Yes, I had failed, hadn't I? Mortal life should have been enough!
I looked up at the heartless little stars, such mean guardians, and I prayed to the dark gods who don't exist to understand.
I thought of Gretchen. Had she already reached her rain forests, and all the sick ones waiting for the consolations of her touch? I wished I knew where she was.
Perhaps she was already at work in a jungle dispensary, with gleaming vials of medicine, or trekking to nearby villages, with miracles in a pack on her back. I thought of her quiet happiness when she'd described the mission. The warmth of those embraces came back to me, the drowsy sweetness of it, and the comfort of that small room. I saw the snow falling once more beyond the windows. I saw her large hazel eyes fixed on me, and heard the slow rhythm of her speech.
Then again I saw the deep blue evening sky above me; I felt the breeze that was moving over me as smoothly as if it were water; and I thought of David, David who was here with me now.
I was weeping when David touched my arm.
For a moment, I couldn't make out the features of his face. The beach was dark, and the sound of the surf so enormous that nothing in me seemed to function as it ought to do. Then I realized that of course it was David standing there looking at me, David in a crisp white cotton shirt and wash pants and sandals, managing somehow to look elegant even in this attire-David asking me gently to please come back to the room.
"Jake's here," he said, "our man from Mexico City. I think you should come inside."
The ceiling fan was going noisily and cool air moved through the shutters as we came into the shabby little room. A faint clacking noise came from the coconut palms, a sound I rather liked, rising and falling with the breeze.
Jake was seated on one of the narrow saggy little beds-a tall lanky individual in khaki shorts and a white polo shirt, puffing on an odoriferous little brown cigar. All of his skin was darkly tanned, and he had a shapeless thatch of graying blond hair. His posture was one of complete relaxation, but beneath this facade, he was entirely alert and suspicious, his mouth a perfectly straight line.
We shook hands as he disguised only a little the fact that he was looking me up and down. Quick, secretive eyes, not unlike David's eyes, though smaller. God only knows what he saw.
"Well, the guns won't be any problem," he said with an obvious Australian accent. "There are no metal detectors at ports such as this. I'll board at approximately ten a.m., plant your trunk and your guns for you in your cabin on Five Deck, then meet you hi the Cafe Centaur in St. George's. I do hope you know what you're doing, David, bringing firearms aboard the Queen Elizabeth 2."
"Of course I know what I'm doing," said David very politely, with a tiny playful smile. "Now, what do you have for us on our man?"
"Ah, yes. Jason Hamilton. Six feet tall, dark tan, longish blond hair, piercing blue eyes. Mysterious fellow. Very British, very polite. Rumors as to his true identity abound. He's an enormous tipper, and a day sleeper, and apparently doesn't bother to leave the ship when she's in port. Indeed he gives over small packages to be mailed to his cabin steward every morning, quite early, before he disappears for the day. Haven't been able to discover the post box but that's a matter of time. He has yet to appear in the Queens Grill for a single meal. It's rumored he's seriously ill. But with what, no one knows. He's the picture of health, which only adds to the mystery. Everyone says so. A powerfully built and graceful fellow with a dazzling wardrobe, it seems. He gambles heavily at the roulette wheel, and dances for hours with the ladies. Seems in fact to like the very old ones. He'd arouse suspicion on that account alone if he weren't so bloody rich himself. Spends a lot of time simply roaming the ship."
"Excellent. This is just what I wanted to know," said David. "You have our tickets."
The man gestured to a black leather folder on the wicker dressing table. David checked the contents, then gave him an approving nod.
"Deaths on the QE2 so far?"
"Ah, now that's an interesting point. They have had six since they left New York, which is a little more than usual. All very elderly women, and all apparent heart failure. This is the sort of thing you want to know?"
"Certainly is," said David:
The "little drink," I thought.
"Now you ought to have a look at these firearms," said Jake, "and know how to use them." He reached for a worn little duffel bag on the floor, just the sort of beat-up sack of canvas in which one would hide expensive weapons, I presumed. Out came the expensive weapons-one a large Smith & Wesson revolver. The other a small black automatic no bigger than the palm of my hand.
"Yes, I'm quite familiar with this," David said, taking the big silver gun and making to aim it at the floor. "No problem." He pulled out the clip, then slipped it back in. "Pray I don't have to use it, however. It will make a hell of a noise."
He then gave it to me.
"Lestat, get the feel of it," he said. "Of course there's no time to practice. I asked for a hair trigger."
"And that you have," said Jake, looking at me coldly. "So please watch out."
"Barbarous little thing," I said. It was very heavy. A nugget of destructiveness. I spun the cylinder. Six bullets. It had a curious smell.
"Both the guns are thirty-eights," said the man, with a slight note of disdain. "Those are man-stoppers." He showed me a small cardboard box. "You'll have plenty of ammunition available to you for whatever it is that you are going to do on this boat."
"Don't worry, Jake," said David firmly. "Things will probably go without a hitch. And I thank you for your usual efficiency. Now, go have a pleasant evening on the island. And I shall see you at the Centaur Cafe before noon."
The fellow gave me a deep suspicious look, then nodded, gathered up the guns and the little box of bullets, put them back in his canvas bag, and offered his hand again to me and then to David, and out he went. I waited until the door had closed.
"I think he dislikes me," I said. "Blames me for involving you in some sort of sordid crime."
David gave a short little laugh. "I've been in far more compromising situations than this one," he said. "And if I worried about what our investigators thought of us, I would have retired a long time ago. What do we know now from this information?"
"Well, he's feeding on the old women. Probably stealing from them also. And he's mailing home what he steals in packages too small to arouse suspicion. What he does with the larger loot we'll never know. Probably throws it into the ocean. I suspect there's more than one post box number. But that's no concern of ours."
"Correct. Now lock the door. It's time for a little concentrated witchcraft. We'll have a nice supper later on. I have to teach you to veil your thoughts. Jake could read you too easily. And so can I. The Body Thief will pick up your presence when he's still two hundred miles out to sea."
"Well, I did it through an act of will when I was Lestat," I said. "I haven't the faintest idea how to do it now."
"Same way. We're going to practice. Until I can't read a single image or random word from you. Then we'll get to the out-of-body travel." He looked at his watch, which reminded me of James suddenly, in that little kitchen. "Slip that bolt. I don't want any maid blundering in here later on."
I obeyed. Then I sat on the bed opposite David, who had assumed a very relaxed yet commanding attitude, rolling up the stiff starched cuffs of his shirt, which revealed the dark fleece of his arms. There was also quite a bit of dark hair on his chest, bubbling up through the open collar of the shirt. Only a little gray mixed in with it, like the gray that sparkled here and there in his heavy shaven beard. I found it quite impossible to believe he was a man of seventy-four.