Page 101 of Besieger
He longed to return to their cot, no matter how narrow, how small the cabin, the blankets in desperate need of laundering, and the oil in the lamps all but spent. The rocking of the ship and the ceaseless sound of the waves soothed him. They had never been this long away from the mainland,from home. He cast a sideways glance at the chart under Jürgen’s hand. An island was circled in graphite.
“We are near Antikythera.” He pointed at the map and closed his fingers so that only his thumb and little finger touched the parchment. “Close enough that if we take one of the boats and row fast enough, we might reach land before sunrise. From there we can find a new ship and set for Crete or Adalia.”
Silvio appeared to mull over the suggestion. He had just begun to speak when the captain stirred.
“My siren…” Jürgen whimpered in his sleep.
Emerick fought back a laugh. It was the misery contained in those two simple words and the face Silvio made upon hearing them. He, too, had witnessed the captain’s dream and found it denigrating.
“Make arrangements for our departure, Rico.”
EMERICK, 1848
My Friend,
By God’s Mercy we have at long last reached Marseille and lie at anchor in her waters until I receive my new orders. I expect I shall remain in the city for a good while, waiting for the winds to be in our favour, and see to the exchange of the cargo. The crates your companion, the Marquis, left aboard Der Merkur bore papers and seals from Béziers, and I have sent missive after missive to what I believed to be your home. I pray this letter finds you, for it will be my last.
I remain your servant,
Jürgen
Emerick turned the paper over. It was dated 25th and the backside was blank save for the remnants of the wax seal. The return address was vague; the letter had been sent from an inn,Au Petit Nice. It was addressed to Monsieur Rycko. Years ago, he had seen Jürgen’s handwriting in the log book, but it had been so long, so very long, since he had seen or even thought about the German captain, his ship of the dead, and tales of sea creatures.
He re-read the few lines, only now noticing that there were scribbles in the empty spaces, smudges and lines crossing thewriting. Turning the page this way and that, the ink smears slowly took form.
“This is a map!” Emerick exclaimed and cackled. “When did this arrive?”
The footman stammered, mistaking his master’s loud voice for anger.
“This morning, Monsieur.”
He thought of asking if the man had been to Marseille, if he had heard of an inn calledAu Petit Nice. But what would it prove?
TheComtegot up in search of theMarquis. He found him inspecting the frescoes in the warm room. He was wearing slippers and a loose shirt, next to him the butler, Monsieur Michel, was taking notes, sweating profusely in his full livery.
“Perfect timing. Undress and sit on the bench.” Silvio’s voice echoed in the chamber, the vapours of thethermaeslithered around them.
Emerick’s step faltered and he looked from Silvio to Monsieur Michel, pursing his lips to keep from laughing.
“It is for the new fresco. I want Monsieur Michel to see what I have in mind, how I am envisioning it.”
“For which I am sure I can pose dressed just as well.”
“Where would be the fun in that?” The sultriness in Silvio’s voice made the butler blister. When Emerick came nearer Silvio began to pull at the strings of his waistcoat and shirt. “Afterwards we can move to the pool.”
“The three of us?”
Emerick winked at Monsieur Michel who had turned slightly to the side and was pretending to study one of the statues.
“You will need tolookat him, Michel, for your notes,” theMarquissaid, vexed.
“Let the poor man be,” Emerick tipped Silvio’s chin to face him and worried his lower lip with the pad of his thumb. “You may go, Michel. Leave the renovation of thethermaefor a later time.”
He had meant to ask Silvio about the letters, surely there had been others, if anything had been kept or lost among the many correspondences that graced their home. But then he realised it did not matter. The moment—the opportunity—had passed. He was a vampire, he had no place at a human’s side, especially one that earned his living braving the seas, gone for years at a time.
“Something amiss?” Silvio asked once Emerick’s hand had stopped moving and remained holding his chin in place. He had ceased trying to undress theComte.
Emerick shook his head, eyes downcast. He took off his shoes and worked at the buttons of his breeches.
