Boston, October 1861.

“I don’t like this at all, Ariane. We have seen war before, you and I, down in Mexico. This will be nothing like it.”

Sheridan grumbles as we pass the door leading into the Boston vampire compound. The three-winged edifice was expanded with cliffside structures overlooking the river to accommodate the rising number of night denizens.

“How do you figure?” I reply with curiosity. Although he seldom voices his opinion, Sheridan has proven adept at getting a feel of things, especially when it relates to humanity’s darker emotions.

“You remember the caning of senator Sumner?”

I frown, staring in his honest brown eyes. Thankfully, being a Vassal seems to have slowed the aging of the brave Texan, and only the barest of grey can be seen in his moustache.

“Yes, I do. It occurred some time ago, no? Five years, or so?”

“Yes. A representative beat a senator with a cane. A cane! During a session. Because he had dared to ridicule the institution of slavery. I knew, then, that it could only end in blood. When violence is left free to roam without criticism from the party of the offender, then you know that both sides have stopped seeing the other as people worthy of the protection of the law. There are two sides divided by a burning hatred, and it will only end when one of the fighters lies bloody on the ground.”

I sigh. I honestly believed that it would not come to war, and that slavery would die out eventually. I even fully supported the Ekon clan in helping as many of their followers as possible to escape north by opening my lands to the Underground Railroad. Now, it appears that ideology has ignited passions to the point of no return.

I know of civil wars from my father. Among all the deleterious events that can affect a country, war is the worst, and out of all the wars, civil war is the worst. Civil wars turn brother against brother, friend against friend. They sap the strength of nations and fragment families. Neighbors no longer trust each other. Communities fracture and die. After such a long prelude, the bloodbath will be cataclysmic. It would take, to calm things down, an ability to compromise that does not exist in the hearts of men.

“Will you do something?” Sheridan asks. His expression remains carefully guarded.

I know what he means. He wonders if we, as a community, will intervene. We do not have enough weight to stop the conflict, that would be impossible. We do, however, have the possibility to support one side and tip the scales in their favor.

“Only if we can reach a consensus. The only worse thing that could happen now is a vampire civil war on top of the rest.”

The Watcher knows that we will have our hands full in the immediate future.

We move into the main building. Wilhelm the butler welcomes us from behind his desk, and I look left to see the main lobby filled with tables hosting a plethora of mortals, Vassals and Servants all of them.

“I’ll be at the bar,” Sheridan says with a subdued tone. He walks to Melitone who smiles when she sees him. I walk the corridor to the secured access to the council chamber.

The walk down is more solemn than before this time, and everyone arrives before the official starting time, including a harried-looking Melusine. Thirty-one wardens and their seconds standing behind them sit in a circle, with territories ranging from Mexico to Quebec, and from the Atlantic to the Pacific. Only twenty-two are lords and ladies. Some of the wardens, like me, are still Masters. Constantine is last to arrive, though he is, as always, strictly on time. He strides to his stone chair and addresses us without preamble.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I will break tradition by starting with an important statement. Today, Spain, France, and the United Kingdom have gathered in London to discuss a military intervention in Mexico for the official purpose of debt collection. I have received word from reliable sources that the French do not intend to withdraw from Mexico, and furthermore that the intervention itself was pushed forward by a certain Mask faction hostile to the Accords. The armies of Europe will make landfall within the end of the year, and they will bring with them the forces of Mask. War is upon us.”

Whispers spread through the room. I do not react, as Sephare is the source, and she sent me word before the meeting.

“Now, I hope many of you have read the war provisions of the Accords. I am as of now declaring a state of emergency. You may no longer communicate with your allies, trade partners and so on if they are part of the Expansion Faction of Mask. You may no longer invite them on our soil, and when they attack, you are duty-bound to join us in the defense of our lands.”

The whispers disappear and the implications are made clear.

“I know that some of you might be reluctant to break ties. I know that some of you see this land as a temporary position, and wish to rejoin Europe soon. I will be generous. In a week, there will be another conclave. Those of you who wish to change allegiance can signify their choice by not attending. Please note that this will be considered a declaration of war, but war within the boundaries of the standard customs. You will have one more week to leave the continent with whatever you can take with you. If, however, you stay and it turns out that you are helping the enemy, you will receive the treatment of a rogue. I hope this is clear.”

