Stories by Elizabeth Bear Part 112

He kissed soft flesh, breathed her scent and her perfume, felt his teeth sharp in response. His stomach knotted. "Yes?" he asked, requiring consent, and she moaned her answer.

"Yes."

Sebastien could barely remember the name he had been born to. He had forgotten the name of the village he had been born init had changed sinceor the year in which that birth had occurred. He no longer recalled his own age, except in the vaguest of terms.

But he remembered how it had been, when he became a wampyr's courtesan, and he remembered her name very well.

EudelineEviehad been young, new to the blood, lonesome as only the newly turned can be. Sebastien had loved her with a pa.s.sion he had sworn was eternal, and she had been inexperienced enough to believe him.

He had been wrong, so it happened. Mortal love was never meant to last forever. Fifty years. Perhaps even a century was possible, though Sebastien could not attest it. But not forever.

Their romance had not outlasted the Christian millennium. But he still recalled her kiss.

First there had been the cool touch of a wet mouth on warm skin, the press of tongue seeking the pulse. The expert courtesan knew how vital it was to remain motionless for the kiss, as Miss Meadows now remained motionless for him, though her outward appearance of calm was belied by trembling hands and a racing heart.

Sebastien found the pulse and unsheathed his fangs, letting the tips indent her skin. She whimpered through closed lips, and Sebastien heard the rustle of cloth as Allen halted himself half a step into intervening.

Sebastien's memory was perfect, in this. First the p.r.i.c.kle of the fangs, and then the pain, tremendous, scathing, all out of proportion to the injury, the two swift stabs that merely nudged the skin aside. The vein must only be punctured, never severed or torn. And the punctures must be tidy and straight, to heal properly.

Sebastien's fangs were triangular in cross-section, designed to pierce flesh and leave no lasting injury. It was of no more benefit to the blood to kill their prey than it was to a milkmaid to slaughter her dairy cows.

And after the painso impatiently enduredthe pleasure. Transporting, incomparable. He knew when she felt it, because the measured breaths she had used to ride the pain faltered, replaced by a great, rattling intake of air. Her body melted against his, her hips rocking against his thigh, the grasp of her clutching hands both desperate and fragile, her head lolling against his supporting hand. The blood was rich and warm, a salty-metallic froth that pulsed over his tongue, surged down his tightened gullet, and flushed his skin with heat. Her heartbeat rang in his ears, world-filling, and he forced himself to sip delicately, gently... and then to pull against her clutching, surrendered hands, unsheathe his fangs from her flesh long before either of them was sated, and seal the wound with his closed lips while she trembled against him, silently pleading for more.

He almost liked her, a little, for that moment.

Virgil Allen had leaned away from the bedpost, his hand in his pocket, his impa.s.sivity cracked into a scowl. The set of Jack's shoulders hadn't changed.

Sebastien lifted his lips from Miss Meadows' neck, kissed her slack mouth quickly, a formal thank you, and set her back at arm's length. Jack, his motions impersonal and brisk, stepped between them and pressed to her throat a clean pad folded from the same torn muslin that he'd used to doctor Sebastien.

"Thank you, Miss Meadows," Sebastien said, and bowed over the hand she hadn't pressed against Jack's.

"Thank you," she answered, and let Jack catch her as she wobbled against his shoulder.

"Mr. Allen," Sebastien said, "the stool, if you will."

Chapter X.

"Eugenie LeClere is a quite reprehensible person," Miss Meadows said, when she returned to herself. She was paler and more lovely than ever, a testament to the reasoning behind certain wampyrs' legendary preference for blondes. Sebastien, seated on the bottom bunk beside a stiff-shouldered Jack while Allen hovered over her like an anxious mother, reserved his sarcasm.

What had a wampyr to say about morality?

He didn't blame Jack his anger. But either Jack would allow Sebastien to make it up to him, or Jack would leave himas Jack eventually must, because Sebastien was old enough to understand that there was no such creature as eternal loyalty, nor was it fair to askand in either case, Sebastien had done no more than he needed to.

"If you're going to attempt to direct my investigation to Mademoiselle LeClere, Miss Meadows, rest a.s.sured, it needs no further guidance."

"Call me Lillian, if I may call you Sebastien," she said, adjusting a pin-curl in its diamond barrette without benefit of the mirror. "And I don't think Eugenie killed her. I think she was trying to get away from her. There's very little I would put past Eugenie. But not murder."

"MissLillian, forgive me." Sebastien stood, moving fluidly again, his strength restored as hers was lessened. "But I think the information you're hinting around would be better plainly expressed."

"Ah." Lillian glanced at Allen, who shrugged. He handed her a silver flasktaken from the pocket which did not hold the revolverand she sipped, winced, and recapped it before shaking her headvery slightly, so as not to disturb her bandages. "Eugenie loves Oczkar."

