The Four Realms

by Adrian Faulkner

  It looked like their destruction extended beyond the staircase as the hall was littered with splintered chairs and other furniture. Darwin's first thought was that someone might have been breaking it up for firewood, but it was far too wet to burn. A large hole in the ceiling dripped water into the hall at a constant rate, covering the tiles of the hall in a good half inch of water, Darwin looked up through the hole and saw it extended all the way to the sky.

  It certainly wasn't the most glamorous of places but the minimal graffiti seemed to suggest it was remote enough not to draw too much attention. A perfect place for a vampire to hide out.

  "D'Toeni," Darwin called out.

  The only response came from the water dripping into the hall.

  "D'Toeni. We've come to get you out."

  Darwin had wanted to say the word 'rescue' but he stopped himself. Vampires like D'Toeni didn't get rescued, they got assisted. The last thing Darwin wanted to do was upset him. That was the trouble with the traditional vampires, there was such a sense of protocol that if you broke it, they considered it a big deal. This is what happens when you get to live to hundreds of years old and are allowed to get stuck in your ways.

  Darwin tentatively tried the first step on the staircase. It creaked, but appeared to support his weight. Slowly, Darwin began to make his way up the stairs.

  "D'Toeni. It's Darwin."

  Perhaps he shouldn't have shouted his name. D'Toeni hadn't been the nicest of people to Darwin. The insults were only half-remembered, buried somewhere they could no longer hurt, but those old feelings of fear and sadness now washed over Darwin.

  No, he told himself. That was then, this is now. He needs you now. Despite no longer being that scared little boy, he still wouldn't like to get into a fight with the old vampire. D'Toeni was a ruthless killer, even by vampire standards. They said he was the only person Metzger ever feared, although Darwin wondered if that was true. He'd never find out now.

  Darwin took a deep breath to try and calm himself, partly from the worry of a tread collapsing underneath him, and partly to stop those old childhood fears and memories from resurfacing. Instead, he focused on what people would be saying about him. Darwin the saviour, no, Darwin the deliverer, he liked that one. It had a certain ring to it. They'd build a statue of him staring up into the sun in defiance. Paintings would show him with a flock of vampires all praying at his feet for him to save them. Or better still, he would be part of a group of marauding vampires through a line of Mr Easts, him at the front, soaked in the blood of his enemies.

  He stopped and sniffed.

  There was no blood.

  He had one foot on the landing, when he realised that there was something wrong about this place. D'Toeni would bring his prey here. He wouldn't be so coy as to worm his way into someone's house, that wasn't his style. No, he'd entrance them and bring them back here. He'd play with them for a while, seduce them until they groaned with ecstasy and then he'd feast. He'd tear great chunks out of their neck and let the blood flow freely.

  There would be blood and Darwin could smell none.

  Darwin turned and made his way back down the stairs as fast as he could without making a noise.

  Of course there was the possibility that he'd not feasted since coming here but this was D'Toeni. This place was the sort of place Darwin and Cassidy would hide out, not D'Toeni. He would never live off pigeon and rat. No, he'd have to feast every day, hungry or not, and this place was too far from civilisation.

  He ran out the building and jumped in the minibus beside Cass.

  "Drive. It's a trap."

  Cassidy turned and looked at him with an intensity that confused Darwin. Was she still angry at him?

  "Jesus Cass, we can argue later. Will you just..."

  He heard the click of a gun behind his head.

  "Well, well, well. What have we here?"

  Darwin tried to turn to see who had spoken, but felt the barrel of the gun press against his neck. Instead he had to make do with what little information he could glean from glancing at the rear view and wing mirrors. He could make out stubble and a baseball cap but little else. He was about Darwin's age, although in Darwin's mind this made him a boy, when he considered himself a man. He might have been wearing a football shirt but Darwin couldn't be sure, let alone which team it was for. He had no intention of moving his head.

  "This is a turn up for the books," the boy said. "Cassidy Mulligan, disappears without a trace, and now here you are. Why I should..."

