The Infernal Express

by Josh Reynolds

  Gallowglass followed him silently. She didn’t say anything but he could feel her eyes boring into his back. “This proves nothing, you know,” he said, finally, as he walked. “I simply didn’t want there to be any awkwardness.”

  “Awkwardness,” Gallowglass said.

  “That is the word I used, yes,” he said. “I’m not the sort of chap who requires thanks, what? Wouldn’t want to deal with all that effusive praise and what not. Besides, she was with someone—an older fellow…”

  “He was your age, weren’t he? And a handsome bloke,” Gallowglass said helpfully. “Dressed fancier too. Like a real swell, innit?”

  “I hadn’t noticed. A cousin, perhaps.”

  “Had a cape and everything,” she said. “And none of my cousins ever held my hand like that. Well, one…but still…”

  “Thank you,” he said, stiffly.

  “I think his cufflinks were gold.”

  “Thank you,” St. Cyprian said. “I’m sure I don’t care. As I said…”

  “Awkwardness,” she supplied.

  He coughed. “Yes.” He stopped suddenly, and she nearly ran into him. “Hang on a tick…our door is open.”

  “More awkwardness,” Gallowglass said cheerfully. She reached into her coat and drew her revolver. She pressed herself to the side of the compartment and looked at him. He nodded, and opened the door.

  “Hello, Elizabeth. Looking for anything in particular, or just snooping?” he said.

  14.

  Elizabeth Amworth straightened abruptly, a smile on her round face. “Charles! There you are! I’ve been looking for you since we left Paris,” she said brightly. She clapped her hands together and stepped towards him. He stepped back, and she stopped, frowning. “Charles, what is it? Surely you’re not angry that I’m in here—your door was unlocked, and well, I thought I might wait to see if you wanted a chance to win back some of your money.” She shook her head. “But I see I’ve been an imposition.”

  She made to squeeze past him, her hand lingering on his arm and her substantial décolletage pressed against his chest. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation, truth be told. Elizabeth was a handsome woman, and she knew it. “Do forgive me Charles. Oh do say that you forgive me!” She pulled a handkerchief from somewhere and dabbed at her eyes. “Oh I’ve been a fool, haven’t I? What must you think of me? Blousy old cow that I am…I just thought…well…”

  Bewildered, St. Cyprian patted her hand. “Well I, dash it, I don’t…I was just surprised, is all,” he said, waving a hand behind him, motioning for Gallowglass to holster her pistol. “And you’re hardly blousy, old girl. Why, you’re a veritable fountain of youth. And I’d love to participate in a round of cards, if you’re offering.”

  “A fountain of youth…oh Charles, you naughty fellow,” Elizabeth giggled and slapped him gently with her handkerchief. She beamed up at him. “You’re a cad, but a sweet one. Now, say you forgive me.”

  “I forgive you,” he said.

  “I daresay you do.” She caught his chin and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Now, I’ll see you for tea this evening, around six, after we pass Budapest? And you can even bring your ward with you—Hello Ebe dear, I see you skulking—she and Sarah can skulk together, if it pleases them. Such fun!” She gently nudged him aside and stepped out into the corridor.

  She froze there. And St. Cyprian saw that someone else had come down the corridor. “Hello Miss Harker. Have you met—” he began.

  “We’ve met,” Elizabeth said, smiling slightly.

  “Chaston,” Harker said, softly. She tensed, as if ready to lunge for the other woman. Elizabeth held up her hands. Gallowglass and St. Cyprian traded glances.

  “Miss Harker, how delightful to see you again. And it’s Amworth now, dear, as you well know. But I was just leaving. Sarah is running loose, and goodness knows what sort of mischief she’s getting up to, that girl.” Elizabeth blew St. Cyprian a kiss. “I’ll see you tonight, Charles. Such fun!”

  “I sense tension,” St. Cyprian said, when she’d left.

  “She’s a vampire,” Harker said, staring down the corridor.

  “I—what?” St. Cyprian said, aghast. “But she plays whist!”

  “I knew it,” Gallowglass crowed. “I knew she was up to something.”

  “Hush,” St. Cyprian said. He shook his head. “Well dash it all. And I liked her too. Still, makes a queer sort of sense, I admit. I wondered why she was being so friendly.”

