
What are you planning, Nez? Is this you? Is this someone else?
Hugh needed more data. He headed for the door.
“Are there irregular bloodsuckers?” Sam asked behind him.
“You have no idea,” Sharif told him.
The other two houses showed the same pattern. In the animal pen bones and chunks of rotting hide and fur told the story of a goat massacre.
“A cougar,” Sharif said. “Came back more than once. Scaled the wall here and here.”
The invaders hadn’t been interested in livestock. Only in people.
Hugh walked out of the palisade. His convoy had arrived and waited on the road.
“Williams and Cordova, go through the houses. Do not touch the guns or any valuables. IDs only. Copy them and put them back.”
The two Dogs who were his best artists peeled off and ran into the palisade.
“We get our salvage and we haul ass out of here. The less time we spend here, the better.”
The Dogs moved. Hugh turned to Conrad. “From now on, nobody goes out alone, and nobody goes more than a mile into the woods without an escort. Pass it on.”
Conrad swallowed and nodded.
Hugh glanced at the palisade one last time and followed the convoy into the Old Market. This was, indeed, proving interesting.
Sometimes killing a man wasn’t an act of anger or punishment. It was a public service. One she would be glad to perform, Elara reflected as State Senator Victor Skolnik marched through the gates of Baile. Lean, about an inch or two above six feet, Victor Skolnik endeavored to personify his job: dark hair in that neither-too-long-nor-too-short, I’m-running-for-office cut, clean jaw, slightly droopy gray eyes, and a forced too-wide smile.
She knew entirely too much about the man. He was forty-eight years old, married, with two children. He made his money in real estate, prided himself on running marathons, and wore his piety on his sleeve. He’d also made a deal with Landon Nez. She didn’t know the particulars of the deal, but it involved running them off their land, so Nez could have it.
Skolnik had spent the last six months whipping up the congregations of Sanderville’s and Aberdine’s largest churches and lathering up spit, trying to turn the tide of public opinion against them and sever their trade agreements. He didn’t make much headway. Both Sanderville and Aberdine came to rely on their milk, cheese and beer, and especially on their medicines. Oh, they didn’t like her or her people, but they weren’t quite ready to storm the castle with pitchforks.
Thwarted, Skolnik went after the sale of Baile itself, trying to challenge its legality. The previous owner of the castle had left the state a long time ago and refused to come back from California to participate in Skolnik’s scheme.
Now the senator resorted to open harassment and had been getting more and more bold, trying to provoke her. The moment Elara used her magic, he would run back to the churches with horror stories, and then public opinion would turn against them.
She’d just come out of the side tower when he showed up. Normally she would’ve come down the ten stone steps to greet a visitor, but right now she was a good eight feet higher than he was and that was how she liked it.
“Good afternoon, Senator,” Elara said.
He saw her and turned toward her, plastering his fake smile on his lips. From her vantage point, she could see the entire yard. As he walked toward her, Hugh’s people fanned out around him. Stoyan, Hugh’s second-in-command, casually wandered on a course that would put him in Skolnik’s way just as he reached the stairs.
Everyone in the yard stopped what they were doing and came closer, instinctively uniting against the common enemy.
Stoyan got to the stairs first and stopped two feet away, a pleasant smile on his boyish face. Skolnik eyed him and halted.
“Good afternoon,” Skolnik said.
“What can I do for you, Senator?”
“I heard you got married. Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
Skolnik glanced around. “So, is your husband around? I’d like to meet the man.”
“He’s out,” Elara said. “Can I help you with anything?”
“You can reconsider my proposal.” Skolnik raised his chin.
“Thank you, Senator, but the castle isn’t for sale.”
“I guess I’ll have to talk to your man about that then. I’m sure he will see reason.”
Yeah, let me tell you about his moat… “As I said, he’s out.”
Skolnik looked around, raising his voice in a practiced pitch as if giving a speech before an adoring crowd. “You do realize that if the castle is sold, all of you stand to make a great deal of money.”
This was the same speech he gave the last time he came here. Alarm pinched her. He was up to something.
“Enough to make sure you are all set for life.”
Yes, the exact same speech.
“You can set up a settlement anywhere…”
“The castle isn’t for sale,” Elara said, sinking ice into her words.
“If your leaders are too short-sighted to understand, you have to use your head and think for yourself.”
The alarm blossomed into full-blown dread. Something bad was about to happen. Elara took a step down the stairs. She needed to get him out of the castle now.
D’Ambray rode through the gates on his enormous horse, a spot of darkness in his black uniform. One of the Dogs ran up to him and said something quietly.
D’Ambray turned Bucky toward her and grinned, a huge infectious smile. She almost smiled back, raising her hand to wave.
What the hell am I doing?
Elara snatched her hand back. How did he do that? How was it that this vicious sonovabitch of a man could smile like that and look as if he were the world’s best hope? Hugh grinned and everyone around him wanted to be the one to make him happy.