The Historian

who was a more, than who he appeared to represent. In his current roll.

 

Sir Geralde, was beside himself with worry and found, he was pacing again. Why hadn’t Yevette told him, where she was going? It had taken him some amount of time, to find things out for himself. He’d phoned down to the restaurant to ask for her, and the manager... ‘what was his name. Martin something or other. Yes that’s right Martin,’ tells him that Yevette, had taken a week off... needing a stress break? Geralde had end up going down there, to talk to the man in person. Some of the things he’d said over the phone... had made no sense. What so ever!

He knew, that something about Yevette’s trip to Belize had been, upsetting to her. Certainly he wasn’t blind, or stupid. But he could never really get her to talk to him about it. He’d tried to not be an old bizzy body, but the fact of the matter was, ‘he was.’ At least, where Yevette were concerned. And well, this did concern her. He’d received sometime ago, a packet from France from a colleague of particular research material he had requested, and by god. He’d needed her to help him, sort through latest genealogical tracing. At least that’s why his day-long search, had started.

With what he’d read the night before, now had him downright panicked.

Now, what he’d found out about Yevette's odd behavior at work. With an imagined phone call from Belize and being found by her manager. In a janitorial closet in the dark? Muttering about graves, and whatnot. It didn’t sound like the Yevette, that he knew. Then to discover, that she’d taken off somewhere with a Hotel Guest and according to his nephew. A Troy Farrell, and then further in house detective work. Leading to the marina and that they had taken off in a boat, into that horrible storm. Good god, they might have drown. With this vision at the forefront, only making Geralde pace all the harder, and say out loud to no one in particular. “Mon Dou, if this man. Has led my Yevette into tragedy,” with his fuming. Slap a hand against his desk top and worriedly finish with, "I will personally, ruin this Troy Farrell person... forever!"

Well, at least he knew that they were heading for Teal Haven Lodge and that it was Ben’s boat, that they’d set out in. That thought was at least some comfort, and he walked around to sit back down, behind his desk. For at least the third time, in the last hour. If they were with the O’Grady’s, they were in good hands. He sigh, It being too late in the evening now, but in the morning. He would use the radiophone, and find out if they’d made it through that terrible storm.

He looked down at the information he’d gotten about Troy Farrell, and it wasn’t much. He worked for Grant-Forbes Investments. A company he knew of and, what he knew... he didn’t like! Although, there wasn’t anything that could be pinned down, about Roger Grant... He was a maverick, and a well known Corporate Pirate and, infamous.

For hostile takeovers...

This, was some of what was bothering him. Rumor had it, that this Troy Farrell. Was here to buy Teal Haven Lodge. Why for gods’ sake, had Ben not accepted his offer and, it was looking as though, they were going to accept GFI’s? He felt maybe, it was his fault for not going out to talk to the O’Grady’s personally, but it just wasn’t his style. To backbite another company. Besides, it would just look as though he were doing it, so that his offer would be accepted. There was that, and he was wondering if this Troy Farrell, were looking into the Fairview as a potential GFI acquisition and if that were the case. Roger Grant, would really be in for a fight. Quite frankly, Geralde thought that his company, was way out of their league and GFI although they did now own several five star Hotels. None, were even close to the order of his Hotel.

Not many people knew that he owned this Hotel outright and, it would be a real paper chase... to find out. Designed, to with stand any kind of hostile bid. As in the end, all the blocks of shares belonged... to him. A voting veto power. Of one!

There were many things, people didn’t know about Marques Geralde de Ballanger. There were some things. That certain people, could never find out. Some of his past history, was very well know that he was a decorated Hero of France. For his involvement with The French Resistance, as a young man in world war two. That before Nazi occupation, he was a young officer in intelligence for the Army, and after occupation. Had fought the Nazi’s clandestinely, wherever possible. Helped Allies trapped behind enemy lines, with networks that he’d organized and, what he was best at. Gathering intelligence, solving puzzles, cracking codes and above all else. Keeping secrets.

The de Ballanger’s, had always been spies and... how they had earned their title from the Crown. Some of course, earned their right through military honor. While at the same time, other relatives. Worked to undermine their enemies in other, more discreet ways. Many belonging to secret societies pledged to this that and the other, throughout history. As, he was...

After the war, Geralde. Became a sleuth, an inspector in the Paris Police Force and had made quite a name for himself, in solving many infamous murder cases. He laughed, when friends thought that Inspector Perot the fictional character, was based on him. Perhaps, he was!

But these thoughts, brought him to the murders. That he could not solve, and the cases that would become his life’s work. The threads of a mystery of untold ages and relegated... to myth and legend. The string of grizzly Paris murders, that had led him to the temptation of looking all together too hard... at that, most impossible thread. His deductions of the day, had caused him untold suffering and none, would take his theories seriously and Geralde. Was laughed out of the Force. Because he would not give up his theory, even when the murders stopped and were buried. Forgotten about. Because to solve them, would be to accept... Vampires, as reality!

After, it became imperative for Geralde. To cover, what he’d realized was a major error and thank god. That the Force, was so embarrassed about his theory it never got out, and again... thank god. Never made public. If it had, he would have been dead. In a matter of days. Death, the manner in which a Vampire keeps secrets. It is the myth that keeps the plague active, its society of parasites engaged in feeding... on its Human host.

