by Amy Cross
"You can't go in there!" the driver shouted, suddenly clambering out into the rain and hurrying around to push the men away from the rear doors.
"Hey!" the official shouted, dropping the clipboard onto the dirty concrete and hurrying over to pull the driver back. "You keep your hands off my men, understand? We're only doing our job." He took a drag on his cigarette, which was still burning despite the rain, and then he nodded at the truck door. "Open it up. I want to take a look."
"It's very delicate cargo," the driver insisted, unable to hide the annoyance in his voice. "You can't just go ripping the crates open. They're hermetically sealed to prevent atmospheric damage! The slightest disturbance could be catastrophic! It's all noted down in the paperwork if you just take a minute check!"
"I know what's in these boxes," the official said calmly. "I pay attention to the news, you know? That's why I want to see them with my own eyes. You can either open it up here, or we take it to Sofia and file the necessary paperwork, and then we'll impound your truck and bring in a team to do a full search." He waited for his words to sink in. "I didn't make the rules," he added eventually. "I just follow them. To the letter." He smiled. "And I make sure other people follow them too."
Sighing, the driver pushed past the men and began to undo the rear door. He hated the idea that these officious, bureaucratic little idiots were going to slow him down, but he'd been in similar situations before and he knew that the best thing to do was just to cooperate. Arguing always made things worse, and he had no desire to get held up in this little Bulgarian backwater. He figured he just needed to give them a little Pyrrhic victory, and they'd send him on his way.
"How many are there?" the official asked, as his men shone their torches through the door. The interior of the truck contained a series of crates, each of which was carefully labeled. They looked so ordinary and uncontroversial, which was somewhat surprising to the official since he knew what was inside. Although he considered himself to be a rational and level-headed man, he couldn't help but feel a little uneasy in the presence of such things. It was almost as if the crates were staring right back at him. He almost made the sign of the cross across his chest. Almost.
"There are fifteen," the driver said. "Fifteen crates, fifteen specimens."
"And you're taking them out of Bulgaria?"
"I'm taking them to London. We're going to study them -"
"Are you going to send them back here when you're finished?"
"Send them back?"
"I know about the British. You take things, you say you're going to study them and look after them, you talk the talk about being historians and conservationists, and then you keep them for yourselves. You put them in a museum and make money selling tickets. Tell me, if I want to see a part of my country's history, why do I have to go to London and pay for the privilege?"
"We're not going to put them on display," the driver replied, sick and tired of the man's truculence.
"What about the mummies from Egypt? You put those on display, so why not these things? And the marbles from Greece. You Brits pilfer the treasures of the world."
Sighing, the driver reached into his pocket and pulled out a small envelope. He knew there was no point getting into an ethical debate, partly because he was aware that he didn't have a leg to stand on. Instead, he was going to try a different approach. "I have full clearance from the Ministry of -"
"Yeah, yeah," the official replied, waving the paper away. "It's okay. I'm just joking with you. You understand a joke, don't you?"
"What are these things?" one of the other men asked, reaching out and running his hand against the side of one of the crates.
"Don't touch that!" the driver shouted, pushing the man away.
"Hey!" the official shouted, grabbing the driver by the arm. "You don't touch us like that, understood? We're not dogs. It's a good question. Tell him what you've got here."
"It's not important," the driver said. "If you cause me to miss my flight, I'm going to register a complaint with your superiors. I'll make sure you're all fired. This is certified museum business and you -"
"Vampires," the official said, taking another drag on his cigarette. "Fifteen vampires." He turned to his colleagues, and they exchanged nervous glances as the rain continued to pour down. "You hear what this man is doing? He's taking fifteen dead vampires on a little trip in the back of his lorry."
"They're just bodies from the sixteenth century," the driver replied with a sigh. "Victims of superstition. Men and women like us. Not vampires."
"People thought they were vampires, though," the official continued. "They buried them... in a certain way."
"People thought a lot of things back then," the driver said. "I'm with the Lawrence group. We found these bodies in a mass grave near Lovech, and we're going to take them to London and study the rituals that were used. Vampires have a major role in Eastern European mythology, and we're going to see if we can learn more about the beliefs that fueled these superstitious ideas. It's all perfectly legitimate work!"
"They're dead bodies," the official said. "Bones. People, once. It's not right, digging them up and flying them off to your museum. How would you feel if I did the same to your ancestors?"
"I have full clearance," the driver said. "If you don't believe me, and if you don't accept my documents, then put a call through to the ministry. You'll soon find out that I'm telling the truth. I'm sure your bosses'll be thrilled to be woken at five in the morning and asked a question that could be answered just by looking at the fucking paperwork." He waited for an answer. "For God's sake, you know I have clearance! What are you waiting for, a bribe?"
The official took another drag on his cigarette. "It's okay," he said eventually. "I believe you. I know it's true. All of it. I read about all this in the newspaper, so..." He stared into the darkness of the truck for a moment. "It's not my job to stop you. Your papers are in order. We just had to check, you understand? We needed to make sure you're not hiding anything else. Clearly you're not, though, so you're free to continue your journey. No bribe is necessary. We're honest people, like you."
