I smiled as I shook my head.
“Now I shall return to invisibility, and join your search. But we must work quickly, for there is not much time left before he returns.” He stepped away from me, and began to fade—but ere his disappearance was complete, he paused, and with a wistful expression asked:
“Is Mary still alive?”
I am not a man given to tears; but I have shed many of late. And at the question, my eyes filled with them again. “She is safe, and in Amsterdam.”
At my reaction, his expression became one of anguished concern. “But she is not well?”
“She is dying.”
“Ah,” he groaned, coming to full visibility, and turned away. “Were it not for Vlad, I would see her one last time.…” He gathered himself again, then asked, “And your little boy, Jan—I know it is a difficult thing, but did you—”
“I killed him,” I replied bitterly. “And, yes, Gerda is still quite mad from it all.”
“He rests,” Arkady said, and wound a cold arm about me. “He rests sweetly and at peace, because of you. Soon Gerda will have respite from her sorrow; the time will come. You must believe.…”
And he put his face against my neck and wept cold, cold tears. John would have been terror-struck, I know, to have seen me permit a vampire such access to veins; but with Arkady, I had no fear. My one concern was not to yield to my grief—not here, in front of the others; not here, when there was work to be done.
Soon he straightened, and said, sighing, “Always sorrow with us Tsepesh. Always sorrow.… I had wanted so to spare you the pain Vlad can inflict.…”
“Just as I wanted to spare him,” I said, pointing at John, who had moved to our periphery. He was working with his back to us, but even so, Arkady studied him with sad fondness.
“Another son,” he marveled; it was not quite a question.
“Your grandson,” I confirmed.
He looked back at me. “Then we must find a way to spare him, Bram. Your life and mine destroyed, and the lives of those we love.… That is enough.”
And as I gazed back at him, he took on a gossamer appearance; before he had completely faded, I whispered, “Come to me again. The asylum on the very next property.…”
As I composed myself and returned to the others, I heard his voice whisper in my ear: I have left them with a little distraction.…
Indeed he had. I found myself ankle-deep in dust and squirming rats; in fact, the boxes and floor and walls were covered in the black crawling creatures, and their tiny eyes reflected the glow from our little lamps with an eerie phosphorescence. Almost immediately, Arthur blew his whistle; soon three terriers appeared, and after some reluctance (no doubt they sensed Arkady’s presence), the dogs grew bold and dispatched the writhing lot.
By then sunlight was approaching, and it seemed that we had done as much as possible for the time. We left relieved that none of us were harmed, but quite concerned about the missing boxes. Any delay is to be feared, but at least Harker is out tracking down the other boxes.
3 OCTOBER. The worst of all days since we lost poor Lucy.
Until last night, all had been going well, and I dared hope. I am glad we permitted Harker to join our party, as he has been an invaluable source of information as to where Vlad moved the boxes. The “count,” it seems, has acquired other properties in east and south London—in New Town, where Whitechapel Road becomes Mile End; and Jamaica Lane, Bermondsey. He has also purchased a house in the city’s very heart, at Piccadilly. To-day we shall go there, and search for titles to other properties, and keys to them. And perhaps, Fate willing, we shall come across a very different “key.”
By yesterday, Jonathan had completed his research, and we were in possession of the necessary addresses; Arthur and Quincey spent the day rounding up horses so that we could all move quickly from destination to destination. To-morrow, I told myself, the vampire will be ours! I was filled again with optimism: but alas! In my foolish desire to protect Madam Mina from harm, and from knowledge of the evil, I have spent little time with her—and so did not see the obvious.
In the predawn hours, John came running to my cell, so distraught that I immediately emerged from my shelter to see what had so frightened him.
“Professor!” he shouted, without any concern that someone might overhear and learn my actual location in the house. “Renfield is dying.…”
Bag in hand, I ran back with him to see whether I could be of any medical help. The door to Renfield’s cell was wide open, and the attendant squatted beside him with an expression of anguished helplessness.