This was now, Geralde’s all consuming challenge. His, secret societies pledge. Find the source of this plague. To actually discern the Vampires weakness, and then. Strike, at its heart! For one part of the legend, he believed to be true... that there was one Master Vampire (he was wrong) and, Geralde believed. That it, was now... (living?) in France.

This, he knew above all else. Must be kept a secret.

In his life, as posed historical scholar. He had uncovered a source of Vampire lore and prophecy. Which he believed, to be a true historical record, of its spread through Rome and into Europe. Manuscripts, written by a vampire himself. A Roman nobleman Orthelius Ruaximus, who was to be murdered by his own kind, for this crime. Of the keeping of such a record. According to this manuscript he’d presented, and who had felt eventually sickened. To be a part of the making of this unholy plague. Became a traitor, to his kind. That led, to one of the first full scale assaults, on the then growing vampire colony. By Marc Anthony, and the Third Legion of Rome. Which had thinned this colony considerably, but had not decimated it as was thought. The cult had strong roots, in Rome and their underling Slaves, in upper Society. That where more than willing, but more. Were compelled... to hide them. As Orthelius, were one of these. In want... in thrall.

Cattle...

The numbers were small and Orthelius, granted the extreme honor of being raised from thrall. To fledgling Vampire. To thusly live out two more centuries, moving through the back grounds, of the elite. Influencing the bloody wars, where their kind could freely feed. In times between these conflicts, there were made other ways to have their needs met. Yet craving those times where blood lust, could indulge itself. In the outright taking of souls. But having to instead feed... upon their, Human Cattle. Those thralls, lost in the hope that they may become as their Masters were... all powerful. Immortal... Fiends of the Void.

According to this manuscript, and Orthelius. Little did they understand the pain and suffering. Involved, in this un-godly addiction. Or the madness of involved time, that spread out before them forever. This, more than anything that killed, the Vampire. Time!

At least, those that were weak. The mad ones, culled. Hunted down, and done away with. For the fear of exposure, for the Vampire world. A very strong obsession, apparently...

Then, there were The Reevers... and the much sought after hunt. For those, freak of turn. That were not, but manifest Monster. Locked, in a continual Blood Lust. With no mind left, or reasoning to the craft of covering their kill. An honor... to be chosen, for the hunter killer triad, murder by three. Where at times, multiple triads having to be set out. As the Reever was insanely powerful, but functioning at such rabid metabolism... short lived and, not hard to find. Triads need only to follow the panic and rumors, of monster killings.

Like his Paris case profile, had been. For a short period, wanton bloody slaughter!

Nothing could be worse for their secrecy, than this type of rogue killer. Although mentioned there was no detailed account... of the weapons used, for the killing of their own kind. It was here that myth were created, on the killing of the Vampire. Though silver was still the most favored, decapitation and of course. Stake, through the heart. As far as Geralde, was able to discern. There were no authority, on this topic. Vampire hunters, never lived long enough... to disseminate, this information. Their society had lost more than a few. Leads found, dispatches made and brave souls. That, never came back. To tell the tale of their demise!

These thoughts never failing to engulf Geralde, when he considered them and he tap against the template on his desk to, his most prized possession thinking. Once more, he pick up his magnifying glass and admire, Joan of Arc's own dagger. How many times had he tried to discern the meaning of the Celtic Runes. That were magnificently etched, into the length of its blade. He could not say. Or find, the period of her history... where she had come to have this unique weapon as such a cherished part of her armory. There were mention of it, that it had come to her from Scotland. Along with a contingent, that were to join her forces and fight... along side her. Protect her. Good God... the thought, stopped him cold... an he lean forward in his chair.

The Lad, that had been sent to be her personal guard from Scotland had been, Clan Ferrell... now Yevette. Was with this Troy Daniel Ferrell. Could it be possible, it had only been less than a month. Since his discovery of the itch, that he'd had over Yevette's full name and, Cartier. Being a part of that name, in association. With the name, Richade... The tracing had led to the unmistakable concussion, that his little sparrow Yevette, was a direct descendant of his homelands Historical Legend... The heroine, Joan of Arc!

Again, he lean back and twirl the dagger in his hands. Now, a man arrives in her world... a Ferrell. God Lord, The Stag... My, but all this was really getting, all in the all... very interesting! The Stag, was the Ferrell coat of Arms. They'd called the man that guard her, so devotedly... The Stag, and a fearsome warrior was he and his fierce dedication, to Joan. Legendary. There were thoughts, that were forming in Geralde's mind, that were even amazing to him. Might had this very dagger been brought to her by him, from his people.

Oddly, Geralde's fears for Yevette melted. She was in in very capable hands. He ponder this and knew, that bigger things were afoot. Somehow? Their society of no name were also on alert and why his fears for Yevette, being so real in their context. In first... his learning that Yevette had had some trouble in Belize. Then to be notified, that there had been a huge massacre there, and a compound of Vampires were virtually wiped out. Well, which in its self, were good news for their side!

              Just who, had it within their power... to do so?

Reviews

[Angel Bird]

Now here we are at a turning point I'd have never expected. Vampires - maybe - wow!
As for Yevette to be related with 'Jeanne d'Arc' (Joan of Arc), I had suspected myself something like that, for you described her in earlier chapters so that one can see the similarities, plus her mother with the name Jeanne...
You've got me there! I am flabbergasted! With this chapter you really surprised me! Thumb up!