Vampyre Labyrinth

by G. P. Taylor

  Walpurgis swallowed hard. He found freedom a strange friend. Throughout the war, since being captured by the Gestapo he had been kept in a small room. He was never allowed to see the world outside. His daily life consisted of eating lice-filled food, scrubbing his cell and counting the stones in the wall. Now he stood under the canopy of heaven and felt as if he would be consumed by its capaciousness. He trembled at the heavens above him, knowing he was feeble and frail. The blackness stretched out endlessly into space. Time was meaningless, life useless.

  ‘We are but a flower of the field; when the wind blows over it the flower is gone and the ground knows it no more,’ Ozymandias said as he stepped from the double doors of the apartment that overlooked the veranda. ‘I wondered if you would call on me. I was informed by the Hotel Julius that Madame Arantez was no more.’

  ‘Did you kill her?’ Walpurgis asked, thankful that he was no longer alone under the weight of the stars that he could feel pressing down from space.

  ‘She was a good friend. More of a friend to me than she was to you.’ Ozymandias paused and sighed. He rolled the hazard dice in his hand and looked at Walpurgis. ‘A strange game, hazard … The rules are complicated, the betting difficult, and yet I am addicted. With a throw of the dice I believe I can change fate. I only wish I could throw them and win her back.’

  ‘Did you send the assassin?’ Walpurgis asked.

  ‘To kill my own friend?’ he sighed in disbelief.

  ‘Then who did?’ Walpurgis replied as he walked into the room that lay beyond the doors to the veranda.

  ‘I have enemies and you have enemies. Any one of them could have planned this. It is not a secret that you are back in London. In fact, I was speaking to a man this very evening who was worried you would kill him.’ Ozymandias lounged in a high-backed leather chair that stood in the middle of the spotlessly neat room, void of any character.

  ‘But they knew where I was. The assassin even gave me a message.’ Walpurgis picked up a folded copy of The Times newspaper from the table by the door and read the headline.

  ‘Was it pertinent?’ he asked.

  ‘He said that I was a cheat and a liar and that he had come on behalf of the Oracle,’ Walpurgis answered as he placed the newspaper back on the desk and rubbed the smudged ink from his fingers.

  ‘The Oracle … I wondered if that name would ever be mentioned,’ Ozymandias said earnestly. ‘We are living in troubled times. I find that when there are external forces at work, people often turn to religion.’

  ‘Even Vampyres?’

  ‘We are not immune from fantastical thoughts. It is not only true-blood humans who find they have to invent a supreme being to fulfil their fearful lives. The Cult of the Oracle has come and gone throughout the centuries. There have been times when it was almost forgotten. Now, my dear Heston, we are in the midst of a crisis. People once again turn to what they cannot see in the hope it will help them.’

  Ozymandias looked worried. His brow wrinkled as he rubbed his drawn face.

  ‘I take it that the Oracle diamond has an importance in all this?’ Walpurgis asked.

  ‘That is why Ezra Morgan wanted the diamond so badly,’ he said as he watched Walpurgis limp to the door. ‘He too had begun to believe in the Oracle. Rumours had spread amongst the Maleficarum and even Strackan feared what was to come.’

  ‘And what do you get for believing?’ he asked.

  ‘The Cult believes that the Oracle was the first-ever Vampyre. It goes back beyond the time anyone can remember and suggests that the creator of us all is still alive. No one knows who or where it is. Some thought that it was Strackan, but many know that he was born a man. The Oracle – if it exists – is far older and far wiser. When you found the diamond, this was a sign that what was spoken of would come true.’

  ‘It is poppycock and we know it,’ Walpurgis replied. ‘If there was such a Vampyre they would have been discovered long ago.’

  ‘At the centre of the faith is the belief that the Oracle lived amongst us and we didn’t know it. The creature secretly touched all of our lives. Now that conviction grows and grows. Whoever has the diamond can control the Cult of the Oracle.’

  ‘So I take it you don’t believe?’ Walpurgis asked as the wound in his leg throbbed.

