Vampyre Labyrinth

by G. P. Taylor

  ‘Did you know that Mina had gone to Zurich before the war?’ Jago asked.

  ‘We had a time when we were far apart. I didn’t see her for the whole of that year. I own a café, I spent my time there,’ Lana answered in a way that suggested there was more to tell but she wanted to keep it secret. ‘Can you see what I mean about the child?’

  ‘He could be ten years old by now,’ Jago said as Lana took the picture from him and held it to the light of the window. ‘And Leonhardt, was he in the Maleficarum?’

  ‘When he went missing on the Titanic, that was when Noel Kinross was made Master. Leonhardt was Master before him and was also the Keeper of the Oracle,’ Lana said, holding back the anger of her betrayal. She went back to the chair and sank into the seat and looked out of the window at the two small islands out to sea. A large motor yacht steamed across the bay and in the street below an accordion was being played with rough hands.

  ‘Is this to do with the Oracle diamond?’ he asked, as if it were an answer to all he had been searching for.

  Lana Karlstein looked at him and smiled. ‘If I leave you alone, will you be here when I return?’ she asked. She dropped the photograph to the floor as if she needed it no more.

  ‘Where else can I go?’ he replied as he sat on the silk sheets of the bed and smiled at her. ‘I don’t want to run away – what would be the point?’

  ‘You could go back to England, hide away until we all forget about you, and live your life with your pretty girl,’ she said in a tone that hinted of hidden jealousy.

  ‘I want to find Hugh Morgan.’

  Lana drew her breath, as if she were about to cry.

  ‘I lied to you, Jago. I tried to make out that Hugh Morgan would be at the Luna Negri. But it is a place of solitude. You would be alone.’

  ‘I know,’ Jago answered. ‘I thought for a moment that I might find him there but then I realised the truth.’

  ‘And you still would come with me?’ she asked.

  ‘To Luna Negri?’ he asked, knowing that her heart was changed.

  Lana got to her feet and looked out the window. It was as if she had heard a sound that she recognised.

  ‘I will be back soon. Stay here and –’

  ‘I will be here when you return,’ he said.

  Lana reached into her bag and took out a roll of American dollars. ‘If I don’t come back, take these and head for London. Hide there, do anything, but don’t go back to Hawks Moor.’

  ‘But why?’ he protested.

  ‘I will lock the door and take the key. Answer it for no one.’

  Lana was soon gone and Jago was left alone. He looked out of the window, trying to see her in the street below. The first hour passed slowly, as did the second and third. Jago slept for a while, his face pressed against the window ledge as he listened to the sounds of the street and harbour. Then he heard a faint click and a stumbled footstep, and opening his eyes he saw Lana. She had several large bags that she dropped on the floor.

  ‘I slept,’ he said, not knowing what else to say and glad to see her face.

  Lana leant forward. The kiss was quite unexpected. Jago held her hand, then pulled her back towards him and kissed her again. He could taste chocolate on her lips and cherry cheesecake. It was then he noticed she had been crying.

  ‘The Café Poet. And as for these, I couldn’t resist.’ Lana laughed, knowing his thoughts, as she nodded to the bags. ‘New clothes – more fitting than a leather coat.’

  Jago had never had clothes like these before. He tried on the jacket and shirts and slipped his feet in and out of the brogue boots.

  ‘How did you know what I would like?’ he asked her as he tried the tweed jacket for the seventh time.

  ‘I saw it and thought you would look older, and it works,’ she said, proud of her accomplishment. ‘Makes you look like a man.’

  Jago looked in the mirror by the door. He looked different, much older. His hair was wild and tangled but the jacket was neat and hand-stitched.

  ‘There is a winter coat, everything you will need.’

  ‘For Luna Negri?’ he asked.

  Lana put down her bag and looked at him. ‘I am not going to take you,’ she said. She looked down at the red carpet with gold flowers woven intricately into the fabric. ‘I think it is best that I change my plans.’

  ‘But the Lodge Maleficarum? The orders to take me there?’

  ‘They don’t matter, Jago. Nothing matters any more,’ Lana said as she walked to the bathroom and closed the door.

