Resurrection by Ashe Barker Page A

drawer of his desk and settled back to surf the web. The truth was, he was bored. Ged had accumulated enough wealth to last several lifetimes, even for one such as him, so there was no longer any pressing need for him to work unless he chose to. He had food, so no requirement to hunt, and he owned a safe place in which to live—several safe places in fact—so he had no need to seek out shelter and a secluded corner to hide out in during the hours of daylight. In all, life was easy now.
    If anything, it was all too easy for Ged's taste.
    He started by checking up on his game reserve in the central plains of the Congo, and from there surfed around a few other conservation and environmental projects. It wasn't just animals Ged felt moved to save, he was something of a historical campaigner too. He tended to keep his interest quiet—it never paid to attract attention—but he had funded several organisations aiming to preserve ancient monuments. He selected his beneficiaries with care, always choosing a location or building he felt some affinity to, usually a place he had lived or at least visited and which he remembered with a degree of fondness. There had been many such places over the centuries, in all corners of the world—a tobacco plantation in Virginia, a cathedral in Nicaragua, a villa once owned by Louis the Fifteenth, a crofter’s cottage on the Isle of Skye—to name but a few of his more recent acquisitions. Ged enjoyed the memories, landmarks in a very long life.
    As the sky began to lighten outside, Ged flicked a switch to increase the opacity of the glass in his windows. His tolerance for daylight was better now, improving with every year he stalked this planet, and his powers of recuperation had been similarly heightened with the passing of time, but still he preferred the absence of UV rays if he could arrange it. His view of the outside world was unaffected, but the treated glass would filter out all harmful rays.
    The less Ged drew on his physical reserves, the less pressing his need to feed. Although he no longer haunted the darkened streets seeking out his next meal, preferring the more civilised fare available from properly licensed and regulated medical blood collection organisations, Ged saw no need to squander valuable resources.
    He liked to think of himself as a responsible vampire who cared for his planet. Shit, he ought to—he was likely to need the place to remain habitable for some considerable time to come.
    An hour later an article in an online magazine caught his eye. English Heritage was starting a fundraising campaign, seeking donors willing to contribute the necessary resources to help secure a ruined castle in the north of England. The place claimed strong connections to the House of York during the Wars of the Roses, and was reputed to have been one of the strongholds where Mary, Queen of Scots was imprisoned before her execution.
    Ged peered at the images on the screen, scrolling through the various views and angles. Roseworth had seen better days, that much was obvious. No one knew better than he did how much the place had deteriorated over the centuries. Although there were no surprises here, it still saddened him to witness the dilapidation which had befallen his childhood home.
    English Heritage intended to acquire the site for the nation, and would turn it into a visitor attraction. Tourists would traipse through the ruins of his castle, learning of the history of Ged's family, his forbears and his descendents, from little plaques mounted on stilts. The new owners might even dress up their staff in period clothes and have them re-enact ancient crafts and customs.
    Ged shuddered. Surely Roseworth deserved better than that. He read on through the article, noting with a whistle that the expected price of the property was a cool two million pounds, though that included the fishing rights for the lake at the foot of the mounding upon which the castle stood. The site was to be sold at