“He’s led vamp forces, too,” Jules said. “Didn’t you know?”
“No.”
“It happened a couple of times. Not everybody was thrilled when the current consul came to power, back in the fourteen hundreds, and there were rebellions off and on for a couple centuries. The big ones were dealt with pretty quick, but the smaller ones were harder to stomp out, or even to find. Groups kept getting together, and holing up in the mountains—including some in the master’s old stomping grounds.”
“Romania?”
“Well, it wasn’t called that then. But yeah, the Carpathian Mountains are a bitch if you don’t know them. Or the language. Or the customs. And these guys were locals, meaning they had every pass watched, every cave booby-trapped, every town filled with supporters—”
“Why not just leave them there, then? How much trouble could they make in the Carpathians?”
“Plenty, as it turned out. That was just their base, because it was hard to get to. But they sent people out all the time to hire assassins, buy mercenaries, even talk to other senates, offering to start up a rebellion if they’d invade and take out the new regime. Something had to be done.”
“And that something was Mircea?”
Jules nodded. “He and the consul met back in Venice, when he was really young. I don’t know all the details, but he must have made an impression. ’Cause when the whole thing in Wallachia started up again, she thought of him.”
I frowned, wondering why I’d never heard about this. But then, there was a huge amount about Mircea I’d never heard. Part of that was down to the whole never-having-time-to-talk thing. And part was vampire reserve, which
I swear he’d made into a fetish. Prying any information out of him was a serious challenge.
Especially when he was so very good at changing the subject.
And his vamps had mostly taken after their master. Those less skilled in diplomacy had perfected a wide-eyed innocence or a stony silence, neither of which did me any good. But Jules wasn’t a vamp anymore, so . . .
Jules wasn’t a vamp anymore.
“Tell me about it,” I encouraged him, and he grinned delightedly.
Maybe because people usually spent their time trying to shut him up.
“Of course, he was a lot younger in those days, so he was mostly there as an adjunct to Anthony,” he said, talking about the current European consul. “Did you know he and our Lady were co-consuls back then? They ruled Europe together.”
I nodded.
“Well, her job mostly involved sorting out the political mess her predecessor had left, by basically not doing a damn thing for years. Except taking bribes to let his masters do whatever they wanted, while he almost never even visited his own territory. He liked to live out in the desert, somewhere in Africa, I heard. But the result was a government that basically didn’t govern.”
“Which is why everybody was rebelling.”
“Not everybody.” Jules shook his head. “A lot of people liked the idea of a little law and order for a change, but those who’d been profiting off the old system weren’t so happy. Some masqueraded as supporters, waiting to slip in the knife at the first opportunity. Those were the Lady’s problem. Anthony’s job was to root out the ones in open rebellion, and for that he needed somebody who knew the area.”
“But if Anthony commanded before, why not have him do the same thing now? Why does Mircea—”
“Because he did just as much of the fighting. He didn’t get the praise, of course. You know Anthony—or maybe you don’t,” Jules said, seeing my face. “But trust me, it’s not his style to let someone else steal the glory. But the master did get a senate seat out of it, later on, after the Lady found out that one of the knife-and-rib guys was her closest adviser, and personally eviscerated him.”
He grinned suddenly.
“What?”
“They say she did it at dinner, gutting him and serving up his still-beating heart on a silver salver, right there at the table! What do you think goes best with a dish like that? Mustard, or a nice wine sauce? Or maybe mint—”
He stopped, because the baby had started making those noises again.
“What?” Jules asked, and then remembered. “I didn’t mean it,” he said quickly, although it didn’t help this time. We’d stopped dead in the middle of the concourse, and were in danger of being run over.
“What’s wrong with him?” Jules demanded, prodding the vamp.
“What’s wrong with him? You just told me he died maybe a couple weeks ago! And now he should be somewhere quiet, where he can absorb everything and rest. But instead he’s here”—I gestured around—“in the middle of crazy, scary vamps, one of whom is telling stories about beating hearts and salvers!”