Death for the transgressors. A suitable punishment for abusing Constantine’s generosity.

With his message unambiguously stated, Constantine straightens his spine.

“I may not be the smoothest politician, but I know myself enough to realize that, so far, we have not been treated seriously. The Accords have held because they were a convenient way to regulate relationships between vampires from very different backgrounds, and with very different expectations of the life they would find here. To many, our rules were a means to an end, and our community, merely the result of circumstances.”

Constantine’s demeanor turns unusually cold. I understand his purpose. He wishes to remind everybody that he is still a Progenitor, one of the most powerful vampires in existence, and certainly one of world’s topmost archmages.

“When you go back to your fiefs to make your decision, I want you to remember that the Expansion Faction does not come here to add us to a healthy community. They are here to reap the harvest of our labor, and to absorb our resources in their pursuit of forceful unification. All that you have built here will be taken and employed, up to and including your own freedoms, because a faction on the path of total war acknowledges only two groups: their subjects, and their enemies. Do not mistake their promises and bargains for anything more than the offer of a fancier collar around your necks. We, on the contrary, are a known quantity. You know me, you know the rules, and you know that they do not stand in the way of whatever purpose you pursue. This is the Accord’s first true test. Are you willing to step up and defend what we stand for, or are you willing to roll over for whatever scraps the Expansion Faction throws your way? You have until next week to decide. That is all.”

We do not speak. Constantine has proven himself unusually eloquent. I suspect the delicate touch of Sephare and Melitone.

“The next order of business is the Civil War that just started. I will let Lady Sephare take the floor and share with us the results of her work,” he says.

Constantine sits down, and Sephare stands up. She waves her hand. The smooth fabric of the titanic stone table between us grows liquid and a three-dimensional map of North America appears, with the United States split in three different entities.

I admit to being much impressed. This is an incredible feat of magical engineering, and I had no idea that we were equipped with such an excellent tool. Like the others, I stare at the display before us. The territories going from Texas to the south-west, to Virginia in the east, are contained in a single entity named ‘Confederate States of America’. The other side, much larger, is qualified as ‘the Union’, while four states are labelled as ‘Border States’. They form an horizontal line separating the two antagonists.

Sephare’s demeanor changes from intimate to that of the university lecturer. Her voice fills the cave with clear diction.

“First, I would like you to understand that this conflict is like nothing we have experienced here before. The United States army only numbered a bit above fifteen thousand two years ago. Now, upwards to a hundred thousand men are being rallied on each side, only limited by the inadequate means to train and equip them. It is too early to say who will have the advantage, yet right now, we can already tell that both sides will be formidable. They both have access to West Point graduates and Mexican war veterans, they both have a large amount of volunteers. In the long term, we believe that the Union will gain the advantage through their overwhelming industrial production if the conflict lasts. On the other hand, many of the Union recruits are city dwellers who may need time to reach peak physical condition.”

Sephare waves again and the border states turn grey.

“Right now, those are states that refuse to leave the union but still allow slavery. We expect them to become fully absorbed within the next year.”

The Union states turn grey.

“The victory condition for the Union is to invade and disband the confederacy. Nothing short of occupation will suffice.”

Now, the southern states are lit.

“The victory condition for the south is twofold. They can crush the northern armies to victory, however we do not believe this outcome likely. Even if they won battle after battle, their weak infrastructure would not let them maintain the supply lines for long campaigns in the north. The other solution, and the most likely to occur, is for them to fight the Union to a standstill. They only need to last until the next elections. If war weariness prevails and Lincoln is soundly defeated, they can sue for peace. This would split the United States in two.”

We consider this possibility in silence. If this were to happen, the tension between the two entities would surely lead to another conflict down the road, if only because the north would actively support escaping slaves with no rules in place to stop them anymore.

“No matter what happens, the war will be extremely bloody due to the ideological nature of the conflict and the lack of strategic objectives. Blood will be shed, ladies and gentlemen, and a lot of it. This cannot be avoided. The question remains, then. What do we do? I have spoken.”

Sephare sits down and Constantine replaces her. The map of the land still lies before us in liquid obsidian, the border new and unsettling.

“We normally do not intervene in mortal conflicts when armies meet on the field of battle, and territory is exchanged by treaty. There are, however, precedents for taking a more active part.”

