Shades - The Demise of Blake Beck Read online

  “My Lord?”

  “Bahij. Come join me in my study.” Bahij walked through the antechamber, trailing his right hand across the long table until he reached the door to his master's study. The room had a view of the surrounding city and landscape through the leaded windows. The walls were lined with heavy bookcases holding thousands of books and tomes – the most ancient of which dated back to the dawn of man. Various artifacts, relics and objects pertaining to the practice of the dark arts lay on tables, cabinets and pedestals around the room. In the middle of the room stood a huge desk. Numerous tomes, scrolls and drawings claimed the entire desktop, save for a small corner that held a goose quill pen, an inkwell, a stack of blank paper and an ancient Arabian chessboard on which a game was underway. He was standing with his back to the door, looking over the books and papers that lay on the desk. As Bahij entered, He spoke.

  “Do you know why I have not only kept you in my employ for the better part of a thousand years, but have also come to count you as a . . .” He thought about it, letting his words float on top of the silence like oil on water. “As a friend?”

  “No, my Lord.”

  “It is because you are utterly dependable. For more than five hundred years you have served me as a scholar and adviser, and not once have you failed me. It almost makes me feel.” He turned around to face Bahij, offering him a hint of a smile. “And now, here you come bearing the best of news once more, I hear.”

  “Thank you for the kind words, my Lord,” Bahij said, lowering his gaze. “I merely do my best and I am happy and honored if that not only suffices, but may even merit your friendship, my Lord.” He gestured for Bahij to come closer.

  “Well, friend. Pray tell me of your discovery while I listen and pour you a glass.” He took up a decanter from the side table that stood near the wall between two old leather armchairs, pouring two glasses of the same crystal-clear liquid that He had offered Teresa.

  “As you know, I have long believed the Voynich manuscript to hold, among its many undisclosed secrets, the dark way to summon a soul between the worlds – even back into life,” Bahij started. “However, for hundreds of years the manuscript has managed to keep its secrets hidden within, despite the fact that the brightest minds in both life and death have sought to wring the secrets from it.” Bahij paused, taking the glass of soul as He offered it to him. “Yesterday, one of my most promising initiates discovered that another vellum manuscript dating back to medieval Europe has been put up for auction in London next week. It’s a manuscript that has previously remained hidden in a private collection, and which was reportedly written at the hand of Flamel, whom we know to have possessed knowledge of at least part of the summoning ritual.” Bahij leaned over the desk, trailing his fingers across the documents until he found what he was looking for. “Here. According to these documents, the Voynich manuscript was written by the Sol Niger alchemists of the Baltic region. And we know that they carried on the works of Flamel after his death,” Bahij said, giving the documents a tap to underline his point.

  “So this,” He started, but was interrupted by Bahij who, in a great display of eagerness, got a bit ahead of himself.

  “Yes, this and several other pieces of the puzzle have led me to believe that the newly discovered Flamel manuscript will contain the information required to decipher the Voynich manuscript,” Bahij said before realizing that he had just interrupted his master. He let the silence linger for a few seconds before He began to speak.

  “Well, we will see when you bring me the Flamel manuscript. And when you do, make sure not to draw unnecessary attention. Not from the living, nor from the whelp who thinks he can rival me.”

  “Yes, my Lord. With your permission, I would suggest that we merely wait for the auction and buy the Flamel manuscript,” Bahij replied.

  “That will be fine – as long as I get the manuscript,” He said before raising his glass. “Let us drink to our endeavors, and then you should go and enjoy the banquet. I shall join you shortly.”

  “Yes, my Lord,” Bahij said, silently raising his glass to his master’s toast.

  IV

  Blake and Virgil sat through the whole concert, talking only when Blake reengaged in the conversation as new questions surfaced. Virgil didn't mind. He knew that new arrivals had to adjust and get used to the idea of being dead and to the whole concept of Shades, which – as Blake had noted – was far from what people expected.