The first glance proved that John had not overstated the situation in the least, for the poor man lay on his side, with his face turned upward, and his head and shoulders surrounded by an ever-enlarging dark halo of blood. Examination revealed a broken back and fractured skull, with pieces of bone pushed down into the brain; he would die soon if no action were taken to relieve the pressure of blood pooling inside the cranium.
Instinctively, I looked up from where I knelt beside the dying man, and squinted at the barred window, where only recently John had put one of Arminius’ crosses.
Gone. In a terse voice I demanded of the attendant: “The crucifix above the window—where is it?”
He must have thought me mad or heartless, or both, to ask such an apparently unrelated question, with poor Renfield suffering at my knees. Sheepishly, the burly young man handed it to John, saying: “I removed it because this evening he just went wild trying to jump up and grab it; I was afraid he’d hurt himself, so I went in and took it down. He tried to snatch it from me, and begged me for it, but as it was sharp—”
“That’s enough,” John said, quite angrily; I suppose the attendant thought we suspected him of wanting to steal it, and were more concerned about Seward’s property than our suffering patient, for he drew back with a hurt expression.
“Send him away,” I ordered; and at the attendant’s scandalised glance at me, then at John, explained: “We shall have to drill a hole in his skull to relieve the pressure. If you wish to stay—”
But he was already out the door, closing it behind him. To John I said, as I took instruments from my bag, “Trephination is indicated. I do not think we will save him, but at best, he can spend his last moments conscious and more comfortable.”
As I spoke, a soft knock came at the door, and both Arthur and Quincey peered inside. John gave them entrance; no explanation beyond the pool of blood and our horribly injured patient was required.
They stood by in silent dismay whilst I performed the operation, drilling just above the patient’s ear. We were, for the moment, successful; after a few moments, the pressure was relieved. Renfield opened his eyes, and quite lucidly asked that the strait-jacket be removed. There was little point in obliging him, however, as movement would only increase his pain and speed up his demise; though death was not far off, I sensed he wished to speak, and “confess his sins,” as it were. I was not reluctant to hear them, as the unsecured window spoke of danger for us all.
He spoke rationally, even kindly, in a way that evoked my pity—but never have I heard words that so sickened my heart. Our Renfield had indeed been under the vampire’s sway, and quite adoring of his “Lord and Master”; but he had also been quite taken with Madam Mina, who had twice visited him out of kindness—the second time, that very afternoon. She had grown too pale to suit him, he said; “and it made me mad to know that He had been taking the life out of her.”
Horrible moment! None of us could repress a shudder as he said it.
And Dracula, smelling of Mina, had come to him only moments earlier that night, entering easily once the talisman had been removed. And this man—this poor deranged lunatic—took the vampire in his hands and fought, fought to protect Madam Mina the only way he knew how.
When he had finished speaking and sighed as he lapsed again into unconsciousness, the air was electric: we four men said not a word, but left the valiant madman where he lay
dying, and ran to our rooms to collect our talismans. Within seconds we had all arrived at the door to the Harkers’ room—locked from within.
All together, we threw ourselves against it, and came crashing through. I fell forward, and the others surged past me, then abruptly stopped. Falling, I had the sense that I was passing through a cloud of glittering indigo—strong and cold, though not so strong as when I had last seen the vampire, and touched within by a hint of radiant white and the merest gleam of gold. Yet it was not Vlad—no, it was not Vlad who brushed by me, but something else entirely evil, and entirely feminine.
It passed, and quickly; the door banged shut behind me as it went. And as I struggled to my hands and knees (oh, and had I been standing, I would have dropped to them!), I saw:
Harker, snoring on the bed close to the window, and on the mattress’ outer edge his wife—her face pressed fast against the bared chest of the Impaler, whose eyes were closed in deepest ecstasy. She turned her head, gagging, revealing in the moonlight mouth and cheeks dark and dripping with vampiric blood. The sight pierced like a jagged blade: this was the cruelest version of the blood ritual, a sanguinary exchange which tied victim most thoroughly to predator. If he had also drunk from her, then she was his.
