by G. P. Taylor
[ 11 ]
Mucaca Fuscata
AS LUCCA RETURNED, Jago squeezed the handle of the knife again and the blade slid within, out of sight. He put the handle deep into the pocket of his leather coat. Marco and Carlo swung down the banister of the spiral staircase and landed on the table as he closed the lid of the box and locked it again. The monkeys screamed angrily and picked at the stone floors.
‘One thing leads to another?’ Lucca asked. ‘I have been thinking that I would like to help you, but it may take some time. There could be a way of paying Heston Walpurgis and getting him off your back for good. Did he say what Ezra Morgan had purchased from him?’ Lucca asked inquisitively.
Jago didn’t know how to answer. Lucca was a Vampyre.
‘He mentioned a diamond. He said that whenever there was a war, Vampyres always put their money into objects of value.’
‘I know that to be so true. When Napoleon ravaged Europe I recall that half the money was taken from the bank. People feared it would become worthless. It was then that I decided to open a repository.’
‘For what?’ Jago asked.
‘For all the things of value that they wanted to keep safe. A bank is not just for the keeping of money,’ he answered as the macaques prowled closer to Jago, their eyes wide and teeth bared.
‘Did Ezra mention a diamond to you?’ Jago asked, wondering if he could help him find it.
‘That would be confidential. I would have to have a letter of authority signed by Hugh and then I could divulge that information,’ Lucca answered. He rubbed his beard, his eyes darting around the room. ‘If you were to stay for a while I could see what I could do. I really want to help your situation.’ Lucca stopped suddenly and looked at him. ‘How did you find yourself in London again?’
‘I came to the bank. To sort out my finances. I am looking for my brother.’
From his answer, Lucca could tell he was lying. ‘Very well – how would you – what would you …’ Lucca took a deep breath. ‘You are lying, Jago Harker,’ he said eventually. ‘I know who you are and your story is not quite convincing.’
Lucca stepped back towards the staircase, the macaques protecting him with their coughs and snarls. Marco stood to full height and lashed out with his claws.
‘It’s true,’ Jago insisted. ‘I have the right to this – I am looking for Hugh Morgan.’
‘You have escaped from the Maleficarum. Whilst you were down here, I spoke to Mina Karlstein. She thought you were at the Hotel Julius.’
‘Why did you do that?’ Jago argued as he looked for a way to get to the stairs before Marco or Carlo.
‘Any mention of your name will attract interest. I journeyed north on the night of the Lyrid of Saturn. I came to Hawks Moor to watch a once-in-a-lifetime event and you spoilt it for us all. When the wave struck the coast I was lucky to survive. Since that time, the name of Jago Harker has always been on my lips.’
The monkeys jumped back and forth screaming and howling as if they were about to attack.
‘What are you going to do?’ Jago asked.
‘It is not what will I do – but what have I done?’ Lucca answered as he backed further up the staircase.
‘Let me out of here,’ Jago demanded.
‘Not possible. They are on their way from Hampstead. They will be with us soon,’ he replied. Marco and Carlo swung on the staircase.
‘I can’t stay, I have to find Hugh Morgan.’
‘Hugh has already been found. He is quite safe. It is you that has escaped and now that is soon to be rectified,’ Lucca answered, his voice monotone and sharp.
‘But you don’t understand. I have to find Hugh.’
As he spoke, Lucca clicked his fingers twice. The macaques were suddenly silent.
‘On my next instruction, they will rip you limb from limb and eat your bones, Jago Harker. You are becoming quite troublesome and it needs to stop now,’ Lucca insisted as the macaques waited at the foot of the stairs for his instructions. ‘I want you to follow me. You will be safe. They will only attack if I give the command.’
‘Where are you taking me?’ he asked.
‘There is a room. Made for occasions just as this. You will be kept there until they arrive.’
Jago did as he said. The macaques reluctantly crawled aside, hackles raised, as he followed Lucca up the spiral steps and into the corridor. The two beasts crept behind him, keeping their distance.