There are also precedents for such an intervention to trigger a vampire war, one we cannot afford right now.

“As such,” Constantine continues, “I suggest that we vote on a resolution. When we reconvene in a week, I will allow proposals supported by more than three Wardens to be presented in fifteen minutes or less. We will then vote on them in elimination rounds. The final resolution must receive more than two-thirds of total votes to be accepted.”

Constantine sets himself up for a political deadlock. At the same time, a two-thirds majority means that even detractors will hesitate to oppose it, should it be approved. My only fear is that the resolutions and their support will draw across clan lines. If this happens, the Accords will have failed as a community. We will merely be the same old bloodlines using the assembly as a political tool to trade influence. Only if a consensus is reached will the American vampires exist as a distinct entity.

Constantine may have caused me to suffer horribly before we met, but now I find myself more and more tied with him as a supporter. I will depose him in the end, of course, but for now we must work together so that a crown is left to usurp.

Constantine dissolves the assembly soon after. We file out and gather in clumps across the massive complex to discuss and scheme. Soon, Vassals and employees race through the corridors, bearing missives and invitations. I quickly make contact with my closest allies.

“Ari, my sweet little peach, the time has finally come,” Nami says as we gather in her salon. Our group consists of the Roland members who have made their seats in the North east and Canada, the Ekon, the Natalis, Sephare’s Hastings, and the one Vanheim Master here. And me, of course. The Cadiz who usually sit on the fence are notoriously absent, as are the new generation of Lancasters. Some of our more lukewarm supporters have also made themselves scarce, an unwise move. To leave now without plotting shows that they will take Constantine’s offer to leave the Accords. Staying for an hour would at least raise some doubts and give them more options. Ah well, perhaps I am missing something.

“Is Lady Sephare not joining us?” the Vanheim Master asks. His name is Vadim, and he is strangely effeminate with a narrow face and a thin frame.

“She will return after she is done with Constantine’s summons,” I tell them. The information circulates in the room, everybody understanding the implicit message. Constantine supports us who might very well call ourselves the Union faction. The backing of the Speaker gives us an edge.

“We need to start working on that resolution,” one of Sephare’s seconds notes. We agree and add ideas and conditions to a list, with the optics of bringing the neutrals to our side. Sephare eventually joins us and informs me that Constantine wishes to talk. I agree, and tell her one last thing.

“I want to negotiate with Lord Adam of the Roland.”

Sephare shows some surprise at the mention of a man who sued me in the past.

“I seem to remember that you two have been at odds on several occasions?”

“Yes, and now I possess a decent knowledge of his assets and priorities. I believe that I have a chance at convincing him to switch sides.”

Sephare offers me one of her rare genuine smiles.

“I did not plan to try and convince him. I thought him a lost cause! All the better if you can manage it. Do let me know how the negotiations go.”

“Certainly.”

I leave the impromptu reunion, passing several couriers on my way down. Sheridan has left and I do not know where he went, but that is fine. I ask a maid from Wilhelm to carry my request for a meeting to Lord Adam, and in the meanwhile, walk to Constantine’s office. His two bodyguards and renegade Rosenthal secretary let me through the very same moment. The Speaker awaits at his desk, fingers intertwined as usual. More documents litter his desk than I can remember, while the bookshelves lining the wall show more disorder than usual. Our leader has been busy.

“Ah, Ariane, excellent. I have a mission for you, if you accept it. You still have that, ahem, proof-of-concept ship, do you not?”

I rejoice in my heart. Could it be? After all those years?

“Yes, I do. A repurposed brig with a light plating and a full complement of Dvergur guns.”

Six of them, to be precise. Five more than necessary. Only the stoutest warships can withstand several volleys of Dvergur-engineered incendiary projectiles.

“And is it operational?”

“It most certainly is.”

“Good! Good. You see, Sephare and I have kept track of those elements we deemed, shall we say, unreliable. One of the northern lords has secretly prepared a port and base in the more remote parts of Nova Scotia, far to the north east.”

“I know where Nova Scotia is.”

“In any case, we think that a contingent of invaders are set to arrive there. Two days ago, we received two pieces of information from both Mask and Eneru informers, concerning a ship leaving Dublin and carrying a curious cargo.”

“Do you want me to intercept it?”

