Guildhall Guardian: Thamesian #1 (Thamesians) Read online

  "Yes, it's a quiet neighborhood and my landlady is really nice. So, Mister Thamesian, what do you do for a living?"

  She was finally showing some curiosity toward him.

  It was a tough question to answer for someone like him. What could he say that covered the truth: my main business is to guard vampires's graves. I am law and order in the Medieval Quarter which really is a supernatural playground of all kind. It would not do.

  "Officially, I am the Guildhall curator, an English Heritage officer it doesn't mean it's all dusty business, I am also in charge of the social media PR of the Medieval Quarter."

  "And off the record?"

  *

  He had just revealed the exact amount of facts to keep me on edge. He worked for the Guildhall, it explained it all. This posh/curator/publicist whatever, oh my God, he was light years from any man I ever met before. He actually held my attention.

  "Let's just say I have been around for a long time in the Quarter and its people often come to me for help. We all are a small village into the city."

  "Kind of a big boss, are you?" I tentatively teased him.

  "That's one way to say it" he smiled, his golden eyes illuminated by the streetlights.

  "I am very fond of Art actually, it was one of my majors at Uni. You do have a dreamy job."

  Roydon looked straight at me. Adrenaline was rushing through my veins. Fear and excitation. All of that while talking about monuments and art. Well done. I was freaky.

  "It has its drawbacks sometimes." he said.

  "Like what?"

  "Can't travel for very long. The business takes an eternity. Sometimes I feel as ancient as the Guildhall."

  "Well we all let the work get to us'' I said to lift his mood.

  His smile was the most elegant thing I had never seen then. I could get used to make him smile like that.

  "I believe you've arrived."

  That was really short. I looked at my house, the lighted threshold, the minuscule garden over concrete, the red bricks, the green trash. All of that seemed different because of Roydon's presence.

  Even the trivialities of routine, the insignificance of everyday habits were bright and light now. Or it was the side effects of English beer.

  I hopped out of the car.

  "Thanks for the ride."

  What now? I knew that English people were not very fond of proximity. And I was over my head to even think about hugging him, kissing him...what, not kiss stranger you just met in a pub.

  Not kiss Roydon Thamesian. I could do that, totally.

  "Arrivederci Ms. Di Terzi, we will meet again before long." he said with one last yellow stare.

  My legs wobbled as I opened the door and stepped into my boring existence again.

  *

  "My Lord, I am reminding you of your appointement with your brother at two o'clock, tomorrow."

  Roydon willfully sipped his glass of white wine.

  "Yes, I remember. How can I forget dear Brand. He will surely confront me with the wine shortage."

  "May I suggest Sir that we make do with the Stonehenge?"

  "Gemma recommeded the same. Yet we all know that this beer has unpredictable effects. It's a poor substitute. Order some anyway, we can't go on drinking human alcohol, can we?"

  "Certainly not, Sir."

  Roydon opened his laptop. Robert had sent him Gioia's file. After actually meeting her he felt guilty about reading it.

  He shouldn't want to be involved with her in any way. Yet he was plagued with the image of her face, and the passion in her voice when she spoke about what she liked. Completely irrelevant, all humans, all people had interests, why her?

  He deleted G.Di Terzi.docx. Too easy this way.

  Roydon wanted what Gioia was willing to let him know.

  III

  This night I dreamt that Roydon Thamesian was standing behind my window, in the street just under a lamplight. In a Teenage TV-show disturbing way. I woke up to drink some water and when I looked behind the curtains to check, oh hello stray cat lurking behind my window.

  Was I supposed to believe that Roydon Thamesian was a cat-shifter with a predilection for hanging out in suburban, empty streets? Hell, no.

  Attraction leading to over sensitive imagination ergo psychedelic dreams.

  And also I should never eat curry noodles before bedtime.

  "We will meet before long'' if only he hadn't said that.