  ‘I was an atheist in life and I am still the same in death. I believe in that which I can see, and I have never seen a god – or an Oracle. With each day that passes more of our kind will be added. Soon we will be strong again. I intend to be in control and I would like you to help me.’

  ‘I would never be a companion,’ Walpurgis said.

  ‘I would not want your blood, just your able assistance in eliminating any problems …’

  Walpurgis stared at the man. Ozymandias looked younger than he had before. With each hunt for blood he had been transformed. The blood of the chase apeared to be more efficacious than that freely given or bought from the blood-traders who lived in the back streets of London. They diluted that taken from people with animal blood, water and red dye. It did not have the same effect as blood taken from a frightened life chased through the night and then snuffed out.

  ‘I see you are hunting more?’ he asked Ozymandias.

  Ozymandias got to his feet and looked in the mirror that hung on the hide-covered walls.

  ‘I didn’t think it could be noticed, Heston,’ he answered as he smiled at the reflection of himself in the looking glass. ‘I was only thinking the other day how wonderful I felt. So old and yet so young …’

  ‘Surely hunting attracts attention?’ Walpurgis enquired.

  ‘Now that we have Bloomsbury House things are kept secret.’ Ozymandias offered the words like a baited hook, knowing that Walpurgis would not be able to resist. ‘It is a better game than hazard.’

  ‘I think I know what you are doing,’ Walpurgis said as Ozymandias took out an ivory comb and ran it through his hair.

  ‘It is not as wicked as it seems. We offer a thousand pounds to anyone who can get from the attic of the house to the front door. One Vampyre waits and as the victim makes their way from the building we give chase. All they know is that it is a matter of life and death.’

  ‘They don’t know that you chase them for their blood?’ he asked.

  ‘No. That we keep to ourselves. You would be surprised what people will do for a thousand pounds.’

  ‘Does anyone ever win?’ Walpurgis asked.

  ‘There was a woman who managed to escape. She was a tramp. I had found her under the arches at Charing Cross. I thought that she would be caught within the first five yards. Sadly, I was wrong. She outwitted an old friend and got to the door.’

  ‘And did she get the money?’ Walpurgis asked, thinking that Ozymandias would never let fresh blood walk from the building.

  ‘Indeed she did. In fact we gave her more than she expected. A fair price for a game of hide and seek.’

  ‘And you let her go?’

  ‘Of course – do you think I am a monster?’ Ozymandias laughed. ‘She even came back a week later, having spent all the money on Gin and Wheel.’

  ‘And she escaped again and you paid her?’

  ‘No.’ Ozymandias laughed. ‘I found her hiding in the dining room and ripped out her throat. It was the only door that I had left unlocked. I thought it quite fair.’

  ‘You cheated,’ Walpurgis said. ‘You locked all the doors so she couldn’t escape.’

  ‘Hide and seek is such fun – perhaps you should try it one night.’

  ‘Running around your charnel house? Do you think I am mad?’

  ‘I know you are mad, Heston. I can hear the garbled thoughts that jump in and out of your mind. But then again, I suppose you are never alone with a head full of voices …’

  Walpurgis didn’t answer. He paced the room and stood by the door to the veranda, looking out across the London skyline. Far away he could see the dome of St Paul’s. It appeared to fill half the sky. The white columns that surrounded it glowed brightly in the
light from the street below.

  The two men stood silently. Ozymandias knew he had offended him. The words were true but harsh and regrettable. ‘I should have thought before I spoke,’ he said as he went and stood by Walpurgis, putting a hand on his shoulder. ‘Not many people have seen the monstrosities upon which your eyes have stared. They would drive even the most callous person completely mad.’

  ‘It is of my own doing, Ozymandias. I have the free will to decide. Sometimes I just cannot stop myself,’ he answered, his voice choked.

  ‘If it is too much for you I could always ask someone else.’

  ‘The only other man would be Toran Blaine. I was told that he was dead.’

  ‘Regrettably … A fine man and a wasted life,’ Ozymandias said as he stepped on to the veranda and looked at the bay trees that lined the wall in fat terracotta pots. ‘I hope you will continue. I know a doctor in Strasbourg who I can recommend.’