  There was a chill in the air when the two men walked into the street. A large clock hanging on the wall of the building on the opposite side of the street told Blake that it was just past eleven in the evening. They walked down the street until Virgil suddenly stopped by the metaphysical equivalent of a 1964 silver Aston Martin DB5 and began rummaging in the pockets of his robe for the keys.

  “I have arranged for you to have a house and a car, and, of course, if there is anything else you need, just let me know,” Virgil said as he threw the keys to Blake, who stood admiring the car, unaware that it was actually his. Blake caught the keys, turning to Virgil with a surprised look on his face.

  “Thank you.”

  “No need. You're in the employ of Dæth and thus will be taken care of – a task with which I have been charged.” Virgil opened the passenger-side door, which was already unlocked to him. “I tried to get you something that matched your life, but which was slightly different than what you were used to.” He got into the car and waved his hand, letting Blake know that he should get into the driver's seat. “In my experience, those who arrive here thrive best with a bit of change. In the end, at least,” Virgil said once Blake had gotten into the car. “It doesn't really help to deny the fact that there has been a change from life. I hope this is OK?” he continued. Blake turned the key in the ignition, giving the car just a little gas. The engine roared to life.

  “Sure it is. I'll be alright with this one once we get to know each other,” Blake said, blatantly understating his own excitement. With the engine running, Blake turned to Virgil.

  “So tell me, Virgil. What happens now?”

  “We drive. I'll let you know when to turn.” Blake rolled away from the curb and briefly looked with wonder at the half-finished Eiffel Tower that grew ever smaller in his rearview mirror. “Well, as I said,” Virgil started, “you have been invited to Dæth's mansion, and I'm sure I don't need to tell you that this is an invitation you do not turn down.”

  “Of course not. And what on earth, or . . .” He let it slide. “What would I do instead, anyways? It's not like I have a life, you know.”

  “No, I know. But in time you will settle down and develop your own routines. Turn left here. You will make acquaintances, maybe even friends, and, for a time at least, Shades will seem a lot like life.” Blake turned at the intersection, barely making the green light. “That is until you realize that everything around you changes and deteriorates. When all of those whom you have befriended begin to decay and become more and more distant.” From the faraway look in Virgil's eyes, it was clear to Blake that Virgil's mind had begun to wander. “That is when you realize that the only ones you really have left are the few of us who work for Dæth and thus remain ourselves – at least to some degree.”

  “You don't sugarcoat it, huh?” Blake asked, halting Virgil's flow of words and forcing Virgil's mind back in the car.

  “Well, my job is to welcome you here and guide you. I am just trying to offer you a few hard-learned lessons of my own for free.” As they drove through the city night, they sat in silence, neither of them feeling the need to speak. Leaving the skyscrapers behind, they drove onto an old bridge that bore a strange resemblance to the Brooklyn Bridge, which Blake had been accustomed to crossing at least twice a day. Blake rolled down his window to feel the chilly autumn air and when he rolled it back up after a couple of minutes, he decided to break the silence.

  “So, seeing as I am invited to visit Dæth, how the hell do I get there?”

  “Well, first I am going to show you w
here you live and then I will leave you to get yourself sorted,” Virgil said, pausing for a second. “Then tomorrow morning you should leave and head for Dæth's mansion in the Empires of Industry. There's a map at your house, but please don't show it around. The other souls will not understand. They need the illusion that they try to uphold.”

  “So I shouldn't draw attention to myself?”

  “Exactly. And for that reason I have made sure that you have a number of appropriate outfits to change between on your journey. You always need to fit in as a Hunter when you travel around Shades. Normal souls never travel outside their own land. They simply cannot, and therefore it is not prudent to draw attention to the existence of the other lands, by – say – looking like that as you travel through the past lands,” Virgil said, gesturing at Blake's suit.

  “I'm guessing that this also means leaving my new car behind?”