"So Mrs. Smith said. I am drawn to the inescapable conclusion that you all were acquainted before this flight commenced. Am I incorrect in that?"

She could, of course, be drawing him out, playing the game of misleading and misdirection that tended to permeate any murder investigation. But he had something to bargain. Something she wanted.

If only the captain were here to make his ever-so-delicately phrased charge of wh.o.r.edom now. "We met in Moscow," she said. "I had lost someone, and was grateful for the company. You know how strangers can make you bear yourself up as you could not manage, in the company only of friends?"

He didn't answer. She pressed her fingertips to her bandage.

"Sebastien?"

"Yes, I know it well. And the Leatherbys?"

"I had not met them before. Although they appeared to know Madame, and did not seem to care for her. Or perhaps it was simply a matter of her reputation preceding her. If you take my meaning?"

He did not, and beckoned her to continue.

"Eugenie and Madame PontchartrainLeonellewell," Lillian said. "They were not what they pretended. Either of them. Their grand tour of England and Europe was a... fis.h.i.+ng expedition. You see, Madame Pontchartrain never married. And Eugenie was not merely her travelling companion; she was her b.a.s.t.a.r.d daughter. They had no family, and no estates. And their means of making their way in the world...." she permitted her voice to trail off suggestively, and gave the flask a regretful glance before handing it to Allen.

"Entrapment," Sebastien said, understanding, on the same breath that Jack said, "Blackmail."

"Eugenie wanted free of her."

"And yet you insist she did not kill her?"

"How Shakespearean," Lillian said. "And how unnatural, don't you think? For a child to murder her mother, no matter how opportunistic or unloving?"

"And she refused to turn Korvin ur over to her mother?"

"She was not supposed to approach Oczkar at all. He is unmarried, a sorcererwhat more could an affair do to his reputation? No, she was meant to accuse my darling Virgil of rape." She turned her head and smiled at Allen, experiencing no such difficulty with the word as the captain had. Allen's lip quirked under his moustache, and he tipped an imaginary hat. "Virgil is not well-off, of course, but Madame Pontchartrain believed I would pay to silence them."

"But Mademoiselle LeClere came to you with her story instead."

"Is it so hard to believe I pitied her?"

Jack, from the recesses of the bottom bunk, said, "I wouldn't have thought you had pity in your makeup." He stood, shouldering past Sebastien in the strained silence that followed, and edged around Virgil Allen. He paused by the curtained door and turned back, as if wavering on the edge of another unpleasantness. Grat.i.tudeor mannerswon over jealousy, and he swallowed hard and continued, "Miss Meadows, Mr. Allen, would you join us for lunch? It's nearly the hour, and Miss Meadows should certainly eat."

She stared him down for a moment, but gave the ground, obviously aware that this was a compet.i.tion she could not win. "But surely," she said, as Allen helped her wavering to her feet, "Sebastien"

"Oh," he said, straightening his collar, "I wouldn't keep my public waiting. Besides, I think I need a word or two with Mademoiselle LeClere and Korvin ur. Don't you?"

The crewman pacing in the hallway didn't try to stop them from descending, but he did follow at a discreet distance. Sebastien made a little ceremony of seating Lillian, and he was sure every eye in the place was trained on the four of them, side by side at a round table meant for six. Already seated elsewhere were the Chinese couplemost skilled at looking without seeming to be lookingand the Dutch brothers, who dined with their heads bent together conspiratorially and stared with perfect frankness when Sebastien's party entered. Steven actually essayed a small smile, however, and Michiel spared Jack a nod, which was more than Sebastien would have predicted. Meanwhile, Lillian smiled with bright falseness across the dining room, her bandages a small bulge under her high-collared blouse that everyone avoided staring at, their gazes veering away as precipitously as if she had strolled in naked.

Sebastien, at least, was spared the annoyance of pretending to dine. The maitre d' himself came and cleared Sebastien's place setting, providing a goblet of clear ice water, then brought the bread and b.u.t.ter for the other diners with his own hands. Sebastien thanked him, and offered thatif the burly crewman now lingering inside the door, at attention like a footman, should require a meal and a restSebastien had no plans to leave the dining room for at least an hour.

The maitre d', Sebastien noticed, blushed most appetizingly.

Sebastien hated this, the mingled obsequiousness and fear. And Jack's sly sideways smile told him that Jack was enjoying a small, Schadenfreude-soaked revenge in Sebastien's discomfiture.

Sebastien sighed, and fiddled with his water gla.s.s. The service of the soup was notably slow. Lillian chattered gaily with Virgil and Jack, who was putting forth even more of an effort than usual to be his best, most charming self. Sebastien found Jack's knee under the table and gave it a grateful pat, and Jack's answering smile was a touch less sly. Had Sebastien had a heart to beat, it would have accelerated in relief.

