Derek went down into the salon. He was stunned. He stood stranded for a long moment, and then remembered what he meant to do. The sea had quieted somewhat, and the boat was obviously traveling very fast.
The fireplace was electric with porcelain logs and it was simple to turn on, and it provided prettier more natural-looking flames than he had ever thought possible. He sat still, on the striped couch, looking at the flames as the cabin slowly filled with warmth, blessed warmth.
It seemed he had never felt anything as wondrous as this warmth. He had never walked the warm jungles of the savage lands long aeons ago with Welf, and Kapetria and Garekyn, as Kapetria spoke of the danger of capture, and that they must all remember they had been made to survive.
And then die in Atalantaya, Derek had thought, when it goes up in flames and smoke. But he had not said it aloud. He knew that he was not to complain. He was born for one thing and one thing only. And he had not yet seen the glories of Atalantaya. None of them had. They had known only the chambers of the Parents with the motion-picture walls and their great garden enclosures.
Now on the gently rolling little ship, he lay down on the striped couch and covered himself with one of the blankets. It was soft as his overcoat. A lovely warmth filled the room, lovely as the light from the fireplace. In a half sleep he was walking through the jungles again, with those he loved. Maybe we will not have to rush there, he thought, and that was before the natives had found them and been so kind to them, and they had sat down to their first feast. He remembered the drums and the dancing, and the eerie music of the wooden flutes, and the headman saying to Kapetria, "Our Lord, Amel, will welcome you to Atalantaya. You are the very kind he welcomes. We'll send word to the port in the morning. He will welcome you with open arms."
He closed his eyes. He
was dozing. He saw Amel, Amel of the pale skin and red hair, Amel with his godlike green eyes. Amel said, "They are liars and they are evil. They are the origin of all evil!" Kapetria was trying to reason with him. "Even if what you say is true..."
He opened his eyes with a start. Rain thundered down on the boat all around him. The panes of the windows ran with water. The cabin was wondrously warm and filled with the sweet flickering light of the fire. He was not in that horrid room in Budapest, and he would never be there again. He was free.
Music came from the cockpit. Dertu had found some way to play music. A magnificent tenor voice was singing in Italian. Amor ti vieta di non amar. It was so beautiful, this music, so poignant. Derek's heart broke, and as always his eyes filled with tears.
The boat rocked him like a child in a cradle. Or so he imagined, because he had never been a child. Just like a child in a cradle, riding the whale path! Derek drifted. Was Kapetria on her way this very minute to meet them in Derry?
13
Lestat
THE ENTIRE WORLD of the Undead was in the Chateau or so it seemed, all the public rooms filled with blood drinkers talking in whispers to one another and turning to bow to me or salute me in some subtle way as Louis and I appeared. Every beeswax candle in the old castle was lighted; every electric sconce or chandelier was aglow. I could hear the orchestra playing in the ballroom.
Rose and Viktor had returned and came at once to greet me as I entered the main hall. I was relieved to see they were here. Avicus also came to embrace me, and so did Zenobia, his eternal companion. They were sorry for the blunder of the young ones in California.
"They've convened a Council of the Elders only," said Thorne, pressing me to move through the crowd. "They don't want the younger ones at the table. And they are waiting for you."
"Yes," I said. "I know."
But in every doorway stood some curious friend or stranger glancing to me expectantly as I made the march through one vast salon after another to the north tower and its great curving stairs. Ah, the splendor of it in this decidedly feudal moment when all the lesser lords of the world had come to seek shelter under the roof of the great lord who would defend them all against the invaders as long as these great walls would hold.
I was painfully thirsting. Innocent blood. I kept thinking about it, and I blamed Amel for it, but Amel might not have been behind it after all. But there was no putting off the meeting.
Amel had started murmuring to me in a strange language as soon as I opened my eyes. At first I'd tried to penetrate it and translate it, but that proved impossible. But the sound of it was like the sound of Sanskrit which I had not heard spoken very much in my life at all. Well, it wasn't Sanskrit, I knew that because I can understand Sanskrit.
Whatever the language, it became clear that Amel was repeating the same bits and pieces of material over and over again. A song? A poem? A speech?
Within no time, the telepathic intelligence of the world around me came piercing through to let me know that messages left on Benji's radio broadcast provided the songs that Amel was singing, messages from the non-humans, and no one had achieved a translation. For the moment the radio phone line was still open, because no one had made the decision to shut it down. The non-humans were using our greatest mode of communication to communicate amongst themselves.
I hurried up the staircase to the Council Chamber, ignoring Louis's protests that he should hang back. "Nonsense," I whispered. "I need you at my side."
I brought Louis into the Council Chamber with me, but I could see that it was indeed a gathering of the elders and Louis was surely the youngest in the room. Cyril and Thorne took their usual places against the wall.
I sat down at the head of the table and gestured for Louis to take the empty chair to my right.
Opposite, on my left, sat my mother, Gabrielle, and her beloved Sevraine, both in casual modern male attire, handsome dark wool suits with linen shirts open at the collar, Sevraine's long hair the usual veil over her shoulders and my mother's hair in her usual single long braid.
Marius was at the far end of the oval table, directly opposite me, which was his usual place, and maybe the only fixed place at the table other than mine. And this was the Roman Marius, responsible for the present Pax Romana of the blood drinkers, Marius who more often than not resolved all issues of authority on which I refused to take a stand. He wore his long-sleeved red velvet tunic as he almost always did at the Chateau, and he had not bothered to trim his hair as he so often did. It hung long and free, curling just above his shoulders. And he had a writing pad before him and a golden fountain pen.
"You should have destroyed that Rhoshamandes," he said immediately, to which Gregory and Seth both nodded. Gregory sat to his right, and Seth was to the right of Gregory.
"What is this, the Marius Party, assembled against me?" I demanded. "I've told you more than once. I'll never give an order for the destruction of Rhoshamandes."
Marius sighed. "There has to be an authority here," he said, in a reasonable tone, "and that has never been more obvious than now."
I studied the faces at the table.