  “Yes. Well, you can drive this car all the way through to the border of the Empires. From there you will have to travel by coach, but I will make sure one is there to pick you up. I've left a note explaining the essentials by the map on your desk, and I've taken the liberty of packing a bag so that you have everything you should need for the trip. Now, take a right the first chance you get after the bridge – that should take us down by the promenade to your house.” The promenade was a lot like the area of Brooklyn Heights where Blake had lived the last years of his life. However, there was something fundamentally different that Blake couldn't immediately put his finger on. As they drove along the waterfront, Blake struggled to figure out what it was until it finally dawned on him. There was something distinctly Parisian about it. It was as if he found himself driving along the south bank of the Seine bordering the Latin Quarter in Paris. However, where Notre Dame and Île de la Cité would have been, Blake found only a barge floating by on a dark river much wider than the Seine. On the far side of the river lay a bustling city, which to Blake looked much more like Manhattan than Paris.

  “Hell, I have to say it again. This is not at all what I imagined it to be,” Blake said, breaking both the silence and his own chain of thoughts.

  “No, my friend. It never is. But you will get used to it. Now, just park the car by the curb up ahead,” Virgil said and pointed to a house further down the street. “It's the one over there.” Blake stepped on the clutch and allowed the car to roll along while easing the breaks. The car stopped just outside his new house and they both got out. Virgil walked around the car and shot out his hand to Blake, who was looking up the stairs at the house and admiring the fact that Virgil had taken time to arrange two flowerpots with some kind of white flowers, which were actually gardenias.

  “I have left the house keys under the flowerpot. Take care,” Virgil said as they shook hands.

  “You too. And thank you for all of this.”

  “As I said, don't mention it. I am just doing my job,” Virgil replied with a smile. Then he turned and headed down the street. As Blake walked up the stairs to his new home, he paused and looked back down the street. As Virgil walked away, Blake saw him slowly shift and blend into the shadows that filled the night, and then Virgil was gone.

  Blake bent down by the door and lifted the nearest flowerpot in search of the key. “Fucking typical,” he muttered, finding nothing under the flowerpot but small insects and a little dirt that had fallen through the hole at the bottom of the pot. He found the keys under the other flowerpot and let himself into his new apartment, which was decorated very much like he would have done himself in life – a decor dominated by old, heavy wooden furniture in stylish white rooms, spiced up with elements of modern design. In his study, he found a large map of Shades laid out on his desk, and on top of it was a letter from Virgil.

  Dear Mr. Beck,

  I will be brief, as I will have explained most of what you need to know about Shades by the time you read this. Tomorrow you should leave early and drive west towards the Parted, which you should reach tomorrow evening. This area is inhabited by the souls of the Cold War era and you shouldn't have much trouble blending in. I have booked you a room at the Hotel Marina for your first night. It should be quite a treat for you to revisit the seventies for just a night.

  The next day you should be able to clear the rest of the Parted and reach the borderlands to the Empires of Industry in the early evening. From there you will have to travel by foot for a few miles until you reach the Broken Pail Inn inside the Empires of Industry. Here I have made sure that you will have a room for your second night – and remember to change your clothes in the borderlands. They are in your bag, together with fitting currency and all else you should need.

  From the Broken Pail, I will make sure to have a coach pick you up and take you directly to Dæth's Mansion so you will have no trouble traveling through the Empires of Industry. It should all be marked out on the map, and all your things are packed in the leather bag in your bedroom closet. I believe that is all.

  Have a pleasant journey!