  "Don't you..." started Darwin. If he could get the gun pointed away from him for a second, he could possibly take the boy. He'd make him piss his pants and then he'd rip him in two.

  "Don't I what, mate? Ways I sees it, I'm the one holding the gun." As if to enforce the point, the boy pushed the gun's muzzle hard against Darwin's neck.

  "Ryan, don't," said Cassidy.

  "Oh so you remember my name then?"

  Darwin instinctively turned his head toward Cassidy in shock. She knew this boy?

  "I thought..." the boy started, "I thought with you disappearing off the face of the planet and all for a couple of years, you might have forgotten it."

  "Ryan, I can explain."

  The lad ran a tongue along his teeth, "Yeah, I bet you can. And since when did you start wearing glasses?"

  Cassidy touched her frames. "I'm not the person you remember."

  Ryan was looking at Cassidy and not his gun. Darwin could grab it, disarm him deal with him. But as if reading his mind, Cassidy gave him a stare that told Darwin not to try anything.

  Ryan waved the gun at Darwin, a wasted opportunity if ever there was one. "This bozo with you then, Cass?"

  Cassidy nodded.

  Darwin watched as the boy started to well up, the back of his gun-wielding hand going to his forehead.

  "Ryan, it's not like that."

  "I didn't know what had happened, I thought, you know, after..."

  "You left me for dead." There was a coolness to Cassidy's voice, almost devoid of emotion. "You saw me take a bullet, and you left me there."

  "I was scared. I didn't know what to do. I was in way over my head. I regretted leaving you, Cass. I've regretted it every day since."

  "Class move... bozo," Darwin chided. He couldn't help himself. He was getting bored of this little cocksucker.

  "Shut up," Ryan screamed, his face turning red with rage. "You weren't there. You don't know."

  Ryan span Darwin around and thrust the barrel of the gun against Darwin's forehead, pushing so hard it started to hurt. Darwin just looked passively up at the boy, thinking of all the ways he was going make him suffer before he killed him.

  "I've cleaned myself up. Ain't doing that shit anymore."

  "Yet here you are with a gun."

  "I'll put a cap in your ass."

  "I'll shove that gun up yours in a minute," Darwin responded.

  "Stop it!" Cassidy screamed. "The pair of you, stop it!"

  Darwin had never heard Cass shout like that. She sounded tormented, like she was at breaking point, about to burst into tears. It seemed Ryan hadn't heard her like that either, as he also stopped his bickering.

  There was silence from both men as Cassidy took a deep breath and regained her composure.

  "Ryan, what are you doing here?"

  "Got a job, didn't I?"

  Darwin went to make a comment but he caught a glimpse from Cassidy, as if she was anticipating his comment; a glimpse that said with uttermost seriousness, “don't you dare, Darwin.”

  "Why are you here, Ryan?" she asked with authority.

  "I was told to come and meet two people here."

  "And you often come to meet people armed with a gun?"

  Ryan stifled a laugh. "Yeah, you got me there," he shrugged. "I was told there could be a little bother."

  "Why were you to come and meet people?"

  "I gotta take them to some guy called Tony."

  "D'Toeni?" Darwin asked.

  Ryan nodded. "Y
eah. Friend of yours?"

  Darwin flashed Cassidy a worried look. She registered it and communicated her own concern with a little nod of her head. What were the chances that someone Cassidy knew would be employed to bring them to someone Darwin knew? It was beyond coincidence by Darwin's reckoning. Someone knew they were coming.

  If that was the case, did they also know about Walthamstow? Were the vampires there still alive or had they met the same fate as the rest of their race? Darwin silently cursed himself for being distracted. Was D'Toeni worth all their lives? Possibly, possibly not. But in trying to rescue him, Cassidy and he had walked into a trap.

  Maybe he could overpower Ryan. If he could disarm him, the boy wouldn't stand a chance. That was the problem, though, it was a question of 'if'. What if the gun went off as they fought for it? What if a shot hit Cassidy?

