A Journey of Black and Red-Novel

Boston, October 1861.

“I don’t like this at all, Ariane. We have seen war before, you and I, down in Mexico. This will be nothing like it.”

Sheridan grumbles as we pass the door leading into the Boston vampire compound. The three-winged edifice was expanded with cliffside structures overlooking the river to accommodate the rising number of night denizens.

“How do you figure?” I reply with curiosity. Although he seldom voices his opinion, Sheridan has proven adept at getting a feel of things, especially when it relates to humanity’s darker emotions.

“You remember the caning of senator Sumner?”

I frown, staring in his honest brown eyes. Thankfully, being a Vassal seems to have slowed the aging of the brave Texan, and only the barest of grey can be seen in his moustache.

“Yes, I do. It occurred some time ago, no? Five years, or so?”

“Yes. A representative beat a senator with a cane. A cane! During a session. Because he had dared to ridicule the institution of slavery. I knew, then, that it could only end in blood. When violence is left free to roam without criticism from the party of the offender, then you know that both sides have stopped seeing the other as people worthy of the protection of the law. There are two sides divided by a burning hatred, and it will only end when one of the fighters lies bloody on the ground.”

I sigh. I honestly believed that it would not come to war, and that slavery would die out eventually. I even fully supported the Ekon clan in helping as many of their followers as possible to escape north by opening my lands to the Underground Railroad. Now, it appears that ideology has ignited passions to the point of no return.

I know of civil wars from my father. Among all the deleterious events that can affect a country, war is the worst, and out of all the wars, civil war is the worst. Civil wars turn brother against brother, friend against friend. They sap the strength of nations and fragment families. Neighbors no longer trust each other. Communities fracture and die. After such a long prelude, the bloodbath will be cataclysmic. It would take, to calm things down, an ability to compromise that does not exist in the hearts of men.

“Will you do something?” Sheridan asks. His expression remains carefully guarded.

I know what he means. He wonders if we, as a community, will intervene. We do not have enough weight to stop the conflict, that would be impossible. We do, however, have the possibility to support one side and tip the scales in their favor.

“Only if we can reach a consensus. The only worse thing that could happen now is a vampire civil war on top of the rest.”

We move into the main building. Wilhelm the butler welcomes us from behind his desk, and I look left to see the main lobby filled with tables hosting a plethora of mortals, Vassals and Servants all of them.

“I’ll be at the bar,” Sheridan says with a subdued tone. He walks to Melitone who smiles when she sees him. I walk the corridor to the secured access to the council chamber.

The walk down is more solemn than before this time, and everyone arrives before the official starting time, including a harried-looking Melusine. Thirty-one wardens and their seconds standing behind them sit in a circle, with territories ranging from Mexico to Quebec, and from the Atlantic to the Pacific. Only twenty-two are lords and ladies. Some of the wardens, like me, are still Masters. Constantine is last to arrive, though he is, as always, strictly on time. He strides to his stone chair and addresses us without preamble.

Whispers spread through the room. I do not react, as Sephare is the source, and she sent me word before the meeting.

The whispers disappear and the implications are made clear.

Death for the transgressors. A suitable punishment for abusing Constantine’s generosity.

With his message unambiguously stated, Constantine straightens his spine.

Constantine’s demeanor turns unusually cold. I understand his purpose. He wishes to remind everybody that he is still a Progenitor, one of the most powerful vampires in existence, and certainly one of world’s topmost archmages.

We do not speak. Constantine has proven himself unusually eloquent. I suspect the delicate touch of Sephare and Melitone.

Constantine sits down, and Sephare stands up. She waves her hand. The smooth fabric of the titanic stone table between us grows liquid and a three-dimensional map of North America appears, with the United States split in three different entities.

I admit to being much impressed. This is an incredible feat of magical engineering, and I had no idea that we were equipped with such an excellent tool. Like the others, I stare at the display before us. The territories going from Texas to the south-west, to Virginia in the east, are contained in a single entity named ‘Confederate States of America’. The other side, much larger, is qualified as ‘the Union’, while four states are labelled as ‘Border States’. They form an horizontal line separating the two antagonists.

Sephare’s demeanor changes from intimate to that of the university lecturer. Her voice fills the cave with clear diction.

Sephare waves again and the border states turn grey.

