I tried to form a plan as we approached the city, but in truth I was not sure at all how to proceed. There was no avoiding these filthy little monsters. We were riding towards a battle. And it was little different from the morning on which I’d gone out to kill the wolves, counting upon my rage and my will to carry me through.
We had scarcely entered the scattered farmhouses of Montmartre when we heard for a split second their faint murmuring. Noxious as a vapor, it seemed.
Gabrielle and I knew we had to drink at once, in order to be prepared for them.
We stopped at one of the small farms, crept through the orchard to the back door, and found inside the man and wife dozing at an empty hearth.
When it was finished, we came out of the house together and into the little kitchen garden where we stood still for a moment, looking at the pearl gray sky. No sound of the others. Only the stillness, the clarity of the fresh blood, and the threat of rain as the clouds gathered overhead.
I turned and silently bid the gelding to come to me. And gathering the reins, I turned to Gabrielle.
“I see no other way but to go into Paris,” I told her, “to face these little beasts head on. And until they show themselves and start the war all over again, there are things that I must do. I have to think about Nicki. I have to talk to Roget.”
“This isn’t the time for that mortal nonsense,” she said.
The dirt of the church sepulcher still clung to the cloth of her coat and to her blond hair, and she looked like an angel dragged in the dust.
“I won’t have them come between me and what I mean to do,” I said.
She took a deep breath.
“Do you want to lead these creatures to your beloved Monsieur Roget?” she asked.
That was too dreadful to contemplate.
The first few drops of rain were falling and I felt cold in spite of the blood. In a moment it would be raining hard.
“All right,” I said. “Nothing can be done until this is finished!” I said. I mounted the horse and reached for her hand.
“Injury only spurs you on, doesn’t it?” she asked. She was studying me. “It would only strengthen you, whatever they did or tried to do.”
“Now this is what I call mortal nonsense!” I said. “Come on!”
“Lestat,” she said soberly. “They put your stable boy in a gentleman’s frock coat after they killed him. Did you see the coat? Hadn’t you seen it before?”
That damned red velvet coat …
“I have seen it,” she said. “I had looked at it for hours at my bedside in Paris. It was Nicolas de Lenfent’s coat.”
I looked at her for a long moment. But I don’t think I saw her at all. The rage building in me was absolutely silent. It will be rage until I have proof that it must be grief, I thought. Then I wasn’t thinking.
Vaguely, I knew she had no notion yet how strong our passions could be, how they could paralyze us. I think I moved my lips, but nothing came out.
“I don’t think they’ve killed him, Lestat,” she said.
Again I tried to speak. I wanted to ask, Why do you say that, but I couldn’t. I was staring forward into the orchard.
“I think he is alive,” she said. “And that he is their prisoner. Otherwise they would have left his body there and never bothered with that stable boy.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not.” I had to force my mouth to form the words.
“The coat was a message.”
I couldn’t stand this any longer.
“I’m going after them,” I said. “Do you want to return to the tower? If I fail at this …”
“I have no intention of leaving you,” she said.
* * *
The rain was falling in earnest by the time we reached the boulevard du Temple, and the wet paving stones magnified a thousand lamps.
My thoughts had hardened into strategies that were more instinct than reason. And I was as ready for a fight as I have ever been. But we had to find out where we stood. How many of them were there? And what did they really want? Was it to capture and destroy us, or to frighten us and drive us off? I had to quell my rage, I had to remember they were childish, susperstitious, conceivably easy to scatter or scare.
As soon as we reached the high ancient tenements near Notre Dame, I heard them near us, the vibration coming as in a silver flash and vanishing as quickly again.
Gabrielle drew herself up, and I felt her left hand on my wrist. I saw her right hand on the hilt of her sword.
We had entered a crooked alleyway that turned blindly in the dark in front of us, the iron clatter of the horse’s shoes shattering the silence, and I struggled not to be unnerved by the sound itself.
It seemed we saw them at the same moment.
Gabrielle pressed back against me, and I swallowed the gasp that would have given an impression of fear.
High above us, on either side of the narrow thoroughfare, were their white faces just over the eaves of the tenements, a faint gleam against the lowering sky and the soundless drifts of silver rain.
I drove the horse forward in a rush of scraping and clattering. Above they streaked like rats over the roof. Their voices rose in a faint howling mortals could never have heard.
Gabrielle stifled a little cry as we saw their white arms and legs descending the walls ahead of us, and behind I heard the soft thud of their feet on the stones.
“Straight on,” I shouted, and drawing my sword, I drove right over the two ragged figures who’d dropped down in our path. “Damnable creatures, out of my way,” I shouted, hearing their screams underfoot.
I glimpsed anguished faces for a moment. Those above vanished and those behind us seemed to weaken and we bore ahead, putting yards between us and our pursuers as we came into the deserted place de Grève.
But they were regathering on the edges of the square, and this time I was hearing their distinct thoughts, one of them demanding what power was it we had, and why should they be frightened, and another insisting that they close in.
Some force surely came from Gabrielle at that moment because I could see them visibly fall back when she threw her glance in their direction and tightened her grip on the sword.
“Stop, stand them off!” she said under her breath. “They’re terrified.” Then I heard her curse. Because flying towards us out of the shadows of the Hôtel-Dieu, there came at least six more of the little demons, their thin white limbs barely swathed in rags, their hair flying, those dreadful wails coming out of their mouths. They were rallying the others. The malice that surrounded us was gaining force.
The horse reared, and almost threw us. They were commanding it to halt as surely as I commanded it to go on.
I grabbed Gabrielle about the waist, leapt off the horse, and ran top speed for the doors of Notre Dame.
A horrid derisive babble rose silently in my ears, wails and cries and threats:
“You dare not, you dare not!” Malice like the heat of a blast furnace opened upon us, as their feet came thumping and splashing around us, and I felt their hands struggling to grab hold of my sword and my coat.
But I was certain of what would happen when we reached the church. I gave it one final spurt, heaving Gabrielle ahead of me so that together we slid through the doors across the threshold of the cathedral and landed sprawling within on the stones.
Screams. Dreadful dry screams curling upwards and then an upheaval, as if the entire mob had been scattered by a cannon blast.
I scrambled to my feet, laughing out loud at them. But I was not waiting so near the door to hear more. Gabrielle was on her feet and pulling me after her and together we hurried deep into the shadowy nave, past one lofty archway after another until we were near to the dim candles of the sanctuary, and then seeking a dark and empty corner by a side altar, we sank down together on our knees.
“Just like those damned wolves!” I said. “A bloody ambush.”
“Shhhhh, be quiet a moment,” Gabrielle said as she clung to me. “Or my immortal heart will burst.”