He would be forgiven after all.

Virgil was pouring a second round of winethe waiter having exhibited a curious hesitancy to approach their table except when forced to deliver disheswhen Mrs. Smith entered unaccompanied. She cast her eye over the room, tucked an errant strand of hair behind the earpiece of her spectacles, and beelined for their table, barely acknowledging the other diners. "May I join you?"

Without glancing at her tablemates for approval, Lillian gestured Mrs. Smith to a chair. "My dear Phoebe, if you can stand the stench of scandal."

"Is that scandal?" Mrs. Smith set her notebook beside her plate. "I was afraid it was the soup." She snapped her napkin open and spread it across her lap. "Don't worry, Don Sebastien. My good opinion of you is unchanged. Although you may find yourself the victim of a barrage of correspondence should I come to write a novel featuring one ofis the polite term the blood?"

"The polite term is whatever you say with a smile," he answered, gratified. "I am pleased not to be pre-judged. I had thought you might avoid my company after this morning's unpleasantness."

Mrs. Smith accepted a wine gla.s.s from Virgil, who remained thoughtfully silent. "Am I supposed to sprain myself avoiding being seen dining with the wampyr, or with the adventuress?"

"What about the sorcerer?" Jack said, gesturing to the door as Oczkar Korvin entered. "That should liven up the place."

"Jack," Sebastien said. Korvin ur, he noticed, left a stout-thewed crewman by the entry, too. Sebastien wasn't the only one under close observation. "We needn't be unpleasant."

One could see Jack a.s.sembling the persona, if one caught him at it, like a knight girding on his armor. Sebastien had never asked Jack about his childhoodhe rather, in fact, hoped Jack didn't recollect overmuch of itbut it had taken three or four years of taming before the fey speechless child Jack had been was willing to relax that armor at all.

Without looking at her, Sebastien heard Lillian's taken breath. An actress recognized the signs of a character falling into place. "Oh, very well," Jack said, then, casually. "If you insist." He raised his voice. "Korvin ur, aren't you going to join us?"

The parade of expressions across Oczkar Korvin's face would have been humorous under other circ.u.mstances. But to his credit, he mastered them, and came to take the chair remaining between Virgil and Mrs. Smith. He seated himself, collected and precise, with his posture folded in onto itself. "Senor de Ulloa," he said, "I owe you a rather abject apology."

"You made your point," Sebastien said. Now he rather wished he had a plate; utensils to manage would make a welcome distraction. "Won't Mademoiselle LeClere be dining with you?"

"She is unlikely to be down to lunch," Korvin said. "Judging by the hysterics that consummated our recent conversation."

"Your remorse does not extend to her?"

Korvin turned his water goblet with his fingertips. "A man doesn't like to be manipulated into doing a woman's dirty work for her," he said. "I made an unfortunate choice in listening to Eugenieto Mademoiselle LeClere."

"She suggested your trick with the burning gla.s.s?" Sebastien asked, leaning forward.

"She said that you were going to accuse herand meof murder. That Madame Pontchartrain had disappeared while she and I were together, and" an eloquent shrug. "Even sorcerers who are under a crown's control are viewed with a certain amount of suspicion."

"I'm acquainted with prejudice," Sebastien said. "What's changed to bring you to me now?"

"I had a word with Mr. Leatherby," Korvin said. "Mademoiselle LeClere and he had some unhappy history, it appears, and he was kind enough to warn me"

"She was blackmailing him." Lillian set down her spoon and picked up her wine gla.s.s, slouching against the chair-back in a manner which she never could have managed in a corset. Mrs. Smith gave her an envious glance.

"Or her guardian was, with her a.s.sistance." Korvin said. He lowered his voice as the waiter came to take the soup away.

"Miss Meadows seemed to think Mademoiselle LeClere might attempt reform for your sake," Sebastien said.

"Who could ever trust her? Fortunately, I was not overfond of the girl."

Just willing to use her affection for you. Sebastien bit his tongue. Korvin wasn't the first or last of his kind. Not that Sebastien was any better, he thought, with a sidelong glance at Jack, who fiddled his cuffs, seemingly oblivious.

But, that piece in place, Sebastien abruptly remembered Mrs. Leatherby hurrying into the salon behind the others, her blouse still unb.u.t.toned at the collar. He remembered her pulling the comb from her hair, and the scent of her perfume filling the room as her hair tumbled over her neck.

He put his water goblet down sharply enough to slop fluid on his hand. "Mrs. Smith," he said. "Or Lillian... I don't suppose either of you recalls when Beatrice Leatherby arrived in the lady's washroom to be inspected for a tattoo?"

"Late," Lillian said. "Out of breath."