Lucca walked ahead, not turning back, knowing Jago would do what he asked. The creatures would see to that. He had never known anyone dare take on the beasts. He led on, along the passageway with its marble cornices and dangling candelabra. Then, as he reached the lobby with its curved staircase to the upper floor, he flicked the handle of a small wooden door.
‘How long will I have to stay?’ Jago asked, certain this was a prison.
‘Time is in our hands now, Jago. They should not be long.’ Lucca stared at Jago, counting in his heart the slow passing of each second. ‘If you would care to step inside.’
Jago looked into the room. It was small and dark; the air appeared thick with smoke that ebbed out into the passageway like a tide.
‘What is this place?’ he asked.
‘It was once the place where we would hide. Now it is used to keep people until we decide what to do with them,’ Lucca answered as he waved his hand for Jago to enter.
‘Where shall I sit?’ Jago asked.
‘Sit?’ answered Lucca, thinking the question strange ‘Where shall you sit?’
‘I can’t see,’ Jago said, stepping closer to the door.
Lucca peered in as he held the doorframe to steady himself. The macaques bristled in anger as if they could sense what was to come.
‘I’m sure it will be quite comfortable for you,’ Lucca replied.
Jago struck. He kicked the man in the back and then pushed him into the room. The door slammed shut. Jago slipped the catch and locked the door.
‘See how you like it,’ he shouted as he ran towards the lobby.
The macaques hesitated. Marco leapt at the door, pulling on the handle, as Carlo screamed for his master to be released.
‘Kill him!’ Lucca shouted.
Marco leapt from the door and looked around him. Jago was already at the front door of the bank. He screeched to Carlo as he saw Jago trying to escape. Then, puffing himself up to his full height, the monkey set off at a fast pace.
Before Jago could open the door, Marco leapt across the tiled floor and landed on his back. He dug his jagged claws into the leather coat, and Jago screamed as the talons punctured the skin. Then came the first bite. The monkey ripped at the leather coat with its teeth as Jago twisted to be free.
Carlo was striding across the lobby towards him, gibbering and snarling. The monkey ran faster as Jago turned. Then it leapt for his throat. As the beast flew through the air, Jago ducked and rolled on the floor. Marco was thrown from his back. Quickly he got to his feet and began to run. Taking the stairs two at a time, he was soon on the ornate upper landing. It bowed round in a gentle arch, following the corner of the building. Its gold walls were hung with ancient pictures in gilt frames. Jago ran, the macaques chasing faster. Ahead he could see an open doorway and stairs beyond.
The monkeys ran across the furniture, knocking large Chinese vases to the ground, smashing them out of the way to get at Jago. He dared not look back, fixing his eyes on the doorway ahead. Three more strides, he thought to himself.
It was then that Marco struck, grabbing Jago by the leg. He fell to the floor as Carlo pounced. Jago slid across the floor and smashed into the wall. The monkeys were upon him. They snatched at his leather coat with their talons. Marco lashed out at his face. Jago dug his hand deep into his pocket and clutched the handle of the knife, and the blade leapt instantly in his finger. He stabbed Marco in the upper arm, the blade slicing through the bone as if it were crusted bread. The monkey screamed as its blood splattered the walls. Carlo jumped back as his companion fell to th
e ground holding its wound, its eyes wide and fearful.
Jago looked at the beast. It was as if whatever possessed the creature had been exorcised. Gone was the menace of its stare. No longer did it look as if it were a monster. Marco cowered and whimpered, holding out its hand to Jago. A single tear rolled down its cheek, as if it knew it was dying. In that moment Jago saw what he had done. He held the knife in his hand and looked at the blood-covered blade. Marco cried as Carlo came to him and encircled his companion in his arms. Together they sat shaking and fearful, never letting Jago out of their glare.
He could see that the monkey was dying. He could feel the pain of guilt wrestle in his mind, twisting his thoughts, and he didn’t know what to do. He got to his knees and reached out towards Marco with an assuaging hand. The beast responded, reaching out with his fingers until tip touched tip. Jago reached further and gripped the hand, hoping the macaque would know the guilt he felt.
