by G. P. Taylor
THE VAMPYRE LABYRINTH
Oracle
G. P. Taylor
To Sanya Besarovic and all the staff on the Children’s Ward at Hull Royal Infirmary for their great work, love and kindness
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter 1: The Oracle of Magdalene
Chapter 2: Reverie
Chapter 3: 45 Dean Street
Chapter 4: Hegira
Chapter 5: Guardian
Chapter 6: Luna Negri
Chapter 7: Hotel Julius
Chapter 8: Laundry
Chapter 9: The Bank of Perazzi
Chapter 10: Fredrico Lucca
Chapter 11: Mucaca Fuscata
Chapter 12: Crillon de Paris
Chapter 13: Curzon Street
Chapter 14: Cupcakes
Chapter 15: Mina … Mina … Mina …
Chapter 16: Chateau Cardonne
Chapter 17: Museum of an Extinct Race
Chapter 18: Five Gold Rings
Chapter 19: Slattern
Chapter 20: Le Train Bleu
Chapter 21: Gare de Mort
Chapter 22: Renoir
Chapter 23: The Convent of Magdalene
Chapter 24: Dead Lavender
Chapter 25: Notarius
Chapter 26: Five Hundred Faces
Chapter 27: The Vampyre Quartet
Chapter 28: Slugwert
Chapter 29: The Temple of Solomon
Chapter 30: Betty’s Café
About the Author
By the Same Author
Copyright
ORACLE
[ 1 ]
The Oracle of Magdalene
THE BRANCHES of the dark forest of ancient yew and wild apple trees clattered as the night fog crept closer to the twisting stone staircase. With each tread the mist rose up from the canopy of misshapen staves, hugging the side of the cliff towards the tabernacle.
The house in the shadows of Mount Lazari looked as if it had grown from the rock. The slanted stone roof was etched from the cliff that towered above; the neatly chipped stones were knitted together so that they looked like solid rock. The only signs of human habitation were the mortared walls and the carved steps, which twisted and turned from the forest to the door of the grotto as if they were the helix of life. Stretching to each side were the high cliffs; at their summit, sheer and jagged, they cut a line across the star-filled sky.
Two white robed figures emerged from the gloom of the forest, treading carefully on the path. The older man gripped an iron key in his frail hands. He tried to keep pace with his companion, but his breath failed and he stopped at the turn of the steps and looked around him.
‘It grows steeper with each year,’ he said as he wheezed, hoping his companion would not walk on. ‘I remember the day when it arrived. I thought that we would all be safe now the war is over.’
‘And then another war comes to the shrine,’ the young man answered. He pushed back the long curls from his face and pulled the hood of his robe over his head. ‘And tonight after five years we plead with it to go away?’
‘What else can we do?’ the old man asked. ‘Should we tell the world that an angel has come to live with us?’
‘It is not an angel, Father Sigari. No angel would demand of us that we feed it in such a way. This is a holy place. We should cast it out and have done with it …’
The younger man clutched a long iron nail in his pocket. It was an old and rusted spike snatched from the wood of a Bethel tree, a relic from years past.
‘You should be careful what you say, Mandas. I am sure that it knows our thoughts and listens to all that is said,’ Sigari answered as he walked slowly on, clutching the strands of his white beard. ‘Now the war is over it will be hard to explain the disappearances. People will become suspicious, and –’
‘You will have to explain why we bring no one with us,’ Mandas answered. ‘We are told by the Prior to keep the angel content, happy and well fed. Tonight it will want to know why it will go hungry.’
Father Sigari looked at Mandas and remembered when he was that age. The moonlight shone on his brown skin, and his eyes burnt white in the dark of night.
‘If only I had come without you,’ Sigari whispered to himself.
‘What?’ Mandas asked. ‘I hope I never mumble when I am old.’
‘It is a blessing that only some will enjoy,’ Sigari answered as they turned on a stone landing and began to walk up the final flight of stone steps to the oak door of the sepulchre.