  You couldn't say that to a girl like me (loner, temporary worker in a foreign country, someone who was left with crumpets instead of real Italian cooking)when you were a man like him (fancy golden-eyed curator and sexy driver).

  I got back to bed grumbling over the odds of ever meeting Roydon again.

  A girl could not dream after all.

  *

  To sleep per chance to dream, would never be for him.

  With the lack of wine, the unwanted souvenirs of his lifetime were beginning to resurface. outbreak of memories

  No one of them wanted that, especially not him.

  Roydon wasn't prepared for that. He understood why humans dabbled in narcotics and drugs. Pain which comes with the ordeal of failures, losses and deaths over and over.

  He had worked harder than ever in that year 1430.

  "By this royal charter, we have been granted the status of mistry of merchants, my friends. The guildhall is strenghtened and well-established."

  He had felt proud then. Roydon Thamesian, grandson of a mere peasant, son of a salmon fisher from Kingston upon Thames, a merchant who thrived among his guild. A family he could feed. A city where his name would live on.

  He had many friends among the other merchants. With his high stature, his extraordinary voice and his amber eyes, the man bewitched female and male alike.

  Now Roydon was used to his social media network, his internet tools and the easiness of having a butler and a grand life- albeit grand responsability.

  Progress and wealth had weakened him in some ways, but he believed himself to be the strongest one of today's Guild.

  His recollections were slicing him open and raw. No doubt the others were suffering too. Brand would be a pain in the arse to have a meeting with.

  He envied the Vampires, his masters, who were sound asleep in their graves.

  *

  One more Guildhall morning and now that I knew who was living behind its walls.

  The fog had grown thicker and the Quarter was deserted of its usual tourists. It was only the middle of the week, there should have been more people. Again I got sucked by the eeriness of the atmosphere.

  I stopped by the graves, the nagging feeling told me I had to check.

  The four tombstones were still, surrounded by green moss and nothing was unordinary.

  What could possibly be the problem? With the graves? Nothing. With me? everything, I think.

  I detoured and entered the graveyard. It stood right before the Cathedral's opening. The graves were nameless, dark stone and nothing particularly remarkable.

  An oblivious pigeon stood over one of them.

  Wait, again the grave ajar. It was the corner of the tombstone, which seemed to have moved.

  Very disturbing!

  Maybe I was fussing over something ridiculous, nobody had noticed anything around here.

  I leaned, could not help it, to peek into the grave. It was pitch dark.

  This country was really getting on my nerves if I was captivated by morbid things like a slightly wonky tomb.

  It creaked. I nearly jumped far enough to fall flat on the pavement. Something had moved inside, oh my God.

  It couldn't be!

  I breathed deeply. No it must have been the wind, an old stone rolling in the grave, a rational happening.

  This Quarter had something going on. No one would believe my Gothic tale but I could swear it wasn't normal.

  Maybe it was all fake, after all Roydon had said he was the PR of the Quarter, maybe he had set up a sort of tourists fright tour, boo, to
attract visitors.

  Telling myself that it was a well-crafted prop, I headed to the office.

  *

  "The pleasure of your company, Brand. Before you ask, I am set to the task, the tracking of the wine delivery is in progress."

  His brother had chosen The House, his favourite, empty at all times, luxuriest restaurant of the city. Of course, there he was in familiar territory, not too estranged from his London surroundings and habits.

  Brand Thamesian, his younger half-brother, busy trader and part-time club owner.

  "Which means?" Brand asked ,his voice a varnish of cultivated boredom.

  "I am doing my best and utmost. I'm sure you have felt some effects of withdrawal. They are much more potent on me, do you think I want to waste time and keep on remembering?"

  "I've done some investigating too. Seems the delivery has departed on time from Leicestershire and was on its way as usual when the track was lost somewhere along the road."

  "I know that Brand! As far as I know the shipment has made it to Cambridgeshire and then seemed to vanish altogether."

  "I have a man in Cambridge, good lad, I'll make a call.''