It was as if Marco smiled – no longer like a dumb beast, he smiled as if he were a creature with a soul. Jago felt his own pain as he watched the creature slowly dying. He moved closer. Carlo edged back, fearful Jago would strike at him.
‘Don’t worry,’ Jago said softly. ‘I didn’t mean …’
Marco hunched his shoulders and shivered as Jago touched the wounded shoulder. The creature sighed as if death was upon him. Jago looked at Marco as the monkey surveyed his face with a sentient stare.
Then, without warning, Marco spat hot blood into Jago’s face. It leapt towards him, dragging its broken arm as it bit at his neck. Jago fell back, taken by surprise. The monkey ripped at his face with his claw as Jago fended off the blows.
He knew the other monkey was making ready to jump at him. He could see the beast hanging from a candelabrum on the wall, waiting to drop. Taking the knife, he stabbed Marco again. The beast let out a final piercing scream and slumped on his chest. The blow was fatal. Carlo hung from the wall and bared his teeth. He turned his head back and forth as if he could hear something far away.
Jago threw the dead monkey from him and got to his feet. He edged back to the doorway. From outside, in the empty street, came the slamming of three car doors. The monkey chattered excitedly as if it knew what was to come.
Stepping to the window, Jago looked into the street. There below were three sedan cars. Six men and a woman crossed the road towards the bank. He looked at the woman’s face and instantly saw it was Mina Karlstein.
Carlo backed away and ran slowly towards the lobby. Jago didn’t follow. He knew he had to get out of the bank. Taking the stairway, he spiralled down to the floor below. The corridor led to the back of the building. From far away he could hear the door open and voices echoing through the building. A man shouted as the cell was opened and Lucca was set free. It was as if they were coming closer and were somehow all around him.
His pace quickening, Jago ran through the darkened corridors until he reached a large wooden door. He twisted the iron key and pulled the door. It opened easily and Jago stepped inside. In the shadows of the room in the dim light that fell from a high crescent window, Jago could see stacked wooden cases. They were laid out in aisles and went on and on in what he could now see was a vast warehouse. Jago knew that this was the repository that Lucca had spoken of.
Making his way speedily to the far side, Jago cut back and forth through the aisles. Each case or box was marked with a name, a date and its contents. He read them as he walked by. Some were filled with paintings. Jago read the names of Goya, Titian, Holbein and Caravaggio. Other boxes were filled with silver and gold. On one it just read: Lion’s head – gold teeth – ruby eyes. He could not find the name of Ezra Morgan, or any mention of the Oracle diamond.
Jago gave up his search as he heard the door open and footsteps come into the repository. On either side, men searched in and out of the artifacts. He knew that he could not escape. Then he looked up. On a box high above him sat Carlo. The monkey stared down.
He buried the knife in the lining of his coat next to the Sinan. He hoped it would not be found. The monkey began to chatter and call out. Jago ran. He twisted in and out of the aisles, trying to get to the door before those who now pursued him. Carlo followed, jumping from box to box and shouting as he gave chase.
Jago reached out, took the handle and pulled. The door opened.
There, standing in the entrance, wrapped tightly in her black coat, was Karlstein. She was the same in every way as Jago had seen her before but strangely, her hair was different. Gone were the shaved sides and mass of ringlets piled on top. Now her hair was bleach-blond and cut long, held back by a gold brooch.
‘Jago Harker, nice to meet you,’ she said with a smile. ‘I have heard so much about you and none of it good.’
‘Mina Karlstein?’ Jago asked.
‘No – her twin sister, Lana Karlstein.’ The woman laughed.
Whatever came next, Jago could not remember. There was a sudden jerk of her fist, the light dimmed and then he woke in the fine room in which he had talked with Lucca. He lay on the velvet sofa and felt the pain in his face. Lana Karlstein sat on the chair by the fireplace. Lucca stood next to her, clutching the body of the monkey as if it were a child.
‘You killed him,’ Lucca snarled, his face flushed with blood, his hair ragged and pulled across his brow. ‘There was no need for any of this. You are a fool – that is what you are, Jago Harker.’