The Union states turn grey.

Now, the southern states are lit.

We consider this possibility in silence. If this were to happen, the tension between the two entities would surely lead to another conflict down the road, if only because the north would actively support escaping slaves with no rules in place to stop them anymore.

Sephare sits down and Constantine replaces her. The map of the land still lies before us in liquid obsidian, the border new and unsettling.

There are also precedents for such an intervention to trigger a vampire war, one we cannot afford right now.

Constantine sets himself up for a political deadlock. At the same time, a two-thirds majority means that even detractors will hesitate to oppose it, should it be approved. My only fear is that the resolutions and their support will draw across clan lines. If this happens, the Accords will have failed as a community. We will merely be the same old bloodlines using the assembly as a political tool to trade influence. Only if a consensus is reached will the American vampires exist as a distinct entity.

Constantine may have caused me to suffer horribly before we met, but now I find myself more and more tied with him as a supporter. I will depose him in the end, of course, but for now we must work together so that a crown is left to usurp.

Constantine dissolves the assembly soon after. We file out and gather in clumps across the massive complex to discuss and scheme. Soon, Vassals and employees race through the corridors, bearing missives and invitations. I quickly make contact with my closest allies.

Sephare shows some surprise at the mention of a man who sued me in the past.

Sephare offers me one of her rare genuine smiles.

I leave the impromptu reunion, passing several couriers on my way down. Sheridan has left and I do not know where he went, but that is fine. I ask a maid from Wilhelm to carry my request for a meeting to Lord Adam, and in the meanwhile, walk to Constantine’s office. His two bodyguards and renegade Rosenthal secretary let me through the very same moment. The Speaker awaits at his desk, fingers intertwined as usual. More documents litter his desk than I can remember, while the bookshelves lining the wall show more disorder than usual. Our leader has been busy.

I rejoice in my heart. Could it be? After all those years?

Six of them, to be precise. Five more than necessary. Only the stoutest warships can withstand several volleys of Dvergur-engineered incendiary projectiles.

I am struck with memories of a previous boarding.

And I am partly to be blamed for that.

I do not ask payment for a task that serves our cause.

Lord Adam’s borrowed study comes in shades of blue. Like all other private quarters here, the room is both tastefully decorated and sterile. The Roland Lord and his sibling welcome me in casual shirts, and with a pot of coffee. A positive sign.

The delay affords me what I wanted. The pair sits down to face me across a coffee table painted in shades of gold, a sign that I have gained their attention. For now, only politeness affords me their time. If I want more, I will have to be convincing.

I pause to assess their reactions. If my estimates are too far off, they will display signs of impatience.

And I am partly responsible.

They remain silent, which I take as a ‘maybe’.

Lord Adam scoffs.

Freedom is pointless if it leads to immediate starvation, and the south will remain inhospitable to freedmen for a long time.

My confidence comes from the current circumstances. I am one of the country’s foremost weapons manufacturers, with access to Dvergur engineers, and the improved results they provide. Simply put, the team Loth sent brought with them an inexpensive method of steel-making they call the improved Bessemer process. Better raw materials and standardized production practices allow me to produce the best cannons this side of the Atlantic, at an affordable price. Even if my goods were not inherently superior, I could still sell them to the army thanks to a valuable ally.

Sephare has absolute control over the Ordnance Department.

As such, the Illinois Armament Manufactory already received massive orders of guns and cavalry rifles, enough for me to afford the massive bribe I am planning. My only surprise came from infantry rifle purchases. I expected my improved needle guns to flood the market. Instead, most states purchased a cheaper model from Massachusetts with less than half the firing rate to equip the troops they were training. Pah! Worse, the soldiers already deployed on the frontline use antiquated smoothbore muskets, as if we were still fighting the British! Disgrace. The world must be laughing at us.

I am glad that we see eye to eye.

I force myself to take another sip of coffee to mask my surprise. I did not know that they had an interest in this sector as well, despite my inquiries. This is problematic.

The two lords exchange a glance. Eventually, the twin nods to Adam, who in turn addresses me.

What to do? I have no solution. Slave-fuelled agriculture can transition into standard agriculture, but slave trading itself cannot be replaced since it will be entirely illegal. I need to find something else. Can the circumstances help me? How else can I compensate them?

Oh.