“Yes, and make sure that they do not reach our shores. Although, if possible, do not kill them. I would prefer not to create bad blood too early in the conflict.”

“I will need more information if I am to find them.”

“I do not have their exact route, but I have prepared an artefact that will help you find them.”

“A vampire finder?”

“No, the aura of vampires does not shine brightly enough to detect them. However, there is another kind of aura that is harder to miss.”

I am struck with memories of a previous boarding.

“Fae aura.”

“Precisely. The assailants will most certainly carry vials of fae blood into battle. Most of them do. We do not share their resources.”

And I am partly to be blamed for that.

“As such, I will prepare an artefact that will guide you to their location, provided that you are close enough. It should not be difficult since we know their destination. Will you do this for us?”

“Yes.”

I do not ask payment for a task that serves our cause.

“Thank you. Be sure to stay in touch with Lady Sephare so that we can keep you apprised of new developments. Will you be departing soon?”

“Tomorrow, yes. I have one more errand to run.”

Lord Adam’s borrowed study comes in shades of blue. Like all other private quarters here, the room is both tastefully decorated and sterile. The Roland Lord and his sibling welcome me in casual shirts, and with a pot of coffee. A positive sign.

“I hope you do not begrudge me the presence of my twin,” Adam starts.

“Not at all. I understand that you make most decisions together.”

“Indeed. So, you wanted to see us. We find ourselves curious as to why, as we have, shall we say, competing interests.”

“Not necessarily,” I reply as I take a sip of coffee. A bit too cold. Oh, well.

The delay affords me what I wanted. The pair sits down to face me across a coffee table painted in shades of gold, a sign that I have gained their attention. For now, only politeness affords me their time. If I want more, I will have to be convincing.

“Correct me if I am mistaken. You have acres upon acres of plantations, and the slaves to work them. I would say that you have between one thousand five hundred and two thousand five hundred at any time. The work they provide is necessary to make your land profitable.”

I pause to assess their reactions. If my estimates are too far off, they will display signs of impatience.

“Go on,” the second twin says.

“There are two scenarios. If the north wins the war, the slaves will be emancipated, and you will lose a fortune in assets. If, however, the south achieves independence, you will still bleed people as they escape north where no hunters will come seek them.”

“Unless the confederates include a provision in the peace settlement.”

“You do not need to be Napoleon to see how unlikely such a victory would be. The north’s industrial production outperforms the south by an order of magnitude, armament-wise.”

And I am partly responsible.

They remain silent, which I take as a ‘maybe’.

“I can offer a third path, one that would be more to your advantage than the two others. I will pay you two hundred dollars per slave over a period of two years in quarterly installments if you agree to free them now, guaranteed by contract and backed by the Rosenthal.”

Lord Adam scoffs.

“A slave is worth much more than this. Some go as high as two thousand per head.”

“For prize fighters or light-skinned fancy ladies, perhaps, not farmhands. Besides, you would not be losing them. You merely need to provide them with decent wages and humane living conditions, and the overwhelming majority will stay on account of not knowing any better.”

Freedom is pointless if it leads to immediate starvation, and the south will remain inhospitable to freedmen for a long time.

“Can you really afford four hundred thousands dollars over two years?” the other twin asks with curiosity.

“Yes.”

My confidence comes from the current circumstances. I am one of the country’s foremost weapons manufacturers, with access to Dvergur engineers, and the improved results they provide. Simply put, the team Loth sent brought with them an inexpensive method of steel-making they call the improved Bessemer process. Better raw materials and standardized production practices allow me to produce the best cannons this side of the Atlantic, at an affordable price. Even if my goods were not inherently superior, I could still sell them to the army thanks to a valuable ally.

Sephare has absolute control over the Ordnance Department.

As such, the Illinois Armament Manufactory already received massive orders of guns and cavalry rifles, enough for me to afford the massive bribe I am planning. My only surprise came from infantry rifle purchases. I expected my improved needle guns to flood the market. Instead, most states purchased a cheaper model from Massachusetts with less than half the firing rate to equip the troops they were training. Pah! Worse, the soldiers already deployed on the frontline use antiquated smoothbore muskets, as if we were still fighting the British! Disgrace. The world must be laughing at us.

“An intriguing proposal. I did not expect the local Devourer to try and buy our support.”

