Millbank Parish Church
November 1775
Attending one's own funeral is a surprisingly strange experience. However, there comes a time when any immortal has to take steps to avoid his longevity becoming too obvious, and I had decided that mine had arrived a few months before. I think what had sealed it for me was a comment from the Duc de Rochefort the last time I had been in Paris. He remembered me from when he was a child in the 1740s, and he made a point of saying that I looked exactly the same in 1775 as I had back in 1745.
Please understand that at that time the youth spells that mages commonly use now were still fairly experimental, and while I was certain then that I had discovered the Elixir of Life, it was one of those goals that one alchemist in one hundred thousand achieves, which meant that even the alchemical community were dubious about its existence. No, it seemed like it was time for me to die.
Anyway, Andrew deserved to hold the Duchy, at least for a little while. In due time his cousin from the de Lacy family in Normandy would be brought into the fold, or maybe his bastard son from his college days or immediately after them, but that was a few years in the future.
I had therefore succumbed to the ravages of age on November 10th, and had died peacefully in my bed after a short illness. The spell I had been working on for some time to feign my own death had worked exactly as I had intended, leaving an aged corpse behind it - as I said, the youth spells were experimental in those days, and once they were gone, the ageing process continued rapidly and undiminished until the late mage looked as old, if not older, than his allotted time would suggest.
The new Duke - if new is a fair description for a man of fifty-two, albeit a surprisingly healthy one and a Master Mage like his father, to boot - had received much support from his friends and distant relatives, of course, and now the day of the funeral had come around. I chose to observe in the guise of the Marquis du Harcouët, an old friend of the family. He would be leaving for the continent again in a few days anyway, so no-one was likely to remark his departure.
As I sat in the choir gallery and watched the mourners file in, it was strange to watch the passage of time before me. Harry Collier was there, although he walked with a distinct limp now as age had not been kind to him. Richard Courtney, too, was present: after all, the announcement had been placed in the Times and he could not resist gloating at the fact that he had outlived me, even if he was bent almost double with arthritis. He never had forgiven me for killing Vallencourt so many years before, and his hatred both of myself and Andrew, being Elizabeth's son, was deeply ingrained. Three or four of the others from college were also there, but most of my Cambridge contemporaries were either long gone now, or in their dotage.
Then there were many of my newer friends and acquaintances: the alchemist's circle I had associated with in Paris, none of whom had successfully emulated my feat of discovering the Elixir; the council of the Royal Thaumaturgical Society, to which I had been elected fifteen years before; an impressive cross section of the nobility of England, France and Germany, come to pay their last respects; and also a surprisingly large number of local people. As a Duke and landowner I had always tried to be fair, and I think I was at least respected by my people, and hopefully liked by many of them.
Finally, off to one side, I saw two other familiar figures. One was Aunt Sand and seated beside her was Uncle Brand: not that I knew he really was my uncle then, but what else do you call a close friend of your father's? What had always surprised me about Brand and Alexandra was that they, like myself and my son, had never grown older, and yet to my knowledge no-one had ever noticed the fact with them.
Whatever spell they were using, it was one that it would be useful to learn at a later date.
As I watched, I noticed that Brand was looking around the church in much the same way as I was, and when our eyes met I thought I detected a smile. I wondered then how many times he had been through this same procedure himself.
After everyone was seated, the coffin was brought in. Yes, I had spent a while in there initially, while it had been opened so that people could pay their last respects (and make sure I was dead, of course), but once it was sealed the spell began to wear off and I had teleported myself out, shortly before I had been overcome with claustrophobia. It's funny, I don't usually suffer from that particular phobia - the worst one I normally have is a fear of being burned, which I attribute to my encounter with Vallencourt - but somehow being locked up in a box six foot by two foot by two foot had that effect. As they came in I was amused to think that the pall bearers were carrying several well dressed sacks of earth on their shoulders, although my face remained a mask of sincere grief, of course.
If the situation hadn't been so strange, I would have been enjoying myself.
"I am the resurrection and the life saith the Lord..." began the priest. Father Coulthard had been the parish priest of Millbank for many years, and this was his second Ducal funeral, my father having passed on early into his tenure. , "he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live..."
The words were familiar to me, and I found myself editing them out as I watched the reactions around the church. Shock, distress, and even the occasional expression of relief from those who felt I had finally run out of luck - I could see Hessayon, an alchemical rival of mine from the Paris set, all but rubbing his hands in glee at the fact that I had not discovered the secret of immortality after all.
For the next several minutes, I cast my eyes around from my vantage point, while the good Father's voice continued in the background. Then Coulthard started to move down into the crypt, followed by the coffin and selected mourners - mainly close family and friends, as the crypt wasn't big enough to house the whole congregation, while the others started heading back to the house for my wake - to the family tombs where my grandfather and his father and grandfather before him were interred.
As we walked, Brand fell into step beside me.
"Do you intend to do this often, Robert?" he asked, sotto voce.
"Not if I can help it," I replied, equally quietly and not in the least surprised that he had realised that it was me, "and preferably not permanently."
"I predict that if you're careful, you should be able to avoid the need for a permanent interment for a very long time to come. Many centuries, even millennia."
"As long as I don't forget the formula for the Elixir," I replied, half jokingly. A strange look crossed his face as I said that, but it was quickly gone and he said no more on the subject.
"What are your plans now?" he asked.
"I shall travel on the Continent again for a while, maybe visit the New World - although I understand there's been some trouble over there recently - and the Far East. Andrew is quite capable of looking after things for me here until I get back, and then, in thirty or forty years it will be his turn for an extended sabbatical."
"So you are happy to remain here and travel your world."
"What alternative is there?" I replied.
Before he could answer, however, Father Coulthard began to speak once more as the coffin was laid in the tomb which had been prepared for it.
"Man that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. He cometh up, and is cut down like a flower; he fleeth as it were a shadow and never continueth in one stay..."
I looked at Brand as I heard the words, amused at the irony. I could see similar amusement reflected in his own green eyes. The resemblance to my own expression was uncanny, and I think that was the first time I really wondered if there actually was a blood relationship between us. However, then it was gone, and he was back to what he had always been - the younger son of a family of Kentish landowners who had decided to try his hand at commerce.
Eventually the interment was complete, the crypt-party began to drift back towards the house. However, I noticed Andrew standing beside the tomb, looking pensive. I excused myself from Brand's company, whereupon he crossed to escort Aunt Cassie back up into the church and back across the grounds while I went over to my son.
"Well?" I asked as I joined him.
"This has been rather more disquieting than I had expected it to be," he replied, looking towards me, "after all, I knew that you weren't in that coffin, but for a moment I wasn't sure."
"If it's any consolation, I know what you mean," I replied, "however, what is done is done and I am looking forward to a few years of leisure. The Marquis du Harcouët takes ship for St-Malo in four days time and does not expect to return to England for some years."
"Do you think I can run the Duchy in your stead?"
"I have every confidence that you'll do fine, both in my stead and more importantly in your own. After all, were it not for the fact that both of us are mages and we have had a little unnatural help, you should have inherited long before this," I replied, smiling and trying to put him at his ease, "but this isn't the time to discuss it. Right now, you should look to your guests...Your Grace."