  ‘I am well,’ Walpurgis said. ‘The voices come and go. Now, I don’t listen to them.’

  ‘Would you ever consider becoming one with us?’ Ozymandias asked, already knowing the answer to his question. ‘It would be such a shame to allow age to corrupt such beauty. The years are already stripping you of your looks. It would be a shame for them to go to waste.’

  Walpurgis instinctively touched his face. He coughed to clear his tightening throat. ‘I don’t think you would want me as one of your number,’ he answered.

  ‘Like me you have a thirst for … excitement,’ Ozymandias said. ‘You would enjoy Bloomsbury House. I have never been disappointed.’

  ‘I loved her, did you know that?’ Walpurgis asked suddenly as he turned and faced Ozymandias.

  ‘Arantez did say you were very close.’

  ‘It was more than that. I would have married her,’ he answered.

  ‘Even though she had become a Vampyre?’ Ozymandias asked.

  ‘That made no difference to me. She was still beautiful.’

  ‘But you would have aged and she would have stayed the same. A relationship of mixed blood will never work. She would have watched you decay and the love would fade. I have seen it so many times before.’

  ‘That possibility has been taken from me. I need to find the one who sent the assassin. I ask you again, was it you?’

  It was as if the question had stayed with Walpurgis throughout their conversation, bubbling in his mind as he waited for the time to ask it again. He watched Ozymandias for the slightest hint of a lie.

  ‘I do not want you dead,’ he said softly. ‘In fact Heston, I hold a special place in my heart for you.’

  ‘Then who tried to kill me?’

  ‘You will have to discover that for yourself,’ he answered reluctantly. ‘The Cult of the Oracle will be hard to pin down.’

  ‘I need a name. Somewhere to start. You must know something,’ he insisted, his voice raised in concern. The lights of the room flickered and then burnt even brighter.

  Ozymandias looked away as he thought. ‘Even when we are at war with each other there is a certain loyalty amongst us,’ he said slowly.

  ‘I need a name,’ Walpurgis repeated, knowing Ozymandias could give him at least one clue.

  ‘Find Jago Harker and his friend and kill them. Then I will tell you what you need to know. It has to be that way.’

  ‘Would you keep that from me? You must know something about who could have sent the assassin,’ Walpurgis said adamantly.

  ‘Very well. There is one name that has been mentioned. But under no circumstances should it ever be said that I was the one to inform you.’

  ‘Who is it?’ Walpurgis asked.

  ‘Within the Lodge Maleficarum there is a traitor. A follower of the Cult of the Oracle all their life. I once spoke to them of their habit and they would not deny it. Last week I was told that they would do anything for the diamond.’

  Walpurgis stared at him as he spoke, the sudden realisation of whom he thought it could be written across his face.

  ‘Mina Karlstein?’ Walpurgis asked.

  ‘How did you guess?’ Ozymandias replied with a shrug. ‘I never said her name.’

  ‘She once came to Cambridge and asked me about the diamond. It was she who introduced me to Ezra Morgan.’

  ‘You see,’ Ozymandias said as he pointed to the sky. ‘The clouds are clearing … Find her and she will give you the answer. And take this,’ he said, handing him a small green bottle of viscous liquid. ‘It will take away the pain.’

  ‘I will kill her.’

  ‘Make sure she speaks to you first and remember that if she is killed her sister will come for you.’

  ‘Then they will both die.’

  [ 14 ]

  Cupcakes

  JAGO STARED at the breakfast plate and wondered if he dare eat. Every inch of a large dish decorated with ivy leaves was covered with iced cakes. They had been left there whilst he had slept. Fourteen red, creamed cupcakes in crimped paper cases, each one topped with a small piece of sugared fruit. Next to the cakes was a pot of steaming chocolate. He could never forget the smell – it reminded him of Julius Cresco, the man who had looked after him when he was younger, the man who had turned out to be a Vampyre. Every Saturday morning, Cresco would make hot chocolate and cupcakes. He would invite Jago to his apartment and together they would read newspapers, listen to the radio and dip the cakes into the steaming chocolate. The man defied any attempt at rationing.