  He heard the sound of the tap.

  ‘But they’ll come looking for you,’ he said. ‘They’ll want to know why you never took me.’

  Standing in the harsh light of the vanity mirror, she wiped the make-up from her face with the towel and looked at him. ‘I went to see Renoir, the mechanic. He had just received a telephone call from an old friend in London. It would seem that the Lodge Maleficarum is no more. Last night, when we were travelling, the whole council of the Maleficarum was assassinated. Twelve of our kind were killed. There is no one to lead us, no one to keep control. The Maleficarum is no more.’

  ‘Why did it happen?’ Jago asked.

  ‘It is all part of the prophecy. You would be born, the Lyrid of Saturn would give you power, the Maleficarum would come to an end. Every Vampyre on Earth will be killed, leaving only one. The race will start again. That is what the prophecy said and it has started to come true.’ Lana tried to smile. She looked nervous, anxious about what she had to say. ‘Renoir also told me that Mina was dead. Walpurgis killed her. Lucca from the Banco Perazzi telephoned and told him that Ezra Morgan has paid Walpurgis all the money he owed and has given him the same amount to kill you and Hugh Morgan.’

  ‘What is happening?’ Jago asked as Lana’s words crashed about him like falling stones.

  ‘You are to be tracked down and taken to the Cult of the Oracle and there you are to be sacrificed. Because of who you are, a Vampyre cannot do it. There is a price on your head for a million pounds. Even Renoir was tempted until –’

  ‘Until what?’ he asked.

  ‘Until I told him I loved you,’ she said simply and without emotion. ‘He has painted me many times and owes me that favour. We have until tomorrow to get out of France.’

  ‘We?’ Jago asked.

  ‘I can’t let you go alone. You would be eaten alive.’ She laughed as she brushed by and opened the bag of clothes. ‘I have no idea where we can go – perhaps America or even Russia.’

  ‘He will keep searching for us until we are found. I know what Walpurgis is like,’ Jago said, not wanting to run from him for the rest of his life.

  ‘So what would you do? Stand and fight?’

  ‘If I had to,’ he answered. ‘Together it could be done.’

  ‘He killed my sister. Walpurgis said she fell from a cliff, but Lucca told Renoir he could see everything in his mind and it was murder,’ Lana said. She breathed hard, hoping that Jago would not see inside her mind. ‘Even Ozymandias is against you. He is talking to the remnant of Vampyres about what can be done. Renoir said that the only name that is spoken is that of Jago Harker. Everyone knows of you. You are a threat to us all.’

  ‘So will Renoir betray you?’ Jago asked not knowing if the man could be trusted.

  ‘We cannot stay here. I have bought another car. If you are sure that you want to stay with me we could go to –’

  ‘Zurich?’ Jago asked knowing that in her heart she wanted to find Leonhardt.

  ‘Zurich,’ she answered. ‘There is a train at midnight.’

  ‘But what about the car?’ Jago asked seeing that she had already changed her mind.

  ‘I bought it from Renoir. He can’t be trusted to keep it a secret. We will leave it in Nice before we take the train.’ Lana looked at him, a crease of worry growing across her forehead. She began to speak slowly. ‘Renoir told me that Heston Walpurgis knows we are in France. Morgan told him of our route to Luna Negri. He will be here in the mor
ning.’

  [ 20 ]

  Le Train Bleu

  A THIN WAITER in a shabby tuxedo and tight trousers walked through the narrow passageway on the rumbling train. Every compartment in every one of the ten carriages was full. The dining car had served only the first carriage and even though it was nearly midnight there were still eight carriages of people wanting to eat. Tapping feverishly at the door to the compartment, the waiter handed a drink through the opening. A hand reached out and dark eyes looked at the waiter. Then, as if he would not leave until money had been given, the waiter held out his hand.

  ‘I have no change and you are not pretty enough for a ten-dollar bill,’ Walpurgis said as he shut the door and slid the bolt, not wanting to be disturbed again.

  He could hear the waiter chunter as he walked away. Walpurgis didn’t care; the man was just another waiter on another train that rattled through France in the dark of night. The dinner gong rang on the wall by the stewards room. It signalled that the dining car of Le Train Bleu was ready to serve them as quickly as possible and push them into the already crowded bar for more drinks.