And Sebastien nodded, the completed understanding filling him with lazy satisfaction. Jack was looking at him, smiling, and Sebastien wondered if the triumph were so transparent on his face. "Summon the Captain," he said. "She and her husband are the murderers."

Chapter XI.

The Leatherbys walked into quite a different luncheon than they must have been antic.i.p.ating. Captain Hoak was waiting for them, flanked by the burly crewmenalike as a brace of houndswho had been guarding Korvin and Sebastien. "Your bags will be searched for a bottle of laudanum and for a magical hair-comb, which Korvin ur will inspect for enchantments related to concealing the presence of the wearer." he said. "You are accused of the murder of Leonelle Pontchartrain, and as master of this s.h.i.+p, I am placing you both under arrest."

"Konrad," Beatrice Leatherby said, and laid a hand on his arm. "Surelyin front of all these people"

The captain flushed red to the roots of his hair. In the corner by the piano, Mr. Cui bent down to whisper something in his wife's ear, and she covered her mouth with both hands. Michiel van Dijk laid down his silver fork, but did not stand. "We'll not speak of it now."

Hollis Leatherby retained his composure, and bulled forward, pulling his wife away from Captain Hoak. "On what evidence?" His gaze swept scornfully over the a.s.semblage, hot enough that Sebastien almost felt it curl the fine hairs on his skin. "I suppose the vampire and the sorcerer have joined forces to save their necks?"

"That's the tone I object to," Sebastien murmured in Mrs. Smith's ear, drawing a short sharp laugh before stepping forward, around her and away from Korvin and Jack. "Mr. Leatherby," he said, "would you like a list?"

"By all means, Mr. de Ulloa," Leatherby said. He stepped away from his wife and the captain, but there was nowhere for him to run on a dirigible, and Sebastien wasn't worried. "List away." He stuffed his hands in his pockets, frowning intently.

"You snore," Sebastien said, lifting his finger to tick off the first point. "Abominably. And yet I do not recall hearing your snores, even m.u.f.fled by distance, the first night of the voyage. I have abnormally acute hearing, Mr. Leatherby. Interestingly, I would have thought nothing of it if your wife hadn't commented that your snoring had kept her awake, so that she happened to notice an argument between Korvin ur and Mlle. LeClere. Which was Mrs. Leatherby's first attempt to cast suspicion on them." He drew a breath. "Additionally, someone was able to come and go, both in my cabin and in Madame Pontchartrain's, without leaving any evidenceand your wife has a hair comb that masks her scent and prevents trace evidencefibers and fingerprints and suchfrom being left behind. A pretty toy, and one I hadn't seen before, though Korvin ur a.s.sures me that they are not uncommon in Prague and Moscow, where certain of the security forces are staffed by wampyr and lycanthropes. And last, but not least, Mrs. Leatherby was the only pa.s.senger unaccounted for when my bags were riffled and evidence stolen."

Mr. Leatherby glanced at his wife and swallowed. "That implicates Beatrice, sir. Not me."

"Hollis," she said, in exactly the tone in which she'd said Konrad. "Hollis, you can't"

"Oh, but I can," he said.

"Never fear, Mrs. Leatherby. We know your husband disposed of the body."

"You can't know that either," said Leatherby.

"But I can," Sebastien said. Nothing gave the sense of satisfaction this did: watching a murderer scramble to avoid justiceand failingwas a most fulfilling side effect of his avocation. "Because I know that your wife met Captain Hoak on his three a.m. rounds, promised to come to the control cabin to meet with him while the pilot was on his dinner break, and there distracted him so thoroughly that he forgot to enter the time of his three a.m. rounds until much later, when he also entered the data of the five a.m. rounds. Between those times, he filled out other paperwork, or perhaps he wrote a letter to his wife, and in the course of those tasks he emptied and refilled his fountain pen. I know that you, Mr. Leatherby, had arranged to meet with Madame Pontchartrain by the washrooms a little after three, ostensibly to deliver the next installment of her blackmail demands. After having arranged to take this particular flight solely to encounter her. In any case, it would be the least conspicuous place to meet, as you'd both have ample excuse to visit them on midnight errands. Your wife had already poisoned Mme. Pontchartrain's supply of laudanum, and when, after a stressful conversation, Madame slipped into the ladies' washroom to refresh her nerves, you remained waiting outside. Disposing of the body was easy, but unfortunately, when the bottle of laudanum fell from Madame Pontchartrain's clothes and was lost behind the rubbish bins you did not notice.

"Afterwards, when your wife left the Captain, she crept up to Mme. Pontchartrain's cabin and liberated her blackmail papers, and also the remaining poisoned opium. Because what opium eater would travel with only one bottle of her drug? I imagine those joined Madame Pontchartrain in her journey down the garbage chute?"