  "Anyone in London who will be able to find us some supply?"

  "How the hell would I know Roydon? I'm not sufficiently connected with London's underworld. Safer to keep the Guild out of the City if you know what I mean.''

  "Allright, allright."

  Roydon was always surprised to see how well his brother could get along with humans and blend into their world. He had friends for God's sake.

  And of course, otherwise he wouldn't be a Thamesian, he had employees, lackeys, informants, many of them all over the country.

  But sadly he was focused on the human side of things.

  Brand shoved his Iphone in his face and said "And can you tell me what's that?"

  The card's picture. A king of hearts.

  "Gemma's found it. She was worried and with reason. The old way."

  "A message, really? Who uses the cards anymore, when you can email?"

  "It's classical. Someone knew we would read it."

  "And what does it says?"

  "A king enters the Game, unknown threat."

  "You don't appear too much worried. But then Roydon Thamesian must not appear too much anything. What are you eating?"

  "Nothing thank you."

  "You should try the filet mignon."

  "I'd rather be drinking."

  "A claret then and filet mignon."

  Roydon smiled inadvertently. Brand, however annoying and stuck in his ideals of upper-class normality had occasionally the power to light him up.

  "You spend entirely too much time in the company of humans.''

  "Do you have any news of this brother of ours, up North?"

  "Texted me last week, said he will start as a lecturer at Napier University in October...Where is the waiter?"

  ''Slowest chap ever. He'd better hurry, the next train to leave this boring town is at two fifty''

  ''What on Earth happened to you, Brand? The train?''

  "It's barely more than one hour commute to London. 1st class of course, I like it."

  Roydon's laughter echoed in the empty dining room.

  *

  It could have been a very uneventful day at work. It had started with an agonizing amount of office papers and non-stop calls from distressed citizens. Followed by a mediocre lunch of tuna and lettuce.

  Just after three o'clock, while I was trying to reorganize my desk very carefully to create a make-believe working environment, came the mail.

  A note, an actual note was delivered to me and as the mailman said "For Gioia Di Terzi'' I attracted curious glances. It was the first time since I worked here there was something for me. I was childishly excited about it.

  And when I opened the envelope my heart thumped forth against my ribs, as if it were ready to burst. No way.

  Dear Ms. Di Terzi,

  Will I have the pleasure of your company tonight? Expect me to pick you up at eight.

  Sincerely yours,

  R.Thamesian

  Nice rhetorical question. So he had no doubts that I would answer yes. Of course no woman in her right mind would blow him off but still...

  A panicked buzz invaded my head. I would have to run back home immediately after five, wash my hair, scrub my face and decide what clothes to wear. I did not have any decent shoes to begin with, only sneakers and flats already worn out by too much walking. Shops. At least two of them were on my way back to St-John's Road. Black pumps would go with everything.

  One invitation and he had me overthinking it. Maybe I should just do casual.

  Roydon Thamesian was anything but casual.

  Broad-shouldered, voice electric, razor-sharp features, refined and uncasual.

  Nothing that qualified for a laid-back date.

  *

  And here she was, dressed in a black jumper, a light jacket and grey jeans. Her blond her was down, tumbling in thick, blond locks and curls. He wanted to see it tousled.

  Right after Brand's departure Roydon had surrendered to the irresistible draw and send her a note. He had shut out the gallery and organized a private exhibition just for Gioia.

  He wanted her by his side to closure the day. She liked art, was an Art Graduate he had a whole gallery to place at her disposal, convenient right?

  *

  Right on cue after I had air-dried my hair and finished to apply the eyeliner, his car was at the door. Okay, I just had to remain focused, cool-headed and not jump to conclusions.

  Seeing him for the second time left me short of breath.

  Oh crap, he wore a navy blue blazer over a V-neck tee-shirt, and smiled quite nonchalantly as I approached the car. This man could be a fucking model, even if his features were demesurately sharp, he had one of this faces you see only get a glimpse of in the first row of fashion shows. I tried to smoothe my hair and smiled at him like a fangirl.