  “She wanted to suck your blood, and you thought she wanted to suck—” Gallowglass began, but fell silent at his glare.

  “Don’t be vulgar,” he said. “And do stop grinning at me.” He gestured to Harker. “Is there anything else you’d like to share with us? Is the engineer a werewolf, perhaps? Is there a prehistoric mummy in the baggage coach?”

  “Two more vampires got onboard in Vienna. That makes five,” Harker said flatly.

  “Five…” St. Cyprian said. He looked at her. “The others…?”

  “You know two of them. You got quite chummy with them on the ferry over,” she said. “And one of them just invited you for tea and a game of cards. You haven’t met Ruthven yet, but he’s been watching you. Us.”

  “He was the one you mentioned earlier, in the dining car?” St. Cyprian sat back and ran his hands through his hair. Ruthven—he recognized that name, from what few records Aylmer Beamish had left to his successors. An old vampire, and a powerful…older even than Dracula, perhaps. He released an unsteady breath. “Brilliant. Well, nothing for it, I suppose. Bad manners to beg off, ain’t it?”

  “They’re vampires,” Harker said.

  “And I’m British. Can’t let our side down, what?” he said, smiling. “Wouldn’t be cricket, that. Besides, it’s high time I taught my assistant how to play a proper game of cards. She only knows how to play poker and bridge, and what sort of games are those, I ask you?”

  “Fun ones,” Gallowglass said.

  “No sort of games at all, exactly,” St. Cyprian said, talking over her. “Five vampires…organized sorts, aren’t they? Don’t suppose we could just scatter some seeds and give ’em the boot?”

  Harker shrugged. “One or two of them, maybe. They are all different. The lords of Sepulcher picked their soldiers well.” She frowned, as if she had said something she wasn’t supposed to. St. Cyprian waved a hand.

  “I know about Sepulcher, never fear. No state secret, that, not where I’m concerned. Even seen it, once. At a distance, mind. During the War. I was in a plane, and we flew right over it.” He scratched his chin. “Not a pleasant sight, that. Like a mirage made of moonlight and shadows. There…but not. Put the willies up Carnacki something fierce.”

  Gallowglass made a face. “Whole city full of bloodsuckers. Not a pleasant thought,” she said, fingers tapping against the grip of her holstered pistol. “Think they’re here for the bones?” she asked.

  “Almost indubitably,” St. Cyprian said. “The question is, why?”

  “To seal him away, in the great necropolis of marble and jasper,” Harker said. She shook herself. “They fear him more than we do, for Dracula almost destroyed them in his madness. He was one of them, but not…both worse and better.”

  “Then why not let them have him?” Gallowglass said. “Seems like they’d be the best ones to deal with him.”

  “Because they cannot be trusted,” Harker said. “Neither can the Turks, for that matter.” She looked at St. Cyprian. “You know that as well as I do. Nowhere will be safe enough. Wherever he is interred, Dracula will claw his way back to life as surely as the tide coming in.”

  “So what would you suggest?”

  “Give it to me,” Harker said.

  St. Cyprian laughed. “Oh no, I think not. You’d just take our unwelcome guest right back to Blighty. More and more, I’ve become convinced it’s my responsibility to see him as far away from our green and pleasant land as possible. I’ll chuck him in the Bosporus before I let you get your hands on him.”


  “I thought we were working together,” Harker said.

  “That doesn’t mean I trust you, Miss Harker. Far from it. You dealt yourself into this game, and now you’re trying to change the rules.” He held up a warning finger. “And stop touching my cravats when you root through our belongings. Those are handmade and they cost me a pretty penny.”

  “Are you insane? Surely you see there’s no chance of completing this asinine mission of yours,” Harker demanded. “It’s best to cut our losses now. There’s a place I know of—not far from Budapest. A monastery. We can—”

  “Whose losses?” St. Cyprian interjected. He looked at them. “So far we’re ahead of the game. And I intend to keep it that way.” He sat back and smiled. “Now, here’s what we’re going to do…”

  “Well?” Ruthven said, as Elizabeth entered the compartment she shared with Sarah. It had become crowded, with the Brothers Ténèbre. They had not purchased berths of their own, and Ruthven had seen no need to do so on their behalf. If things went well, they’d be off the train and away in a few hours.