“I am not so much bribing you as developing a future partnership. Take my proposal as a way to compensate you for the losses incurred.”

“Sharing the burden of modernization…” Adam continues.

I am glad that we see eye to eye.

“Precisely.”

“It leaves us with a major problem,” the other twin says, “you see, one of our major sources of income is slave trading.”

I force myself to take another sip of coffee to mask my surprise. I did not know that they had an interest in this sector as well, despite my inquiries. This is problematic.

The two lords exchange a glance. Eventually, the twin nods to Adam, who in turn addresses me.

“We find your offer interesting, but as Adrien mentioned, this merely covers the losses of one part of our business. A Confederacy victory remains the preferable outcome.”

What to do? I have no solution. Slave-fuelled agriculture can transition into standard agriculture, but slave trading itself cannot be replaced since it will be entirely illegal. I need to find something else. Can the circumstances help me? How else can I compensate them?

Oh.

Of course.

“There is one aspect of war that can only go one way,” I tell them, certain of my guess, “the control of the ocean. General Winfield Scott’s plan to blockade southern ports cannot fail in the short term, and you, gentlemen, export a great many things.”

I know that they sell cotton, sugar, and tobacco abroad. No matter what, their trade lines will be disrupted for a long time, condemning their export-focused business to failure.

“What do you propose?” the second twin, Adrien, asks.

I do not miss it. Their perfect immobility and contained auras do not reveal anything of their inner thoughts, which means that I have hit the nail on the head. Lady Sephare taught me this little trick, that old ones who lack practice increase their control over themselves when they want to hide something. They have taken the bait.

“An exclusive agreement. I will purchase your cotton in bulk for the next three years at pre-war market rate. All of it.”

“All of it?”

“Yes. In return…”

“In return we emancipate our slaves and support the Union faction in the coming vote.”

“No, you support the Union faction for the duration of the war, and at least three years. Whichever lasts the longest.”

“The duration of the war or two years,” Adam corrects.

That is fine.

“Open support. You let it be known that you are both on our side.”

Once again, the twins exchange a silent glance.

“We find your proposal interesting… but we need to discuss it in private before we agree to your terms. I hope you understand.”

Of course. No Lords and Ladies agree to anything important without pondering the question for at least a day. A tentative agreement is all I can hope for now.

“I do. Before I leave, there was one last thing,” I say as I stand up.

“We are the curators of this world, or shepherds, if you prefer. We are denied innovation and artistry, but we are granted cold intellects, and long-term mindsets to offset the loss. I would argue that slavery holds you back economically and socially, but I know that you may remain unconvinced. Instead, I will ask you to examine what your instincts tell you. Everything we value in humans, the spark that leads them to greatness and insanity alike, it cannot express itself when body and mind are chained. You are missing out on much by lording over cattle instead of people, and your own nature should tell you that much. We do not hunt cows. We do not hang cotton bales as trophies on our walls. I can provide the machines to replace the hands you need to increase your wealth, while those hands can work on the drawing board or the canvas instead. Consider it, then come back to me. We need not be enemies on this.”

I expect silence and even ridicule. Instead, Adam laughs and Adrien smiles lighty.

“I did not expect you to call on our heart, Ariane of the Nirari. My advisers were right. Devourers truly are creatures of emotion, after all. Very well. As a reward for your refreshing honesty, I will be frank with you in return. We have considered transitioning out of labor-intensive agriculture for some time. The details will have to be hammered out to both parties’ satisfaction, but we are most definitely interested,” the Warden says.

“Can you extend your offer to others on our side? With the Natalis and the Canadians, you already have a majority, but if you want a true unification, you will need to leave no one behind,” his sibling continues.

“I cannot afford to fund the entire south personally, however, perhaps I can find others willing to assist.”

“That would be appreciated.”

After a few more polite exchanges, I return to Sephare to share what was decided. She agrees to take over the negotiations since I will be out, though she mentions that not all of the southern lords will be willing to budge. Some, after all, come from feudal societies. Some Rolands will refuse out of sheer stubbornness. They cannot envision an end to a peasant-centric society.

After I am done, I return to the lobby and find Sheridan snoring softly on a leather couch. I come closer and catch a whiff of him.

My, what a busy…

Wait a minute.

“Sheridan, wake up!” I say as I shake him and grab the hand already grabbing for his gun.

