entirely from human bones. If I had to guess, I’d say this is what happened to several of the humans who braved this place during the Great Insurrection. Skulls served as finials high on either side of his head. Another set formed armrests over which each of his furry hands curved.
But this goblin would have stood out without the throne, and the obvious deference with which the other freaks treated him. Hewas tall for a gob – probably my height when standing – and his shoulders were broad, his canine teeth large and sharp. The firelight made his fur look like warm caramel spotted with chocolate. One of his dog-like ears was torn and chewed-looking, the edges scarred. He was missing an eye as well, the thin line of the closed lid almost indistinguishable in the fur of his face. Hard to believe there was anything aristocratic about him, yet he could be the son of a duke, or even the Prince of Wales. His mother would have to be of rank as well. Did they ever wonder what had become of their monstrous child?
While thousands of humans died with every incarnation of the plague – which loves this country like a mother loves her child – aristocrats survived. Not only survived, they evolved. In England the plague-born Prometheus Protein led to vampirism, in Scotland it caused lycanthropy.
It also occasionally affected someone who wasn’t considered upper class. Historically, members of the aristocracy had never been very good at keeping it in their pants. Indiscretions with human carriers resulted in the first halvie births, and launched the careers of generations of breeding courtesans. Occasionally some seemingly normal human woman gave birth to a half or fully plagued infant. These children were often murdered by their parents, or shipped off to orphanages where they were shunned and mistreated. That was prior to 1932’s rebellion. Now, such cruelties were prevented by the Pax – Pax Yersinia, which dictated that each human donated a sample of DNA at birth. This could help prevent human carriers from intermarrying. It also provided families and special housing for unwanted plagued children.
By the time Victoria, our first fully plagued monarch – King George III had shown vampiric traits – ascended the throne, other aristocrats across Britain and Europe had revealed their truenatures as well. Vampires thrived in the more temperate climes like France and Spain, weres in Russia and other eastern countries. Some places had a mix of the two, as did Asia and Australia. Those who remained in Canada and the Americas had gone on to become socialites and film stars.
But they were never safe, no matter where they were. Humans accounted for ninety-two per cent of aristocratic and halvie deaths. Haemophilia, suicide and accidents made up for the remaining eight.
There were no recorded goblin deaths at human hands – not even during the Insurrection.
I approached the battle-scarred goblin with caution. The flickering torches made it hard to tell, but I think recognition flashed in his one yellow eye. He sniffed the air as I approached. I curtsied, playing to his vanity.
“A Vardan get,” he said, in a voice that was surprisingly low and articulate for a goblin. “Here on the official?”
Half-bloods took the title of their sire as their surname. The Duke of Vardan was my father. “Nothing official, my lord. I’m here because the goblin prince knows everything that happens in London.”
“True,” he replied with a slow nod. Despite my flattery he was still looking at me like he expected me to do or say something. “But there is a price. What do you offer your prince, pretty get?”
The only prince I claimed was Albert, God rest his soul, and perhaps Bertie, the Prince of Wales. This mangy monster was not
my
prince. Was I stupid enough to tell him that? Hell, no.
I reached into the leather satchel I’d brought with me, pulled out the clear plastic bag with a lump of blood-soaked butcher’s paper inside and
But this goblin would have stood out without the throne, and the obvious deference with which the other freaks treated him. Hewas tall for a gob – probably my height when standing – and his shoulders were broad, his canine teeth large and sharp. The firelight made his fur look like warm caramel spotted with chocolate. One of his dog-like ears was torn and chewed-looking, the edges scarred. He was missing an eye as well, the thin line of the closed lid almost indistinguishable in the fur of his face. Hard to believe there was anything aristocratic about him, yet he could be the son of a duke, or even the Prince of Wales. His mother would have to be of rank as well. Did they ever wonder what had become of their monstrous child?
While thousands of humans died with every incarnation of the plague – which loves this country like a mother loves her child – aristocrats survived. Not only survived, they evolved. In England the plague-born Prometheus Protein led to vampirism, in Scotland it caused lycanthropy.
It also occasionally affected someone who wasn’t considered upper class. Historically, members of the aristocracy had never been very good at keeping it in their pants. Indiscretions with human carriers resulted in the first halvie births, and launched the careers of generations of breeding courtesans. Occasionally some seemingly normal human woman gave birth to a half or fully plagued infant. These children were often murdered by their parents, or shipped off to orphanages where they were shunned and mistreated. That was prior to 1932’s rebellion. Now, such cruelties were prevented by the Pax – Pax Yersinia, which dictated that each human donated a sample of DNA at birth. This could help prevent human carriers from intermarrying. It also provided families and special housing for unwanted plagued children.
By the time Victoria, our first fully plagued monarch – King George III had shown vampiric traits – ascended the throne, other aristocrats across Britain and Europe had revealed their truenatures as well. Vampires thrived in the more temperate climes like France and Spain, weres in Russia and other eastern countries. Some places had a mix of the two, as did Asia and Australia. Those who remained in Canada and the Americas had gone on to become socialites and film stars.
But they were never safe, no matter where they were. Humans accounted for ninety-two per cent of aristocratic and halvie deaths. Haemophilia, suicide and accidents made up for the remaining eight.
There were no recorded goblin deaths at human hands – not even during the Insurrection.
I approached the battle-scarred goblin with caution. The flickering torches made it hard to tell, but I think recognition flashed in his one yellow eye. He sniffed the air as I approached. I curtsied, playing to his vanity.
“A Vardan get,” he said, in a voice that was surprisingly low and articulate for a goblin. “Here on the official?”
Half-bloods took the title of their sire as their surname. The Duke of Vardan was my father. “Nothing official, my lord. I’m here because the goblin prince knows everything that happens in London.”
“True,” he replied with a slow nod. Despite my flattery he was still looking at me like he expected me to do or say something. “But there is a price. What do you offer your prince, pretty get?”
The only prince I claimed was Albert, God rest his soul, and perhaps Bertie, the Prince of Wales. This mangy monster was not
my
prince. Was I stupid enough to tell him that? Hell, no.
I reached into the leather satchel I’d brought with me, pulled out the clear plastic bag with a lump of blood-soaked butcher’s paper inside and
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