  No, he couldn't risk it. Best to bide his time, wait for the right opportunity. If D'Toeni was still alive, perhaps he could be rescued and... well, two vampires were better than one. Then there was the little matter of the praise he would command. That was, if anyone was left.

  He turned to look at Cassidy, hoping for a sign, some piece of body language that would tell him he was making the right decision, but if she was giving anything he was unable to notice it.

  "Right then, Ryan," he sighed. "You'd better take us to D'Toeni."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO - Bed Rest

  Maureen awoke in her own bed, and for a second she thought everything had been a nasty dream. But then her head started to throb, and raising a hand to it discovered it wrapped in bandages. She winced at the touch, memories of the previous day’s events emerging from the fog in her brain. She decided against trying to make sense of it just yet.

  It was daylight and in one corner of a room an electric room eater spat out hot air. How different this room felt with heat. Maureen felt warm, almost snug.

  How had she got here? The last thing she remembered was collapsing in the snow outside Sally's house. She lifted the blankets and looked down at her clothes. They were hers all right, but not what she had been wearing last night.

  She felt a mix of feelings. On one hand, Sally had obviously penetrated Maureen's bastion of solitude. She'd been in her house and seen what a dilapidated state it was. She felt shame and slight anger. But on the other hand, she was alive and warm with her wound tended to.

  It was as she was considering this that Sally appeared at the bedroom door carrying a handful of washing. On seeing Maureen awake, she put the laundry down and rushed over to her.

  "Oh Maureen, you're awake. How do you feel?"

  Maureen raised a hand to her bandage. "My head hurts."

  "Well it's bound to. You probably really needed stitches. So don't fiddle with it."

  There was a forceful yet concerned tone to Sally's voice, such that Maureen lowered her hand and did as she was told. Maureen looked down at the pile of laundry, Sally had brought in.

  "Yes," she said. "I washed your clothes. I know you hate me meddling but... well, let's just say there's a cleanliness you get from a washing machine that you don't get from hand washing and let's leave it at that."

  She smiled, and Maureen found herself wondering if she had misjudged the woman.

  "Thank you."

  "Oh don't be so silly, Maureen. You do very well for someone your age, but there's no shame in asking for a little help from time to time."

  Maureen felt disarmed by this previously unseen side of Sally. Sally, her saviour. Who would have thought it?

  "You really didn't have to."

  "No," Sally replied, "I didn't but I did. How did you manage to cut your head so badly? Simon thought you might have been mugged, but I told him how good you are with being careful at the door." She laughed, “I told him that if I can't get in, then what chance does a mugger have?"

  Maureen tried to laugh along too, but her head throbbed and laughing seemed to make it worse. She managed a weak smile.

  "No, I just whacked my head on a shelf," Maureen lied. "I know, I know, I should be more careful at my age."

  Sally shrugged as she started folding the laundry and placing it in drawers. "Could have happened to anyone. These things happen."

  Maureen cast her mind back over yesterday's events. Could they really have happened to anyone? And what about Joseph? Had he escaped? Was he injured? Was he even alive?

  Maureen tried to push herself up in bed. She felt so weak and frail. "I need to be getting up. So much to do."

  "What you need is some bed rest. I wouldn't be getting up just yet. You took quite a knock."

  "I need to feed the cats," Maureen said.

  "I've fed them, don't worry. And don't go worrying about meals either. I'll bring them over to you."

  Suddenly Maureen felt trapped, her warm, comfy bed becoming a prison. "Oh you don't need to go to so much trouble."

  Sally sighed. "It's no trouble, Maureen. Stop thinking of yourself as a burden. Besides Simon's project isn't going very well and he's having to stay late at work, so you'll only be eating what I'd otherwise throw away."

  Maureen looked at the flowers by her bed and felt ashamed. She'd misjudged Sally and she couldn't help but feel guilty about that. Maureen had constantly shut the door in the woman's face, and yet in her hour of need, Sally had been the one to come to her aid. Maybe she should just accept she was old and couldn't manage any more. Maybe a home wouldn't be so much of a bad thing. Nothing lasted forever, even the flowers would eventually die.