‘And you will speak to the angel?’ Mandas asked as they reached the final step. He watched Sigari place the key in the lock of the wooden door braced with metal straps and hinges.
‘It is what I have to do. I will tell it the truth,’ Sigari answered as his lip quivered.
‘Truth – what is truth?’ Mandas asked. ‘I remember all those we brought here, and we told them we would hide them from the Gestapo. I saw their faces, their eyes …’
‘It had to be done. It is what the angel wanted,’ Sigari replied as he turned the lock.
‘This is no angel. We feed a demon.’
‘But it knows the future. It can see what is to come. It is an oracle, and surely only an oracle can come from the creator?’ Sigari said.
‘Nostradamus saw into the future and he died an old fool. What makes this angel any different?’ Mandas asked.
‘The Prior believes that he will be useful to the Order. Since the end of the war, many people would love to know what the angel speaks of. It is possible to sell that information.’ Sigari licked the salt from his lips and turned the door handle. ‘Feeding the creature is but a small price to pay.’
‘And tonight we tell it that hunger will be the only companion we can find?’ Mandas asked as the door opened.
‘Arrangements have been made, my dear brother,’ Sigari said softly as he allowed Mandas to step inside. ‘The angel only desires to eat once in every moon.’
‘That was fine when we had the war to cover what we did, but now?’ Mandas asked.
‘Light the candles and then we will pray together before it is time.’ Sigari opened the door wider to let in the night.
Mandas stepped inside the sepulchre and lit the crumbling taper from the candle that burnt on the low stone table. He looked around the room that had been carved from the rock to form a magnificent cavern. The light in his hand flickered on the stones. Before him was a marble altar with a flight of steps that led into the darkness. On the far side of the cave, across the intricate stone floor that stretched away like a mosaic pavement, was an iron gate. It barred the entrance to a small passage cut into the rock. Above, the vaulted stone roof reached ever higher until the pinnacle could not be seen.
As Mandas lit the candles, Sigari thought again how young he looked. He was no more than a boy. The white robe tied around the waist with a knotted brown cord dragged on the dusty floor of the cave. A draught blew through the doorway and flickered the lights. An eerie, empty silence filled the cave as if the weight of the world pressed down upon them.
‘And the creature will come tonight?’ Mandas asked as he bowed to the altar and kissed the stone cross.
‘As it always does … It will come to the gate and I will give it the news. The Prior needs the answer to some questions about what is to come.’ Sigari’s voice was sharp. He turned to Mandas and watched him again. It was as if he wanted to utter a secret but knew he could not. ‘You have always been a good friend to me. I remember the day your mother brought you to us. You were five years old.’
The man stopped speaking and knelt before the stone altar. He muttered to himself with his eyes closed. His hands gripped the key tightly.
‘I remember you as w
ell, Father Sigari. That was thirteen years ago.’ Mandas put a hand on his shoulder. ‘You treated me like your son and welcomed me to the Order. Then the Oracle appeared and we took a vow never to speak of the angel.’
‘It is proof of what we believe, Mandas. Some things the world cannot understand. If we spoke of the wonders we now know it would drive them mad. It is best we keep the secret to ourselves.’
Mandas knelt beside Father Sigari and held his hand. He could feel the rough skin and broken calluses as he gripped it tightly.
‘You said we would –’ Mandas began.
Sigari answered quickly. ‘I have left my bag by the door. There is something I need. I will be back,’ he said, and he stood and quickly walked to the door.
‘And then we pray?’ Mandas asked.
‘Constantly, constantly,’ Father Sigari replied as he stepped outside the grotto into the dark night.
It was then, as Mandas knelt at the stone altar, that he heard the door close and the lock turn. The clunk of the turning key echoed around the cavern. He looked up, expecting Sigari to return, but the room was empty.
‘Father?’ he asked.
‘It had to be this way,’ Sigari answered. His voice was muffled, coming from outside the door. ‘I will not leave until it is over. I promise I will pray for your ordeal …’
‘What have you done?’ Mandas asked as the slow realisation came to him. ‘Why?’