  “Not there. I found an empty case, where it might have been, but it’s not there now.” Elizabeth flapped her hands at Sarah, and made the latter scoot over. It took some doing, thanks to the body laying across her lap. The young man wore the uniform of a porter, though it fit him badly. “You’ll spoil your appetite,” Elizabeth murmured, as she caught a trouser cuff and deposited a limp leg on the floor.

  Ruthven sighed. “Fie on all paranoid men.”

  “But, I convinced the poor dear to keep me company this evening, after we leave Budapest. I daresay I can keep his attentions, while you search elsewhere.” She tugged on her neckline, for emphasis. Ruthven smirked.

  “I daresay you can. The Cossack will join us at Budapest. Then, in strength, we shall plead our case to this St. Cyprian, if it becomes necessary,” Ruthven said. He gestured to the body sprawled in Sarah’s lap. “Dispose of that, please. It’s beginning to smell.”

  Sarah showed her teeth, but did as he asked. She dragged the porter up and stuffed him through the window, letting his body tumble away into the darkness. “I did ask you not to feed on the porters, I believe,” Ruthven said.

  “He wasn’t a porter. He was working for some German bunch,” Sarah said, scraping at the dried blood on her mouth. “The Thule Society, he said. He killed a porter in Vienna and stole his uniform. His blood tasted funny.”

  “German fare doesn’t agree with our dear Sarah,” Elizabeth said, patting her charge’s knee. Sarah hissed and squeezed up into the corner of the seat, like a sulky cat. Ruthven snorted. He looked at Ange. “You see what I have had to deal with?”

  The little vampire laughed softly. “Jean can be difficult as well. Very boisterous, my brother.” He glanced fondly at the larger vampire, who grunted in disinterest.

  “Then he is the perfect one to see to our obstreperous Miss Harker,” Ruthven said. He looked at Jean. “Feel free to enjoy yourself, but be quick about it. And don’t underestimate her. She is of Dracula’s blood, and all the more dangerous for it.”

  “No,” Sarah snapped. “She is mine!”

  Ruthven looked at her. “Then help him, by all means. It’ll take two of you anyway, like as not.” He held up a hand, silencing Jean’s protest. “Trust me on this matter, if no other. Harker is resilient and deadly. It will take both of you. And we have no more time to waste on her. We are outnumbered and our time is growing short. We will have no chance to reclaim the voivode once this train reaches Constantinople.”

  Ange nodded. “The Janissaries will be ready for us, and if I know them, they’re already measuring stakes.”

  “And not little ones,” Jean murmured. Ange laughed bitterly.

  “No, not little ones. Not English stakes these, but proper Turkish spears, so they can watch us dance as we bleed.”

  “Must you?” Elizabeth said, and shivered. “I’m quite anxious enough, as it is. We are in dangerous climes, Ruthven. There’s too much old knowledge in this part of the world. Too many peasants with too little education. They know us of old in these hills.”

  “And so? We know them as well,” Ruthven said. He pulled the curtain aside and looked out the window, at the overcast sky. “This place is as much ours as it is theirs.” He let the curtain drop back and looked at Sarah. “Can you keep your head, girl? I want no mistakes, this late in the game.”

  “Sarah can lead Harker to Jean,” Elizabeth said, speaking up for her charge. “I’ll keep Charles and his ragamuffin distracted. The bones aren’t in their compartment. Not that I saw anyway.” She looked at Ruthven. “I suspect the baggage car.”

  “There are two,” Ange said.

  “We search them both,” Ruthven said. “That will be for Ange and I, and the Cossack, when he boards. If we do not find them, we will have to…put the question to St. Cyprian.” He smiled at thought. “I almost hope we don’t find it,” he said, and laughed.

  The Borgo Pass, east of Budapest

  Wolkenstein sat astride his horse, one hand on the pommel on his sword. He was clad in full armor, as were his men. Fifty of the Order’s finest knights, armored in black, and carrying a mix of weapons, both archaic and modern—guns, lances, swords and pistols. As well as horses, they had motorcycles, and one canvas-topped truck, in which brothers von Dohm and Thiersch sat, with the mortar. It was a veritable army, albeit a small one.