But in the midst of my horror, the thought seized me: He did not hear us come. He did not hear us come. He has changed.…
I scrambled to my feet as the vampire at last became aware of his enemies’ presence; with one swift, powerful move, he thrust his victim back upon the bed and sprang towards us. By then I had raised high the envelope which contained the sacred Host, and felt a surge like lightning travel from heart to fingers. Even without the infusion of Arminius’ strength, never had I been more determined, more focussed, more confident, in my life; I think I could have driven him away by my will alone.
At the sight of the envelope he cowered—cowered in abject agony, as though the power emanating from it were searing his skin!—and I collected myself enough to find my second sight, whereby I saw his aura: shrunken, depleted, dimmed.
These both seemed even to him a revelation, for an expression of disbelieving and hellish rage contorted his features and reddened his green eyes to flame. He was confused; he had been so swept away by his deed that he was surprised by this sudden lapse! Had it only recently happened?
Whilst Jonathan still snored, I moved between the Harkers and the monster, advancing steadily with the Host aloft until Vlad gathered his wits and transformed himself to dark mist. Thus he moved past four armed guardians, and disappeared beneath the door—for the little silver cross above the window cast a barrier he could not cross.
At once, Madam Mina drew a rasping breath and let go a scream that pierced the very veil of Heaven.
Words cannot express the horror that followed, when poor Harker woke and saw the blood smeared upon her face and gown, and realised what had happened; we scarce could restrain him from grabbing his knife—the broad, curving blade known in India as the kukri—and pursuing the vampire on foot. As for brave Madam Mina, she was undone—not by fear for herself, but that she might be used to harm those she loved. For Vlad, in his arrogance, had tormented her cruelly, saying that she was now his to command, and that the time would come when she would become his vampire companion and helper—and infect each of the five men who were fighting now against him.
Gently I calmed her, and coaxed her to tell all that had happened, whilst John lit the lamp. Even with its light, I could not judge whether she had been freshly bitten and the rite completed, for she leaned against her husband’s breast so that her long dark hair fell forward, veiling face and neck.
When she was sufficiently composed, she revealed the worst, in a brave voice that faltered rarely: the vampire had bitten her and she had been forced to swallow some of his blood. The exchange was complete, and our efforts to protect Madam Mina had resulted in her being lost to us.
Thank God Vlad is weaker! Even so, we are bound more than ever to destroy him, before he can fulfill his promise to poor Madam Mina.
And if he is weaker—as John and I discussed privately—it can mean only one thing: that another immortal has stolen the manuscript from him. But who?
By the time Madam Mina had finished her terrible story, the dawn was breaking. We all agreed to dress and meet shortly afterwards, to discuss what was to be done.
First, of course, John and I went again to check on Renfield—dead, poor fellow. Lunatic or no, he died bravely and for Madam Mina’s sake, and for that, I shall always honour his memory. I pressed the talisman from his window into his cold hand, and said a silent prayer for the dead.
Once we had all dressed and assembled, our plan became clear: We will go to each of the four locations—Carfax, where twenty-nine boxes reside; Mile End and Bermondsey, which each hold six; and Piccadilly, where nine remain. These we will seal off with the Host, and so force a confrontation. I am hopeful of victory—but even if the Impaler succumbs to us, we must then face an even more powerful foe.…
16
The Diary of
Abraham Van Helsing
3 OCTOBER, NIGHT. To continue with to-day’s adventure: We had gone at six-thirty this morning to meet for breakfast, since it was agreed that all needed to take in substantial nourishment for the day’s events. So we trooped into the dining-room and breakfasted on scones and bangers and tea. Though everyone felt exhausted and beaten, we worked hard to maintain a front of good cheer; Mina was as bright and smiling as ever, and Arthur and Quincey joked with her quite a bit and made her laugh. I drank coffee, like a good Dutchman, and smiled as best I could as I sipped from my cup, watching them. Jonathan clearly was having the most difficulty. From time to time, as he turned to gaze upon his charming wife, his eyes filled with tears; and he would look away swiftly, lest she see his worry and lose heart herself.