"Thank you," the driver continued, pushing the rear door shut. Hurrying back around to the cab door, his feet splashing in the puddles that were getting deeper by the minute, he began to climb up into the front compartment, at which point he noticed that the customs men had all come to stare at him. Standing in the rain, they made for a strange and slightly unsettling sight, especially with machine guns slung over their shoulders. For the driver, it was almost as if he'd stepped back in time a few decades to a time when bureaucrats carried weapons and westerners were viewed with disdain in this part of the world.
"You're a brave man," the official said eventually, as the driver pulled his door shut. "Driving alone through the night with fifteen dead vampires in the back of your truck, anything could happen. You're not worried that while you're out on some lonely country road, you might start to hear a scratching sound coming from back there, are you? You're not bothered by the same superstitions that afflict us simple, old-fashioned folk?" Grinning, he took another drag from his cigarette.
"They weren't vampires," the driver said, starting his engine. "They were ordinary people who were subject to certain rituals after their deaths because the locals made a mistake. People had strange ideas. It was a superstitious time, and these ideas spread. You understand? I've written papers on it, for God's sake. It's all laid out in black and white. There's no such thing as vampires."
"I hope you're right," the official said, standing back to let the truck go. "If you're wrong about even one of those bodies, you might come to regret it, if you know what I mean. You carrying a gun?"
The driver shook his head, as one of the other men hurried over and passed the clipboard back to him.
"Figures," the official said. "Wouldn't do much good anyway. I don't suppose a gun would be much use against a real vampire. Good job they don't exist, I guess." Reaching out, he stubbed his cigarette out on t
he side of the truck. "Go on, get on your way. I'd hate for you to miss your plane and then start blaming me for doing my job. I'm just a simple peasant with simple beliefs. I can't afford to get fired." He paused. "The roads ahead are narrow and slippery, so you should be careful."
"Finally," the driver muttered.
"I just hope you know what you're doing," the official said with a smile.
Without saying another word, the driver accelerated away from the checkpoint. Within a couple of minutes, he'd disappeared long into the night, leaving the customs workers to wander back into their shed. Once the others were safely inside, however, the official paused in the doorway for a moment. He wasn't a superstitious man, and he figured those fifteen bodies probably were just a bunch of random old bones, made more interesting by the strange manner in which they'd been buried. Still, the mere mention of vampires was enough to unsettle him. After glancing around at the darkness for a moment, he turned, headed back into the shed and pushed the door shut.
Chapter One
As usual, Dr. Andrew Marlowe timed his walk up from the museum's storage room to perfection. He stepped out of the door at precisely 22:01, which meant that he was at the foot of the stairs by 22:05 and halfway up by 22:06; by 22:07, he was emerging on the main landing of the east wing, which meant that he was passing the elevators at precisely 22:08, by which point everyone else should have left the building. Marlowe hated being interrupted by other people, so he tended to wait until closing time before getting started with his own work. More than anything, he enjoyed the sensation of being the only person working in the entire museum.
Tonight, however, he was out of luck. As he reached the hallway at the top of the stairs, he found a familiar face stepping out from one of the nearby offices.
"We meet again," Dr. Kate Langley said with a knowing smile, as she pressed the button for an elevator. "This is becoming a habit. Or a ritual."
"I was just down in the archive," Marlowe replied, holding up a rolled document that he'd grabbed on his way out, cursing his luck at the fact that he'd been interrupted.
"You prefer working alone?"
"I..." He paused, feeling a little embarrassed.
"Where are your shoes?" Kate asked, looking down at his feet.
"My what?"
She smiled.
"Oh. My shoes. Sorry, they make my feet sweat," Marlowe replied, glancing down and seeing that there was a hole in his left sock, exposing his big toe. "Um... yes, that's bad," he added unnecessarily.
"So what time are they gonna throw you out tonight?"
"They're supposed to close up at midnight," Marlowe explained, "but sometimes I persuade Jerry to..." He paused, before smiling awkwardly. "I shouldn't tell you any of this," he continued eventually. "Forget I said anything. It's just a little arrangement between friends."
"You arranged a lock-in?" Kate asked, raising a quizzical eyebrow. "Seriously? A lock-in at the museum?"
"They open up again at five in the morning, so it's not that long," Marlowe continued, stammering slightly. "I know it's against policy, but Jerry realizes I'm not going to do anything stupid. I just get on with my work, alone and uninterrupted, and then I head home when everyone else comes in. It's a little anti-social, but I get more done this way." He paused for a moment. "Not that I'm an anti-social person in general, of course," he added suddenly, with a hint of panic. "I just prefer to work in an anti-social way, and the result is that I don't have time to be social, which..." He paused, aware of Kate's amused smile. "I suppose that is rather anti-social of me, isn't it?"
There was another awkward pause, which ended as the elevator door slid open. Lately, Marlowe seemed to be bumping into Kate Langley several times a day, and so naturally he'd begun to think about her a little more than usual. She was attractive and intelligent, but he knew that she was totally out of his league. He'd long ago given up the thought that such a woman would ever be interested in him, although he had to admit that she seemed friendly enough.