‘Lucca was quite attached to Marco. He was a good companion for hundreds of years,’ Lana answered as she studied Jago. ‘I have never known one who looks so frail cause so much concern in our world.’
‘I didn’t ask for any of this,’ Jago said as he tried to sit up. ‘You have taken away my life.’
‘If you had just done what was expected, none of this would have happened. Do you know that many of us blame you for the death of all of our friends? They say that it was because Noel Kinross became so obsessed with you that he decided to kill as many Vampyres as he could with that stupid bomb. Then we are told that we cannot kill you, because you are special. Yet no one in the Maleficarum will tell us why.’
‘And now you want to lock me away at Luna Negri?’ Jago asked as he looked at Lana and realised her face was identical in every way to her sister’s. Even the red lips and kohl-lined eyes were alike. It was just the hair that set them apart.
‘That will be the best place for you. I spent some time there myself for a minor misdemeanour. Twenty-seven years to reflect on what I had done was a small price to pay,’ Lana said as she took the remnants from the glass on the table next to her and sipped the drink.
‘Your sister promised to keep my friends safe,’ Jago said.
‘You promised not to escape,’ Lana answered as Lucca rocked the corpse of Marco back and forth and hummed gently as if to rock it to sleep.
‘I didn’t. A man called Heston Walpurgis came. He killed your companions and took me captive. I managed to escape.’
‘Escape? From Walpurgis? I can hardly believe it,’ she answered, her eyes glaring in disbelief. ‘He would kill you. He knows who you are.’
‘Walpurgis wants a diamond and thinks we have money to pay him,’ Jago answered.
‘So it was true,’ Lucca said. ‘It was Walpurgis. He has the blood on his jacket to prove it, Lana.’
‘Then Walpurgis is an added complication. We should find out who he is working for,’ Lana said. ‘Walpurgis is a mercenary. He never works for himself. We should visit Hotel Julius.’
‘Where will you take me?’ Jago asked Lana Karlstein, who appeared to be more relaxed than her sister and smiled at him constantly as if intrigued.
‘Don’t worry, Jago. We will take good care of you. You should fear Walpurgis more than the Maleficarum. He has never let anyone get away from him before and no matter where in the world you are, if you have hurt him, he will demand an eye for an eye at the very least …’
[ 12 ]
Crillon de Paris
IN THE PRIVATE COMPARTMENT of the evening tr
ain to Paris, Jago tried to look out through the gaps in the shuttered window. When they had left the bank Lana Karlstein had waved goodbye to Lucca, who still clutched the body of Marco as he stood in the small doorway. A car had taken them through London to a small station on a disused railway. From there, a single coach drawn by a steam engine had taken them to the coast. A waiting boat crossed the Channel and now another train took them across the flatlands of France.
Lana Karlstein sat uncomfortably close to him on the plush leather couchette. She had talked all the way from London, telling Jago the intricate and often violent details of her life. Lana seemed to know the identity of everyone. She was a hunter and seemed to enjoy the chase more than the kill. Jago had been particularly intrigued about the man in Paris. He knew that was where they were taking him for the night – he had heard one of her companions say this to the guard on the train. The man had helped them into the private compartment and for his troubles was given a large banknote pressed into the palm of his hand.
As they had left Calais, Lana had snuggled closer and whispered the story of the Crillon Hotel and Suite de Napoleon. She had giggled about how during the war she had stayed there for a night. An officer of the occupying force had taken her for dinner. In return she had gone back to his room.
‘It was quite a surprise when he found out I was a Vampyre,’ she had joked in a way that sounded as if she was talking about finding a lost relative. ‘The look in his eyes, and the tears were hard to understand. He begged and begged that I should not take his life, but hey, who cares, there was a war on …’
Lana laughed as she told Jago how she had taken the body and thrown it from the roof to the Place de la Concorde. ‘Very fitting. In the Revolution, over thirteen hundred people met their death by the guillotine right outside the Hotel. I don’t think anyone suspected. He was just another soldier driven mad by the war who jumped from the roof. The view was amazing – as he fell I could see the Eiffel Tower. It was so pretty.’
