The Journal of Vincent Du Maurier Trilogy (Books 1, 2, 3) (36 page)

“I’m not afraid of her,” I said.

“Good,” Peter said. “She’s requested your presence
again and if you show her fear, she may take it out on me. She’ll think I’m
unsatisfactory as a mentor and may take you from me. I don’t want that. I like
being your mentor.” He smiled and looked away as though the confession
embarrassed him. “Besides, fear is a weakness the Empress doesn’t tolerate,
especially in a prodigy.”

I noticed Peter’s choice of words—that I was
some kind of prodigy—though I assumed his intention was to bolster my
courage. I denied my fear, but I know Peter saw the truth. I don’t know why it
made me nervous to see her again. I felt nothing for her, and disliked being
hers.

“Put on a brave face,” he said. “I don’t believe she
can read minds, but be diplomatic in thought, as well as in speech, just in
case.”

“Why does she want to see me?”

“She’s been apprised of your courage,” he said.

“About that,” I said. “I wasn’t being brave. I sort
of had no choice. I was drawn to his—”

“I know,” Peter said. “I saw it. It may have been
more foolish than brave, but it simply means we’ll have to step up your
training and give you the tools you need to control your weakness.”

Anger constricted my belly and Hal’s blood felt like
a lump of stone in the pit of my core. “What weakness?” I asked.

“Your penchant for heroism,” he said. “You’ll see,
Evelina. We’re not all like you.”

I didn’t doubt it since I was the progeny of a
shrewd ruler and an acolyte to an ancient hero.

Peter escorted me to the Empress’s cabin, and I
thought it strange I had yet to walk the passageways alone. When we passed the
Millais, I stopped to admire it again. The girl still floated in the shallow
water, but she seemed more hopeful than she had the first time I saw her. Death
flattered her.

“It’s one of my favorites,” Peter said. “John
disliked this one.”

“Who’s John?”

“The painter,” he said. “He thought her too old,
despite his effort to make her look young.”

“You knew the painter?”

“Oh, the lives I’ve lived,” he said. “I’ve known many
great artists, though I’ll say John is one of my favorites. He and Effie were
close friends for a time—and Sophy—ah, Sophy—the nymph stole
my heart. She’s breathtaking, more beautiful than John’s portrait
suggests—” Peter paused and gazed at me. “Ah, I see,” he said. “I just
realized how much you look like her.”

“Ophelia?”

“No, Sophy,” he said. “I’ll have to show you the
portrait.”

“Is it on the ship?”

“No,” he said. “It’s probably still on a wall in
London, reaping the peace and quiet of a long dead audience.”

Peter hadn’t relinquished his gaze and I would’ve
blushed if I were human, but I didn’t pull my eyes from the Millais, though his
stare could’ve drilled a hole through me. I concentrated on his signal, hoping
he’d get the message.

“Sorry,” he said. “I can get carried away.” He
returned to the painting, though he shuffled closer to my side. “Yes, Ophelia.
Let’s study her.”

I memorized the canvas, imprinting the image on my
mind. Had I still been a mere girl, I would’ve believed I was fated to drown
like her.

“Bida.” Youlan snuck up on us, lost in thought, as
we gazed at the portrait. “Ninung ninung tungte.”

“Yu han,” Peter said. “Come, Evelina.”

Youlan ignored me, as she led us to the Empress’s
cabin. She addressed Peter, turning to speak to him every few feet. “Ni yiding
poyo rang shingwen danwun ya.” The only word I recognized was
shingwen
, which I thought might refer to
me since Zhi had also used it. When I realized learning Mandarin would give me
an advantage, I was bent on doing just that.

I heard the frequencies of others, as we advanced
through the passageways, and every so often I’d hear the sounds of pleasure and
small chatter. I couldn’t tell which voices belonged to vampires and which to
humans since they blended into one stream of sound, but I concentrated on them,
working to hone my talent. I knew this was one of my gifts since voices
couldn’t possibly carry so easily through the metal bulkheads. On awakening,
I’d developed some kind of advanced hearing, like a communication satellite
that orbited the earth picking up signals. I’d once learned about these orbital
stations that rotated around our planet and monitored all manner of sounds. In
school, we were taught Americans had invented them and that they used them to
eavesdrop on the rest of the world. Whenever I launched my telescreen to reach
my grandmother, I’d think about those satellites. That world is gone now, or at
least it seems so.