In the midst of all, while everyone else was distracted by witty conversation, the doorbell chimed. A moment later, the housekeeper sidled up to me and said softly, “Dr. Van Helsing? There’s a lady at the door who wishes to speak with you.”
This quiet announcement left me—and John, who sat beside me—stunned. We shared a dark glance. Who else could know that I was here? I fingered the talisman in my pocket as I rose, wondering whether this was some trick of Vlad’s.… Or had Frau Koehler taken it upon herself to announce Mama’s death in person, rather than send a telegram?
I left, and John silently followed; the others were talking away, Mina laughing with false gaiety at something Quincey had said.
By the time I reached the foyer, however, John had moved in front of me, stride-for-stride with the housekeeper, who reassured him: “They’re waiting outside, Doctor; I know you’ve asked me not to let anyone inside the house without your approval.…”
She moved off as John cracked open the door a mere finger’s breadth. From where I stood, I could not see past him, but his profile was easily visible; the movement of his eyes revealed that there was one person standing upon the porch, and one standing slightly farther back. Apparently, he did not know them, for he demanded sternly, “I’m Dr. Seward. May I help you?”
I heard a voice first, one distantly, oddly familiar—that of a lady, with a vaguely Slavic accent, but excellent command of English:
“I pray you can, Doctor; but first, let me say that it is more of a pleasure than you know for me to see you. I have heard of you from … roundabout sources.”
John lifted his head in puzzled surprise, and his eyes narrowed in that peculiar way which indicates that he is uncertain about whether to trust what he has seen.
The lady continued, in a voice that now was maddeningly familiar, but somehow changed so that I could not place it. “I wish to speak to Abraham Van Helsing, and as quickly as possible. Tell him I have information which can aid him in his … search.”
At this, I pushed my way beside John, able to resist no longer. “I am Abraham Van Helsing.”
In the doorway stood a woman—not beautiful, but hand
some in a severe way, and pale, with strong, sharp chin and nose, and high, sculpted cheeks. Her silver-streaked raven hair was pulled tightly into a thick coil at the base of her neck, without thought for fashion or flattery. Likewise, she was dressed in a plain black gown—against which a thin, tall white dog pressed—and veil, which she had drawn back to speak. Beneath heavy coal-coloured brows, her brown eyes were somber, subdued, and when she saw me, they brightened slightly; but she did not smile.
Some several feet behind her stood a man, also dressed in mourning. My peripheral vision detected his presence, but I could not take my gaze from the woman’s face, for I knew her—and yet I did not.
Her aura was not strong, merely adequate; most curiously, while it came close to the indigo shade of the vampire (though not so much black as a deep, deep blue), it was sprinkled with the gold of spiritual advancement. I could think only of a dark blue sky littered with stars.
If John had seen this, he had good reason to be confused.
“Bram,” she said kindly, “who was born my nephew, Stefan George Tsepesh. It is I, Zsuzsanna Tsepesh. I have come to ask your forgiveness, and offer my help.”
For some seconds I could not speak—could only stare at her with lips parted in amazement. For this lady was Zsuzsanna, the destroyer of my little Jan, tormentor of my poor Gerda … but Zsuzsanna without any trace of vampiric glamour, Zsuzsanna without any effort to mesmerise. I hesitated on the threshold; her sincerity seemed genuine, but to invite her into the house could mean disaster for all … especially if she had stolen the manuscript.
“Indeed, you need my forgiveness,” I said bitterly. “But I am not sure I can give it. Because of you, my little son is dead, and my wife irretrievably mad.” The memory evoked hatred within me, and a desire to be cruel; I lifted the talisman from my pocket and held it at chest level.
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