"This is my ride," Kate said, smiling as she stepped into the elevator. "Have a good night!"
Marlowe nodded politely, before turning to walk away.
"Wait!" Kate said suddenly, reaching out and forcing the doors back open. She had a mischievous glint in her eyes, and a cautious smile on her lips. "Are you working on the stuff that came in from Bulgaria?"
Marlowe stared at her, startled by such a direct question.
"Well. Are you?"
"Um..." Marlowe paused, suddenly feeling slightly sweaty. "I'm not sure I know what you're talking about."
"The stuff from the burial site."
"Um..."
"Come on, I know you know."
"I... No, I really don't..."
"Liar," Kate continued, biting her bottom lip for a moment. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. The crates that are supposed to be secret, even though everyone's talking about them in the canteen. They arrived three nights ago on a flight from Bucharest. Before that, they'd come up by land from northern Bulgaria. Somewhere near Lovech, I heard." She waited for a reply, and there was a look in her eyes that suggested she wasn't likely to give up easily. "There's fifteen of them, right? Fifteen bodies in fifteen crates, all found with markings that suggested they'd been buried as vampires."
"Official policy is to not discuss the bodies," Marlowe replied uncomfortably. "The Bulgarian government put some very strict restrictions on what we can do and who we can allow in there. They faced a bit of a backlash at home after they agreed to let us have them, so they had to make it clear that we'd be respecting the dead. I'm afraid I can't... I can't..." He paused. "I mean, I just can't talk about it at all."
"I know it's a sensitive subject," Kate replied, "but it's not like I'm gonna tell anyone, is it?"
"That's really not the issue," Marlowe muttered. "We have certain considerations to take into account."
"Of course you do," Kate said. "You have to be culturally sensitive while you're pillaging the cultural history of a foreign country." She paused, and for a moment it was as if she was poised to ask something that she knew she shouldn't. "So... can I see them?"
"Out of the question," Marlowe replied immediately. People had been bugging him for a peek for days, and he'd turned them all down. He had a strict policy when it came to the specimens, and he was determined to ensure that they didn't become some kind of freak-show. After all, they were people once, and they deserved to be treated with a modicum of respect.
"Is there no chance at all?" Kate asked, stepping out of the elevator chamber. Seconds later, the doors slid shut. "I just want to see them. You've got them all laid out, right? They're in one of the rooms in this wing. Come on, Marlowe, I won't tell anyone. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. What are you gonna do with them when the research is over? Ship them back to Bulgaria so they can be buried again?"
"Dr. Langley, please -"
"Call me Kate," she said with a smile. "And it's not just morbid curiosity. The work I'm doing on Indo-Chinese cultures has some overlaps. Vampires pop up in pretty much every socio-cultural narrative in the world, so the bodies you're studying could have relevance for researchers all over the world. All I'm asking for is a little sneak peek at what you're doing, instead of having to wait for your paper to come out next year. I'd owe you a big favor."
Marlowe stared at her, trying to stay strong
"Come on. Please?"
"I really can't..."
"I'd love to pick your brains about the specimens. Maybe after I've taken a look at them, we could get together and discuss them properly some time?"
Marlowe opened his mouth to tell her that it was quite out of the question.
"Maybe over dinner?"
He swallowed hard, feeling himself starting to weaken.
She smiled.
"You can't tell a soul," he said eventually. "Not one person. Seriously, there are strict rules in place and there'll be consequences if it gets out that I've -"
"It won't get out," K
ate said, grinning. She seemed fired up with a rare kind of enthusiasm that had already begun to infect Marlowe. "Come on. It's late. The place is dark and deserted. If we screamed right now, no-one'd hear us. I think there might even be a storm brewing outside. So let's go. Show me the vampires!"
Chapter Two
The bodies were laid out on a series of metal trays, each of which was set upon a table in the main laboratory. A humming air-conditioning unit kept the temperature of the room low, which was just as well since the bodies were in various states of decomposition. Some were just a collection of bones, while others still had small amounts of skin; some were dull brown and yellow, while a few were bright and white, as if they'd been bleached by the sun. There was a small marker on each tray, giving the bodies an identification number, and various pieces of lifting and scanning equipment waited on the far side of the room for use later.
"People were driven by fear back then," Marlowe said, as he and Kate walked slowly between the tables that held the bodies. "The Black Death was spreading across Europe. People were dropping dead, and no-one knew why. I guess it's no surprise that after medicine failed to provide an answer, people turned to other explanations. They started to anthropomorphize the disease, to give it a face. They sought to pin blame on foreigners and people who were different. It wasn't long before folk stories sprang up, warning of ghoulish figures that traveled the world, bring pestilence and death while sucking the blood of fair young maidens."
"Gotta have some fair young maidens in the story somewhere," Kate replied wryly. "Even back then, sex helped to sell an idea." She paused by one of the trays, admiring a collection of hones. "So these people were killed because they were suspected of being vampires?"