My ability to amplify private conversations has
improved, but when I first discovered it, I didn’t tell Peter about it. I was
unsure I’d heard what I thought I did, as I followed him and Youlan through the
passageways to meet the Empress. As I searched the catalog of frequencies and
voices that came at me, I listened for one specific sound—my sparrow—and
when I found it, faint as it was, I ignored everything else. I concentrated on
Vincent’s call and tried to locate him but could only draw the sound nearer. By
doing so, I picked up his speaking voice beneath his signal. I knew it was his—I’d
always know his voice—but I couldn’t make out his words until I closed my
eyes. When I cut off my sight, the sound opened up. He spoke to someone, but
the other voice was muddled.

“She is in danger,” Vincent said.

“How … stop … from … her.”

“She needs to be prepared,” he said. “Peter will
obviously not do and the one you have chosen is too fickle. Suggest another.”

“The … ing … rd,” the other said.

“Take me to him,” Vincent said.

Interference from a vampire who approached us from
the other end of the passageway broke my concentration and Vincent’s voice was
lost to static. Youlan nodded to the vampire, though Peter dropped his eyes and
turned his head. She grinned and hissed
noviciat
under her breath. Her signal may only be described as a garbled shriek since
its distorted sound is like the feedback a speaker gives off if you put it too
close to a microphone. I looked back at her after she passed, but she was swift
and had already disappeared through the door at the end.

I tried to tune in to Vincent’s voice again, as I
pushed the frequencies away, but I was too close to my maker’s cabin. Her lurid
screech, which sounded something like an agitated simian, was all I could hear.
I sucked in my breath, as I tried to quell the burn in my chest. I didn’t know
why I was nervous, but I got the sense Empress Cixi wielded more power over me
than I’d been led to believe. Peter turned to me and smiled. “Ready,” he
whispered.

“Ta chi dutzi,” Youlan said to Peter, who nodded in
return.

“You’ll be going in alone,” he said. “But don’t
worry, I’ll be here.” He pointed to his forehead and I knew he meant he’d be
listening in. I suppose it gave me some relief to know he was just outside, but
also that the Empress would be forced to speak to me in my native tongue.

“Ju,” Youlan said, addressing me for the first time.
“Come.”

The Empress was sitting on the daybed, as she’d been
when I paraded my goods for her. “Leekie womun,” she said to Youlan. Her
servant bowed slightly, and slipped back out of the compartment, closing the
door behind her.

I studied the wispy vampire. She looked old and
frail, and nothing like a great ruler. Her cabin was packed with even more
trinkets and artifacts than it had been before, and I wondered where all the
junk came from. A small terracotta statue of a Chinese god caught my eye, but
only because it sat atop a glass case with a creepy looking head in it. If I
didn’t know better, I would’ve thought it was the head of a vampire—a
frightening one to boot. The Empress pulled out a cigarette case and spun it
between her thumb and index finger. She drew attention to her ornamental claws,
which were back on her hands.

Since we hadn’t formally greeted one another, I
spoke the one phrase Peter had taught me. “Weng ho, jizow shung” I said.
Greetings, maker
. I pronounced the
Mandarin words with little grace, if any, especially since she didn’t seem to
appreciate my attempt. She stared at me without a word.

I suppose her silence emboldened me, and I returned
her glare with one of my own. Her signal filled the compartment, and I could
barely tune it out. She clicked open her cigarette case, and put one of her
dainties in the slender holder she’d produced from the bun atop her head. She
moved swiftly, probably too swift for the human eye, but I saw everything. Once
she’d smoked her cigarette, which took no time, she refilled the holder with
another and lit that one the same way, without the use of fire. She sighed and
stood up.

“Ei wai lina,” she said. “Wo dei jianjing.”