  I had to get a grip!

  "Did you have a busy day?'' he asked.

  "Super boring. Thanks for the letter it made my afternoon. And you?''

  "Catching up with my brother. The usual family humdrum."

  I could not picture him with a brother. Roydon Thamesian appeared too one of a kind to have relatives, as if he had popped alone on the surface of the Earth.

  "Where are we going?" My curiosity finally outbursting. I had told Mrs. Pickle, my landlady I was going out in town with a friend. No one would know for sure where I could possibly be. It should've freaked me, it thrilled me.

  "Somewhere I thought you would enjoy, being the artistic scoundrel that you are."

  "Say it again" I said.

  "What?"

  "Scoundrel, I like the way it sounds."

  Roydon smiled briefly.

  "So you're also a vocabularian rogue."

  I beamed with delight.

  "Why can't people speak like that all the time?"

  "I fear you might be five or six centuries late for that. Welcome to the United Kingdom of ASAP. Hail 2014."

  "You're old fashioned then not. How do you do this?"

  I felt the air between us sizzle with something electric.

  "My secret, Ms. Di Terzi.''

  *

  He had dismissed the bulk of his bodyguards only to keep his most trustworthy of them, Tennys, who stood by the glass door. The gallery was superbly lit, he could give credits to his manager.

  When he had parked before the Guildhall, Gioia's eyes had widened. She did not expect that. Maybe she would deem him an old bore, obsessed by his workplace and prisonner of the Guildhall's walls.

  It wouldn't be untrue.

  The light of the porch flickered, he would have to see to that.

  "Welcome to the Guildhall." he said but this time it wasn't strictly business and his voice was hoarser than usual.

  He knew the place beguiled her, it had brought them together in the first place.

  *

  It w
as crazy. A private visiting of the Guildhall's art gallery, a place I did not access last time. It was like Christmas morning for me. I passed through the glass door with deference, holding my breath as I stepped into the gallery.

  With a perfect perfunctory gesture his bodyguard had handed us glasses of champagne. Roydon Thamesian knew how to welcome his guests.

  It was a narrow, long room, seemingly neverending, with Piestistic paintings and artefacts.

  Illuminated manuscripts and fresco paintings.

  "As you can see" said Roydon with a gesture of the hand "We own several treasures of the Medieval and Renaissance periods, here you have a Bayeux Tapestry. Most of them are officially state propierty but I also acquire others personally."

  He sounded very posh and very sexy.

  "Legally?"

  Yes Roydon Thamesian would be the kind of guy who outlaws the law and buy paintings for his personal profit. He was totally that guy.

  "At some point, in Art dealing and business, money do outweights legal matters. I am sure you are familiar with the concept. But my goal is to make art affordable and spread it to the public, many children come and visit the gallery."

  I nodded, now entranced by a specific piece.

  "Oh you have discovered The Werl Triptych."

  "Campin's finest work. And you have it with its center panel."

  I extended the hand, completely drooling before this altarpiece, it has been one of my favourite of all times since the beginning of my College studies.

  To have it before my eyes, within reach was unbelievable. I wanted to feel it.

  Roydon's hand caught my wrist gently.

  "Can't touch, you scoundrel."

  Oh my, I had forgotten the most basic law of them all.

  "Sorry. Got carried away."

  Blushing from my blunder, I felt the pressure of Roydon's fingers sear my skin.

  He didn't remove his hand. His skin was cool and nice to the touch.

  We locked eyes for a brief moment and I let my imagination go berserk thinking he was about to back me against the wall. His amber eyes were flickered with green dust. His darker stubble was contouring his lips and his set, chiselled jaw.

  His phone buzzed and he immediately let go of my hand.

  Whoever was calling him had very interesting news for him because it had him absorbed to the point of tension, his face handsomely stern.