  - Virgil

  V

  In Aquraa Castle the minstrels started playing, filling the grand hall with the songs and tunes of five centuries past – the tunes from their own time. They played with the skill of musicians who had had centuries to master their instruments. The castle was bustling, as all of the most prominent undead were gathered there for this night. The long table where all the guests had been seated for the banquet, with Mr. Ferre at the head of the table, ran half the length of the hall and was covered with the remnants of a magnificent feast. The souls served had been prepared and distilled into drinks and exquisite dishes before serving, for just as no king in the world would ever serve his guests with raw flesh, He would never dream of serving unprepared souls for his guests to devour as if they had just hunted them down themselves. It would be savage, and if there was one thing He was not, it was uncivilized. As the feast ended, the dance floor filled and only a few noblemen remained seated at the table. Among them sat the Earl only a few chairs down from Him, who also remained at the table. The two sat in silence observing the gathering of nobles dancing the minuet, both noticing the beauty of Teresa Ammon dancing gracefully with Bahij Khaleel.

  The corners of Mr. Ferre’s mouth curved slightly in what could have been the indication of a smile as the Earl stood up and excused himself. The Earl's audacious way was one of the reasons why He kept the Earl at court, despite his obvious deficiencies. The Earl offered a slight relief to the staleness of eternity – something to be valued, He thought, as the minuet ended and He watched the Earl walk towards Bahij and Teresa.

  “Thank you for saving me this dance, Mistress Ammon. It is indeed a pleasure and a privilege to have the first dance of the night with the lady of the house,” said Bahij as he bowed to her following the last steps of the minuet.

  “Teresa, please. I insist. And you are most welcome,” she replied with a smile before continuing. “You are such a fine dancer, Bahij, if I may say so.”

  “Thank you, Teresa. As are you, if you will allow me to repay the compliment,” Bahij said, so lost in her presence that he did not notice the Earl approaching.

  “I see that your dance has ended and I endeavor to ask for the mistress's hand so that we may show master Khaleel how a proper European would lead the minuet,” the Earl continued before Bahij found words to retort. “Not that I did not find your performance a splendid attempt for a soul three hundred years too old to have danced the minuet in its time and place.”

  “Sir, I think I would kindly reject your offer just . . .” said Teresa, trying to diffuse the situation.

  “Oh, but Teresa, what a waste of amusement,” Bahij interrupted. “I would surely like to see the boy dance, yet I would be surprised to see that he had time in life to learn to dance, between all his drinking and whoring,” Bahij said before taking another stab at the Earl. “But perhaps in the time of your lordship, mastering the arts of whoring and drinking were considered virtues fit to pursue, just as those of knowledge, common courtesy and good
manners.”

  “Indeed,” replied the Earl, allowing a sly smile to creep across his face. “Perhaps not by all in my time, but certainly by myself. And none were, nor ever have been since, a more virtuous man than I!” Annoyed that Bahij's temper and vanity had bested his natural flair for gallantry, Teresa turned to the Earl.

  ”Very well,” she said. At her reply, the Earl turned on his feet and bellowed to the minstrels on stage.

  “Play us the tune once again, so that I may show how one confidently and truly leads in the minuet!” Disarmed by Teresa's response, Bahij was forced to step back. Fuming with anger, there was nothing he could do but watch the two dance. “Wonderful! As I expected, milady's beauty perfectly matches the grace of her movements,” the Earl noted with great conviction.

  “You flatter me, sir. But still, I have to say that your grace, at least on the dance floor, greatly exceeds my expectations,” Teresa replied with a smile.

  “I always strive to surprise, so I will take that as a compliment, if I may.”

  “You may, indeed,” she said, trying to figure him out as the steps of the minuet drove them apart for a moment. Once the minuet led the two to rejoin hands, the Earl turned his head towards her and spoke in a low voice.

  “I understand that our well-mannered friend has made quite a discovery.”

  “But how?” Teresa replied.

  “Let us, for a second, not pretend that secrets are meant to be kept, and instead set out to mirror the world as it is, rather than how we think it should be,” the Earl said. “I simply desire knowledge, therefore, I seek it where it lies; knowledge is always accessible to those who know where to look.”

  The minuet again tore the two apart, leaving Teresa just a few moments to wonder before the Earl once again took her hand and moved to speak.