I didn’t know it at the time, but she’d pronounced my
name in Mandarin and called me her prize before addressing me in Italian.
“You’ve created quite a stir, my novice,” she said. “The others don’t know what
to make of you.” I wasn’t sure to whom she referred, but Peter had warned me to
listen and not speak, which is exactly what I did. “You are special,” she said.
“Do you know why?”

I held my tongue, though the question wasn’t
rhetorical and when she asked it again, I answered, “I’m the newest progeny.”

Her top lip curled up, revealing her fangs, as she
sucked on her third cigarette. “Ignorant one,” she said. “You are special
because you come from the greatest venomline. Greater than Toktomer and the
House of Dracul, greater than any line of vampires, you are descended from the
transcendent Xing Fu of the Zhou dynasty.”

I wasn’t surprised she didn’t say greater than the
ancient one—my only master—since such a claim seemed blasphemous
with him on her ship.

“I never wanted to share my maker’s gift with
another,” she said. “But your admirer forced my hand.” She scowled, though
nothing compared to Vincent’s glower, and approached me as she had in the small
compartment where I’d taken my life. “Satisfying one as ancient as him has its
advantages,” she said. “And saving you seems to have pleased him.”

I was glad to hear her say it, though I’d wished
he’d told me so himself. He must’ve known I ached for his approval. He’d
discarded me so easily, forced me into the hands of another, and I only wanted
to please him.

Empress Cixi stood in front of me, sizing me up again,
though this time she didn’t examine my physical features, but gazed into my
eyes instead. “You were a useful human,” she said. “But I’ve yet to see your
worth as my progeny. Tell me about the pit.”

I took a deep breath, despite not needing it, and
contemplated how much of my foray into the ring I should divulge. I didn’t know
if she’d be happy to hear about my talent for recognizing frequencies, or my
gift for amplifying sounds and voices, which was still too fresh to explain, so
I compromised and told her I’d felt the weaker vampire’s distress. “I thought
he needed my help and couldn’t resist,” I said, feeling good about telling her
as much.

Her violent reaction surprised me, but when she
pulled her hand out from hiding in the folds of her dress to slap me across the
cheek, I jumped back in time to avoid the whack. When she missed, her face took
on a darker mien. Though I’d only been subject to a vampire’s anger once, this
was different. My beloved didn’t come to my rescue and I found myself up
against a more vicious competitor than the bearish vampire in the ring.

“Chili bu towhow,” she said, as she whacked me and
pushed me back.

I don’t know which was worse, her wailing Mandarin,
clearly laced with profanities, or her screeching frequency that wouldn’t
cease. She’d let the cigarette holder fall from her mouth and her iron fangs
take its place. She scoffed at me, digging at me with her claws, as I ducked
and weaved, attempting to evade the wrath of my maker. Whenever she got close
enough, she landed a ferocious hit. I felt like a mouse trapped in a corner by
a snake—I couldn’t escape her attack, and though I wanted to defend
myself, I was terrified of retaliation. What kind of hell would be unleashed if
I hit my maker, the great Empress Cixi? Her simian screech peaked and I raised
my hands to my ears to block out the racket. This egged her on, and she
redoubled her efforts to rattle me.

“Wu yong,” she said repeatedly, deeming me worthless
one hundred and sixty-seven times, though I didn’t know the meaning of the word
then.

I could barely contain my horror, despite my brain
cataloging the highlights of the experience. My maker’s treatment wasn’t
anything I could’ve anticipated, though Cixi isn’t refined or caring or heroic
and wields hypnotic power like no other. Her gift for manipulation can only be
vampiric, for no human has been quite as formidable a dictator as she is. My
maker is a self-serving tyrant, addicted to power, and I trembled in my state
of panic, as the raving queen chased me around her compartment.

I didn’t know if she’d take off my head, as she
hopped from bulkhead to bulkhead, cornering me and then slashing me with her
talons. I blocked her a few times, but she landed most of her shots, sending
bolts of heat through my body. She moved without knocking anything over, as she
whipped around the cluttered cabin like a hyena on the hunt. She has an
impeccable sense of space. My original assessment of her was false since she’s
far from frail, old and weak. She is a fiend of epic magnitude.