‘The Oracle asked for you and you alone,’ Sigari stuttered nervously, his voice half-choked with tears.. ‘The last time the Prior spoke to the angel it made the request. Your blood for anything the Prior asked for.’
‘I am to be fed to the creature and you allowed this to happen?’ Mandas shouted as he ran to the door and banged his fist against it.
‘I offered myself in your place, but it wasn’t to be – the Prior insisted it would be you.’
‘But the Oracle is locked in the cave. It cannot get into the Sanctuary of Magdalene.’
‘I came this morning and opened the gate. It was what I had been told to do. I am sorry, Mandas, I am so sorry,’ Sigari pleaded. ‘The Prior is coming to keep vigil for you, he will soon be here.’
Mandas slumped to the floor in his grief and sat back against the door, his eyes looking around the Sanctuary. He could see the worn stone steps that led to the spring where a million pilgrims had walked before him. The candles cast long shadows as they danced in the breeze from the caves below.
Then he heard the footsteps. They trudged wearily on the rock as the Oracle walked up the stone steps.
‘Mandas? Have you been delivered to me?’ a voice asked.
Soon a dark shadow crossed the barred gate and a hand pushed against the lock. The gate opened slowly and a small figure wrapped in a long black cloak stepped into the Sanctuary. ‘Why don’t you speak to me? You have never wanted to speak to me?’
‘Because you are a liar. If you were an angel you would not demand blood,’ Mandas answered as he gripped the iron nail hidden within his pocket.
‘You were the only one to recognise who I really was,’ the voice said. The figure’s face was hidden in a swathe of red silk cloth wrapped around its head like a mask. ‘You hated everything to do with me.’
Mandas looked up. The Oracle stood by the twisted iron gate. It looked feeble and frail.
‘I remember the day you arrived. It was my thirteenth birthday,’ Mandas said.
‘And I protected this place throughout the war. I knew that which only an Oracle could know. The Prior is most grateful,’ the Oracle said as it stepped closer, slowly unveiling its face.
‘You are a woman?’ Mandas asked, seeing the figure’s face for the first time.
‘Not much older than yourself, Mandas, but I have lived far longer …’
‘And killed many more people,’ he answered before she could go on.
‘I have been frugal with my desires,’ she whispered as she stepped into the light of the candles. ‘I took only those that I needed to survive.’
‘Then you are mortal?’ he asked.
‘More than that, but not truly eternal like the one you follow,’ she answered as she slipped back the hood of her cloak to reveal a curl of long red hair. ‘I do know what it is like to be human. That is something I left behind long, long ago.’
Mandas got to his feet and looked about the room for a way of escape.
‘That would not be wise,’ she said as she threw down her cloak so it formed a pool around her feet. She was dressed as if she walked a Paris street. ‘I know everything in your mind. I have listened to your thoughts so many times. In fact, I have become quite enthralled by them.’
The Oracle stepped towards him and reached out her hand, touching the side of his face.
‘Then kill me now,’ Mandas answered, fearing what was to come. ‘Take what you want. Father Sigari prays for me and he has such frail concentration.’
‘Kill you – is that what you believe?’ the Oracle answered, her voice broken with laughter. ‘I don’t want to kill you, Mandas. I want you as a companion. Someone to live with me here in the Sanctuary.’
‘And the blood – how will you be fed?’ he asked.
The Oracle reached into the pocket of the long jacket and pulled out a knife.
‘This is a Trajithian – a knife so sharp that some say it can even cut through time itself. I can use it to take your blood and you will not even know that it has happened.’
‘And in return?’ he asked quickly, trying to guard his thoughts but knowing this was impossible.
‘I will let you live. Even take you with me. Now that the war is over I can return home. I know that you speak English and I will tell the world that you are my French nephew. There is a house by the beach in a village called Lyme Regis. We can live together very quietly.’
‘What are you? I know you are not an angel,’ he asked.
‘I am a Vampyre. One of a handful that have survived the war,’ she answered. ‘And every Vampyre needs blood.’