  Walpurgis fastened the laces on his polished boots. He had taken great care with cleaning them in the last four hours since leaving Paris. It had been all there was to do. Morgan had told him the route that Lana Karlstein would take to get to Luna Negri. He had been given duplicate keys to every hotel room the Maleficarum had used. He pondered the word, finding it hard to accept that the ancient order had been destroyed overnight. He had not believed Morgan until he had returned to the Hotel Julius and gone back to his room.

  Julia had been waiting for him. He had sipped more of the tonic that Ozymandias had given him for the pain of the wound and as he had opened the door he could see her. She sat on the bed, wrapped in a blanket. Her red lipstick was smeared like mascara across her face. She had cried until she could cry no more. It had not taken her long to explain about the phone calls. People cancelled their reservations as news of the cull spread around the world.

  ‘They even found Kubrick,’ she had said, quite amazed. ‘No one had known where he was living for the last five years. They found him and killed him. All are dead.’

  Julia bit her fingernails as she stared into the darkness of the room. Walpurgis sat on the bed and touched her leg. It was cold, like death. The woman looked as though she had given up on life.

  ‘I knew about an hour ago,’ he had answered. ‘Morgan told me what was going to happen and by then it was too late.’

  ‘Don’t like it,’ she had snarled. ‘Don’t like it at all. I am leaving in the morning. Going back home to where it all started. I’m going to tell them who I am and see what they do. Funny – there is a legend about me in the valley. But this is no legend.’

  ‘They won’t believe you and if they do you will be killed,’ he had answered.

  ‘What else is there? There has always been order and control and now that we are free …’ Her words trailed off as she looked at him.

  ‘Just stay here. Keep on just as before,’ Walpurgis had said, trying to keep her calm.

  ‘If they can find people like Kubrick then what about me? If they ever wanted me dead what would I do?’

  ‘Morgan said he wanted control of the Maleficarum – that’s all. It has nothing to do with you.’

  As he left the next morning, he knew that she was not convinced. She kissed him as he walked from the room, down the stairs and into the street. Now, as the train took him further south towards the coastal mountains of France, he wondered if he would see her again.

  ‘Mr Heston, Mr Heston!’ came the voice at the door as fingers tapped on the thin wooden panel.

  ‘I’m busy,’ Walpurgis replied.

  ‘It is dinner – it cannot be delayed, Mr Heston,’ the voice of the waiter insisted.

  Opening the door, he looked into the narrow passageway. The waiter had gone and the train rattled and shook. Smoke blew in through a narrow crack in the window frame. The night flashed by as the half-shut blind swung back and forth, its long cord tapping against the glass. Walpurgis reached into his pocket and took out the knife and cut the cord. He wrapped the silk threads around his fingers and slid them into his pocket.

  The waiter looked around the corner of the passageway.

  ‘Just coming,’ Walpurgis said before he could speak.

  ‘The others at your table want to eat and are waiting for you.’

  ‘Others?’ Walpurgis asked. ‘What others?’

  ‘So full – so many people – no one eats alone,’ he said as he walked away, not caring for the look on the face of Walpurgis.

  The dining car of Le Train Bleu would not have been out of place on a cruise liner. It was decorated with gold leaf and on the panels between the windows were hand-painted views of France. The chandeliers above each table rattled as the train hit the joints in the track. As Walpurgis opened the door there was a sudden silence. The waiter pointed to a space at a table near the far doors. Walpurgis smiled at the other passengers who were all waiting to eat. Taking five long strides to the table, he slid onto the chair. There were two men and a woman. The men both wore dinner suits and looked like brothers. Both had Swiss beards and narrow, pinched eyes set in moon-shaped faces.

  ‘The waiter said you were cleaning your boots,’ the fatter bearded man opposite said, hoping to start a conversation.

  ‘Yes,’ Walpurgis answered as the svelte woman next to him in the tight black dress ruffled on her seat.

  ‘We three are travelling together,’ the other man said. ‘We are going to Monaco to play in the casino.’