  ‘You never know when your time is up,’ Cresco had always said. ‘Best to eat as much as you can each day as a meal on the plate is the only certainty we know.’

  Jago remembered the words as he sat up on the velvet couch and wondered why he was alone. The room was empty. There was no sign of Lana Karlstein or her companion. In the square below, he could hear the sound of a street musician playing the violin. The drapes on the window blew and twisted in the fresh morning breeze. The scent of Paris crept over the window ledge and spilled across the room. It was so unlike London. The air was warm, even for that time of year. Car horns, cycle bells and shouts drowned out the hum of the Metro railway beneath the road.

  In the morning light, the room appeared much larger and far shabbier than the night before. He could see the fine cracks that criss-crossed the plastered ceiling. The carpet had faded and everything was coated in a thin layer of dust. Picking a cake from the plate, Jago sniffed the cream. It smelt like nothing he had known before. He put it to his lips and tasted it with the tip of his tongue.

  ‘Blood …’ he said as his thoughts escaped.

  ‘What do you expect?’ Lana Karlstein asked. ‘I am a Vampyre.’

  Jago had no idea how she had got into the room. She sat on the leather chair by the fire as if she had been there all along. He didn’t want to ask her how she had done it for fear he had been mistaken.

  ‘But it’s sweet,’ he replied licking the icing from the cake and for a moment not caring what he was doing.

  ‘It is the speciality of a small restaurant nearby. I ordered them last night.’ Lana got up from the chair and sat uncomfortably close to him on the sofa.

  Not moving from his place, he leant against her and laughed. ‘Never thought I would be eating bloody cream cakes in Paris,’ he said.

  ‘And I never thought that I would be with someone like you,’ Lana answered as she wiped a fleck of cream from the tip of his nose. ‘I am so glad that I was asked to do this. I thought that you would be a petulant brat. I was so very mistaken …’

  Lana glanced at him, as their faces drew closer. She thought he looked much older than she had been told. It was something that she had seen time and time again. It was as if the venom of the bite stopped the process of ageing. A Vampyre always looked as they did on the day when the venom first took hold – the victim was frozen in time. Yet even with Jago, she saw the tell-tale signs. The skin of his face was thinning so that it had become opaque. The veins within were near to the surface and tinged his cheeks with a turquoise glow. The bones of his fingers
were more pronounced, as were the knuckles and joints of his hand. There were slight signs, easily visible if you knew what to look for. The most obvious and visible change was that of the eyes. Around the iris, the eye was always reddened. It was even more so when the Vampyre had recently eaten. Lana Karlstein could tell that Jago was hungry.

  ‘So what will happen today?’ he asked. He moved away as the companion opened the door.

  ‘Will you try to escape?’ she asked.

  ‘Is it worth it?’ he answered. ‘How far would I get?’

  ‘All depends how far I wanted you to go before I swooped down and bit you,’ she joked, opening her mouth and making as if she would bite him.

  Jago lounged back into the soft cushions that were scattered on the couch. He had not felt this way for many years. He was happier than he had been for longer than he could remember.

  ‘You said something about giving up the search and then finding what you want,’ he said as he looked at her.

  ‘Yes?’ she answered.

  ‘Would it be wrong of me not to look for Hugh Morgan?’

  Lana Karlstein leant forward and whispered in his ear. ‘I think you would surely find him that way,’ she said softly, as if she wanted only him to hear the words.

  ‘Luna Negri?’ he whispered in reply as the companion fussed with a small bowl of flowers by the window.

  ‘A place of beauty where we often find what we are looking for,’ she answered as she looked over his shoulder to the companion, telling him with her eyes to leave the room. The man tutted as he walked across the room and pulled the white doors tightly shut. ‘If I were to tell you something could you be trusted?’

  Jago answered immediately. ‘Of course, whatever you tell me will be a secret.’

  She looked at him as if she was searching for the truth. He tried not to show how he was feeling, as if in some way he would betray her.