“Wh — Ariane? What’s the matter with you?”

“Did I not leave you in deep conversation with Melitone?”

The scent of fear, removed of its spice since the ranger is no prey. Eyes to search for an exit.

“Perhaps?”

“Are you banging the Speaker’s sister?” I hiss, outraged, “Do you have any idea…”

Sheridan gently removes my hand from his shoulder and gives me one of his frank, no-nonsense gazes.

“Ariane dear, we might be partners in our quest to rid the world of evil…”

So he keeps believing.

“...but that doesn’t mean that you get a say in whichever romantic partner I choose, lady. Besides, we’ll soon be as busy as a one-legged man at an ass-kicking contest, so cut me some slack, will you?”

He… argh! And I can say nothing because he is a Vassal.

“Language…” I weakly retort.

“What are we gonna do anyway? Where is the old man sending us this time?”

“I am not his lap dog!”

“Right. So, what are we supposed to do? Anything illegal?”

“Grmbll.”

“Speak up, Ariane.”

“Piracy!”

“So, does that bad language ban last for the entire operation, or?”

“No need to be a smart-... no need to be so snide, Sheridan. Let us away!”

Two weeks later, off the coast of Nova Scotia.

The Cormoran bobs up and down as the powerful entities on its deck look at me with a mix of wonder and bafflement. I place the enchanted loudspeaker before my lips and greet them in a proper, appropriate fashion.

“Is this thing working? Oh, it is! Ahem. YOU HAVE RUN AFOUL OF THE DREAD PIRATE ARIANE, QUEEN OF THE WAVES, YOU SORRY BUNCH OF SALTY SEA DOGS! Yes, what is it Olaf? It is? Excellent. Ahem. MY GUNNER INFORMS ME THAT THE CANNONS ARE READY. BEHOLD THAT ROCK OVER THERE!”

Silence spreads over the calm seas as the powerful warriors exchange befuddled words.

“Just one moment please, we were aiming for your ship, so we need to reposition. Behold, the might of the Spirit of Dalton! Are you done already? I can’t— Ah, excellent. I said, behold the might of—”

BOOM!

A cataclysmic deflagration drowns all other noises, and a ten-paces long plume of fire emerges from the side of our ship. Far behind and to the side of the enemy ship, a shard of granite rising from a small islet explodes in a cascade of flaming debris. A dark plume rises from the crater, all that remains of the exposed stone. Smoldering fragments rain down on the ocean’s waves.

“Nice shot, Olaf, by the Watcher that rock never saw it coming. Shut up, Sheridan, I handle the threats. What do you even know of proper pirating? You are not even wearing a tricorn and you expect me to take you seriously? Ahem. Where was I? Oh, yes! Bring down your sails, drop anchor, and send someone to parlay or we will fire upon your vessel. You saw what our guns can do. I invite you to consider the structural integrity and flammable nature of your ship and reach the logical conclusion. Also, our hull is warded, so no funny business. If I see anything suspicious, you will get to visit the local seaweeds. Am I clear?”

I see some activity on the deck, including two vampires arguing with each other with one waving at the column of smoke rising nearby. Eventually, the reasonable one seems to win the argument as his second throws his hands in anger. The head vampire lowers a skiff and rows to us. On their ship, nothing stirs.

I decide to wait by returning to my throne, which I placed underneath the mizzen mast (the one just after the biggest mast). I place my revolver on a nearby barrel and invite a pair of young sailors to resume their strange, leggy dance for my own entertainment.

“Is this necessary?” Sheridan grumbles.

“I could sing,” I reply.

The grumpy ranger does not call my bluff. Eventually, the Mask vampire gets close enough for the negotiations to begin.

“Please do not shoot, there are Vassals aboard!” he explains in a pleading voice.

Blimey.

Eventually, I am forced to agree to let them land under the condition that they all depart soon after. They do not have the blood and food supply for a safe trip back. I allow them to do so in their secret port, and the meeting with their renegade Accords host is somewhat awkward. Two days later, they are gone with the express condition that they may not engage in hostile activities with us for the next five years.

I would call that a complete success.

“Ariane, reality is not like your saucy books. Tricorns are not necessary to engage in high-sea banditry.”

“Sheridan, I recall you saying, if it’s stupid but it works, it ain’t stupid. Therefore, wear the damn hat.”