  Walpurgis nodded as the man introduced himself and his friends. He didn’t listen to the names; tomorrow he would leave the train and never see them again. The woman seemed interesting. She had a narrow face and long nose like an elegant horse. Her eyes were wide and deep brown. He could tell that her blond hair was dyed; the roots were just beginning to show.

  ‘And you are?’ the woman asked as she sipped the soup without getting her lips wet.

  ‘Heston,’ he answered.

  ‘Heston? Is that all?’

  ‘Just Heston,’ he answered as she pushed the bowl away from her.

  The dinner dragged slowly. Soup led to mutton and then crème brûlée. Conversation came and went and as the dining car emptied, Walpurgis stood to leave.

  ‘You will drink with us?’ the bearded man asked. ‘Shame to spend the night on such a beautiful train as this and be asleep.’

  ‘Sleep is just what I need,’ Walpurgis replied. ‘It has been a long war.’

  ‘Is that where you got the wound to your leg?’ the woman asked. ‘I noticed you had a limp.’

  ‘As I said, it has been a long war,’ he replied. ‘I wish you well at the casino and hope they don’t take all your money.’

  The woman laughed and the two men looked at him uncomfortably.

  ‘That is to be seen,’ the fatter of the two replied as he picked the remnants of the mutton from the fibres of his greasy black beard. ‘We have enough to lose. The war was good for us.’

  ‘I have never heard of a war being good,’ Walpurgis said as he stepped away from them.

  ‘People will always want to borrow money and someone has to provide,’ the man answered.

  ‘And with significant interest applied,’ his brother said, laughing contentedly.

  ‘They own a bank,’ the woman said. ‘They are money-lenders to the rich and famous.’

  ‘I am neither,’ Walpurgis replied.

  ‘That is a surprise,’ the woman said as she held out her hand to him in a gesture of goodbye. ‘I thought you were an actor on your way to the festival in Cannes. I am most disappointed.’

  ‘I always disappoint a woman eventually,’ he replied as he walked away.

  A nagging doubt made him look back to the table, where he saw them in heated conversation. The face of the older bearded man was rage-red, as if their argument would make his heart explode.

  Walpurgis
carried on to his compartment. The steward looked out from his cupboard-like room and brushed back his long locks of gelatinous hair. ‘Goodnight, Mr Heston,’ he said, reading the name from the room list at the side of his door.

  Walpurgis went inside and locked the door. He lay on the bed as the train rocked back and forth. At one point in the night he felt the steam engine slow down and he heard the sound of a busy platform outside. The lights of the station blinked in through the sides of the shutters as the door to the carriage opened and closed quickly.

  When he woke, the compartment was in complete darkness. The train had stopped. Walpurgis sat up on the couchette. It was impossible, but he thought that there was someone near to him. He reached out his hand towards the switch for the light.

  ‘I wouldn’t do that,’ a woman said in a whisper. ‘They will know you are awake.’

  ‘What do you want?’ he asked looking to where the voice had come from.

  ‘Couldn’t sleep – but then again, I never could,’ she answered as he felt her hand touch the back of his arm. ‘You are Heston Walpurgis, aren’t you?’

  ‘Who wants to know?’ he replied, slowly pulling his arm away.

  ‘What is the point in telling you my name? It will only disappoint you.’ She laughed quietly to herself. ‘Anyway, you will be dead by the morning.’

  ‘I feel in wonderful health. A little older, perhaps but nothing that would bring my demise by morning,’ he answered.

  ‘I have been asked to kill you before you get to Cannes. Ozymandias knows of your betrayal. He too is disappointed.’

  ‘I have never disappointed a man before, but there is always a first time,’ he replied, wondering how the woman was going to try and kill him. ‘Why should Ozymandias think I have betrayed him?’

  ‘He was told by Ezra Morgan when they met for breakfast. I was telephoned in Paris and we joined the train. Lucky, really – we managed to secure the last three seats.’

  ‘Are you a Vampyre?’ he asked, not sensing anything about her.

  ‘I hope to be. That is what has been promised. I worked for the Gestapo at Belzec. One day I came across a man that intrigued me. I discovered he was a Vampyre.’