  A mix of the ancient and the new—that had ever been the Order’s way. That had ever been Dracula’s way. To keep what was useful, but seize upon the new, when it presented itself. Such had been at the heart of Dracula’s departure to England, Wolkenstein thought. He had been a stripling then, but he could still remember the look on his father’s face when word of what had happened in Purfleet reached them.

  Dracula had fallen, and the Order had almost fallen with him. They had been beset on all sides by their enemies, driven from their fastnesses and places of worship, hunted in the streets of Constantinople, Bucharest, Paris and Moscow. But they had survived. They had recovered. And now, they would awaken the dragon from his slumber.

  But will we be enough to accomplish the deed? The thought was not a pleasant one. He looked up, at the mountains which rose wild above them, and the trees that shrouded the land for uncounted miles in every direction. Even now, the Carpathians were a grim region, full of shadows and strange sounds. They had ridden hard from Vienna, taking motorized transport until they reached the foothills, where the horses had been waiting for them. It was no easy feat to outrun the Orient Express, but they had managed it.

  Others of the Order would board the train in Budapest. There, they would seek out the sacred remains of Dracula and take possession of them, until Wolkenstein and the others could reach them. There were too many players in this game to leave it otherwise. So many enemies, and they each pry and tear at one another in their haste to claim thee, my lord. Like crabs in a barrel, Wolkenstein thought. It would have been amusing, were it not so inconvenient. For all their devotion, the Order were merely yet another crab, pulling and snapping with the rest.

  But not for much longer. When Dracula had been returned to them, when he had resumed his place as master of the Order of the Dragon.

  Wolkenstein peered down the train track, pondering the future. Walpurgisnacht was only a few days away. Scarcely enough time to accomplish the task they had set for themselves. Yet it would be done. “It must be done,” he murmured.

  “Milord?” Kleist asked. The young man was new to the Order. New blood, Wolkenstein thought, without smiling. The Order would need more such, in the days to come.

  “What is the time, Kleist?”

  Kleist fished his pocket-watch out from beneath his tabard. He held it over the handlebars of his motorcycle and squinted at it. “They should be drawing close to Budapest,” he said, and snapped the watch closed.

  Wolkenstein grunted. “Good. Then the time draws near. Moerke and Caprivi should be airborne by now.” Moerke had flown alongside Richtho
fen in the War, and the Order had put his kite to good use more than once in the years since. He looked down at Kleist. “How long have you been with us, Kleist?”

  “Two years, milord.” Kleist straightened.

  “And you know why we sit here, in the shadow of the Carpathians?”

  “I do, milord. We do a great thing,” Kleist said reverentially. “We seek to wake the dragon from his slumber.”

  “Yes,” Wolkenstein said, nodding. “We will wake the dragon, and shape the world to his liking. That is our purpose and our burden. But we bear it gladly, for only in the shelter of the dragon’s great wings can humanity hope to survive what is coming.” He rose, so that his voice carried to every ear. “We fight for all men, brothers. Our brotherhood stands atop the ramparts of destiny, and it is we who will hold back the long night. That is why he brought us together, and set us against his enemies.”

  He threw out a hand. “Look upon his works, ye mighty and despair. For he is the king of kings, and we shall honor his name. Ave dominus Dracula!”

  “Ave dominus Dracula,” came the reply.

  “AVE DOMINUS DRACULA!”

  15.

  Budapest was a fast receding memory as St. Cyprian and the others joined Elizabeth and her ward in the dining car. It was nearly empty, most of the other passengers having retired for the evening. Gas lamps lit the coach, casting a soft orange radiance over everything. St. Cyprian had dressed for dinner, and his Webley nestled in his coat pocket.

  His plan, such as it was, was simple. Once Harker had revealed Elizabeth’s allegiances, it had been easy enough to discern that her invitation was less about cards and more about distraction. The vampires wanted to keep him where they could see him. And he was happy enough to oblige, for the time being. Know thy enemy was an old axiom, and a good one where vampires were concerned.