  "Do you like them?" asked Sally.

  "Yes," Maureen replied. "Thank you... for everything."

  Sally brushed a hand in front of her face. "Oh don't be silly. It's my pleasure."

  #

  Sally left her alone with the promise to be back in a couple of hours, but not until she had helped Maureen to the loo and back. Stepping out of the warmth of her bedroom and into the cold had struck her, had chilled her to her bones. How had she managed to live like this?

  But as much as a dream the other world felt to her, she couldn't help but think of Joseph. She kept telling herself that he'd told her to escape and yet the fact that she'd run away just added to her guilt. Run, she scoffed. In Venefasia, she'd felt spritely, yet look at her now, too frail to even get out of bed.

  The thought struck her out of the blue as she lay in the bed waiting for Sally to return. You're dying, Maureen. All the time you lie here in this bed, you're just getting more and more frail. Just like flowers without water. If you stay here, you'll die in this bed, she thought. At least it's warm, another part of her mind countered.

  She found herself reaching out and snapping off one of the flowers at the stem. She muttered the butterfly spell she'd seen the acolytes practising in the classroom and watched as the flower did nothing. There was no butterfly. The flower did not disintegrate. She spent a long time just looking at it in her hands. Everything that had happened just seemed like unreal. Yet, she knew it wasn't. She'd been looking after the gateway for that many years it seemed natural to her to have trolls answer the door and wizards pass thru her home. But her recent adventures in Venefasia felt apart from that.

  "I need to get to the gateway door," she told herself.

  This in itself seemed like a herculean effort. Even being helped to the toilet had sapped what little strength she had.

  She spent a long time thinking about it, willing herself to get out of bed, her body rejecting. It was warm and comfortable and she didn't want to move. But eventually she willed first one leg, then a second out of the bed. Aching and head spinning, she found herself sitting at the edge of the bed.

  The trick is to do this in baby steps, she told herself. Focus on putting on your dressing gown, nothing more. Then, put on your slippers. Then stand. Each task seemed to drain her even further, but she waited a long time between each stage, gathering the strength and willpower to accomplish the next task. And so, she found herself at the door, then the top of the stairs, then half way down, then at the bottom. She k
new the return journey would be a lot harder, but she tried not to think of that, instead just focusing on getting to the cellar door. The room was now spinning around her, and her legs ached, but she refused to sit at the bottom of the stairs for a while. You have got to keep going, she told herself. Think of Joseph, think of Ernest.

  The flat walk to the cellar door caused her to break out in a sweat. By the time she was ready to make her way down the rickety stairs she just wanted to close her eyes as if it would somehow stop the nausea and pain. One step at a time, she reminded herself. You're nearly there.

  Those stairs seemed to take forever and more than once she didn't think she could go on. But what option did she have, carry on, or try and climb back up to her bedroom? The easy option was to continue down.

  The cold had penetrated her dressing gown, and what warmth she'd had in her body had now left her, to the extent that at the bottom of the cellar stairs, she just wanted to curl up on the floor and die. The sight of the gateway door gave her strength, but not as much as the letter that seemed to be pushed under it.

  Had someone been scheduled to come through? She'd lost all track of time and her diary was upstairs. Had the Inquisitor realised he'd left his folder here? Was someone enquiring if she knew where Joseph was? Curiosity fuelled those final few steps. She staggered to the door, and with great effort, unlocked it and threw it wide open. A late Venefasia afternoon bathed her in heat and light, bringing warmth to her bones and soothing her head. On the way down she didn't honestly think she'd ever be able to make it back upstairs, but now as she breathed deeply and the warmth returned to her body she felt she might.

  With effort, she bent down and picked up the letter. She wasn't used to having letters tucked under the door. In fact, this was the first bit of post she'd ever received from Venefasia. She recognised the handwriting on the envelope, the big awkward letters of a troll. It said "Maureen" on it. Her heart skipped a beat as she realised Joseph must be alive.

  Frantically she tore at the envelope, ripping out the letter contained within.