Mandas saw her step towards him. He took hold of her hand.
‘A Vampyre? Sigari told me many tales of such creatures when I was a child. He never said they were so beautiful. This is not the right place,’ he answered. ‘I don’t want Sigari to hear us.’
‘That old fool isn’t listening. He is too busy chanting and asking for you to be delivered from me. If only he knew what I was about to do to you. He would be banging on the door to join us.’
‘By the spring – where the water comes into the cave. That should be the place,’ Mandas insisted. ‘Grant me that request.’
The Oracle smiled. ‘If it matters to you,’ she said.
‘What is your name, I need to know?’ he asked.
‘I am who I am,’ she answered, as if she had not said the words for many years. ‘Is this the place?’ she asked as they stood by a small pool of water that trickled along a tiled channel and through the wall of the cave.
‘In the shadow of Magdalene,’ he answered, pointing to the statue above them. He got to his knees and scooped water from the spring and drank.
‘You are a peculiar boy.’ The Vampyre laughed as she held the dagger in her hand. ‘I promise that you will not feel a thing.’
There was no warning, no signal, no chance of escape. Mandas lashed out suddenly and stabbed the iron nail into her thigh. Dropping the dagger into the pool, she screamed in pain. The cavern echoed with her cries as Mandas stabbed her again and again.
The Vampyre fell into the water as he ran towards the door.
‘Let me out!’ Mandas screamed as he rattled the handle, hoping Sigari was still there. ‘It is a Vampyre!’
‘Vampyre?’ Sigari shouted as Mandas heard him fumble in the lock with the key. ‘Where is the Oracle?’
‘She is the Oracle,’ Mandas screamed as he looked back at the still pool and wondered if the Vampyre was dead. ‘Open the door, quickly!’
There was a sudden loud thud. Sigari saw the door to the sepulchre judd
er as if it were about to fall from its hinges. Rocks fell from the cliff above and smashed around him. The door shook again and then began to open slowly.
The man stood back, his hands clasped as he still prayed. His lips smacked open and shut as he tried to speak. Without thinking, he put his hands to his face and drew a short, sharp breath to hide his fear.
Pinned to the opening door like a puppet was Mandas. His lifeless body dangled from its oak planks as blood trickled down the stone steps. He hung limply, held fast by the iron spike, longs curls of blonde hair covering his rugged face.
‘Father Sigari,’ the Prior said as the torch stave in his hand lighted the path. ‘What has happened – is the Oracle safe?’
‘Mandas is dead. The Oracle is a Vampyre,’ Sigari stuttered, too frightened to touch the body.
‘Of course it is,’ the Prior answered incredulously. ‘How else would it know such things of our lives?’
‘And you knew all these years?’ Sigari asked as a figure’s shadow crossed the doorway.
‘That was part of the agreement. I was invited as a guest,’ answered the Oracle. She stepped carefully from the sepulchre until she stood by Sigari. Her long tweed trousers were stained with blood. ‘You promised me a companion, Cardinal Theodore.’
‘Theodore?’ asked the old monk. ‘That is not your name.’
‘Whatever he calls himself, he will always be known to me as my dear Theodore. I have known him for more years than you have lived, old man.’
‘What?’ Sigari stuttered as his breath faded.
‘She is right, Sigari. I am afraid I have not been as honest as I should be for a man of my calling.’ The Prior laughed, his words reaching out across the trees as if they would be carried to the coast. ‘Since the time of the Prophet Nostradamus, I knew this time was coming. Sadly for you, my old friend, we cannot let you see the dawn.’
Sigari gasped for breath and slumped to the ground.
The Oracle held the knife in her hand, wiping the blade across her sleeve. ‘I trust you will find an explanation for all this?’ she asked.
‘We should send a message to Brother Notarius, tell him that he is needed here. Meanwhile,’ Cardinal Theodore replied as he kicked the clinging hand of Father Sigari away from him, ‘there has often been talk of a wolf in these hills. It will not be hard to explain these deaths to the faithful.’