Of course.

I know that they sell cotton, sugar, and tobacco abroad. No matter what, their trade lines will be disrupted for a long time, condemning their export-focused business to failure.

I do not miss it. Their perfect immobility and contained auras do not reveal anything of their inner thoughts, which means that I have hit the nail on the head. Lady Sephare taught me this little trick, that old ones who lack practice increase their control over themselves when they want to hide something. They have taken the bait.

That is fine.

Once again, the twins exchange a silent glance.

Of course. No Lords and Ladies agree to anything important without pondering the question for at least a day. A tentative agreement is all I can hope for now.

I expect silence and even ridicule. Instead, Adam laughs and Adrien smiles lighty.

After a few more polite exchanges, I return to Sephare to share what was decided. She agrees to take over the negotiations since I will be out, though she mentions that not all of the southern lords will be willing to budge. Some, after all, come from feudal societies. Some Rolands will refuse out of sheer stubbornness. They cannot envision an end to a peasant-centric society.

After I am done, I return to the lobby and find Sheridan snoring softly on a leather couch. I come closer and catch a whiff of him.

My, what a busy…

Wait a minute.

“Sheridan, wake up!” I say as I shake him and grab the hand already grabbing for his gun.

“Wh — Ariane? What’s the matter with you?”

“Did I not leave you in deep conversation with Melitone?”

The scent of fear, removed of its spice since the ranger is no prey. Eyes to search for an exit.

“Perhaps?”

“Are you banging the Speaker’s sister?” I hiss, outraged, “Do you have any idea…”

Sheridan gently removes my hand from his shoulder and gives me one of his frank, no-nonsense gazes.

“Ariane dear, we might be partners in our quest to rid the world of evil…”

So he keeps believing.

“...but that doesn’t mean that you get a say in whichever romantic partner I choose, lady. Besides, we’ll soon be as busy as a one-legged man at an ass-kicking contest, so cut me some slack, will you?”

He… argh! And I can say nothing because he is a Vassal.

“Language…” I weakly retort.

“What are we gonna do anyway? Where is the old man sending us this time?”

“I am not his lap dog!”

“Right. So, what are we supposed to do? Anything illegal?”

“Grmbll.”

“Speak up, Ariane.”

“Piracy!”

“So, does that bad language ban last for the entire operation, or?”

“No need to be a smart-... no need to be so snide, Sheridan. Let us away!”

Two weeks later, off the coast of Nova Scotia.

The Cormoran bobs up and down as the powerful entities on its deck look at me with a mix of wonder and bafflement. I place the enchanted loudspeaker before my lips and greet them in a proper, appropriate fashion.

Silence spreads over the calm seas as the powerful warriors exchange befuddled words.

BOOM!

A cataclysmic deflagration drowns all other noises, and a ten-paces long plume of fire emerges from the side of our ship. Far behind and to the side of the enemy ship, a shard of granite rising from a small islet explodes in a cascade of flaming debris. A dark plume rises from the crater, all that remains of the exposed stone. Smoldering fragments rain down on the ocean’s waves.

I see some activity on the deck, including two vampires arguing with each other with one waving at the column of smoke rising nearby. Eventually, the reasonable one seems to win the argument as his second throws his hands in anger. The head vampire lowers a skiff and rows to us. On their ship, nothing stirs.

I decide to wait by returning to my throne, which I placed underneath the mizzen mast (the one just after the biggest mast). I place my revolver on a nearby barrel and invite a pair of young sailors to resume their strange, leggy dance for my own entertainment.

“Is this necessary?” Sheridan grumbles.

“I could sing,” I reply.

The grumpy ranger does not call my bluff. Eventually, the Mask vampire gets close enough for the negotiations to begin.

Blimey.

Eventually, I am forced to agree to let them land under the condition that they all depart soon after. They do not have the blood and food supply for a safe trip back. I allow them to do so in their secret port, and the meeting with their renegade Accords host is somewhat awkward. Two days later, they are gone with the express condition that they may not engage in hostile activities with us for the next five years.

I would call that a complete success.

“Ariane, reality is not like your saucy books. Tricorns are not necessary to engage in high-sea banditry.”

“Sheridan, I recall you saying, if it’s stupid but it works, it ain’t stupid. Therefore, wear the damn hat.”