by G. P. Taylor
‘Why don’t you just go and get him?’ Walpurgis asked as the man in the back of the car gripped him firmly so he couldn’t move.
‘We don’t know where they have taken him,’ Ozymandias answered in a strained voice. ‘And I can’t risk letting you go to find him. I take it you know what our plans are for your life.’
‘You should have left me to rot in that Polish jail,’ Walpurgis answered, wondering how he would free himself from this.
‘It was sad that the war ended when it did. I was quite surprised. We had every confidence in the mad corporal winning – then again, he was a Bavarian.’
‘So Mina is not with you in this?’ Walpurgis asked.
‘We had such confidence in her and yet she has decided that she needs insurance. When Ezra came up with the idea of killing off the Maleficarum and its followers I thought she would be on our side. Now she feels she has to be reassured that she will not be culled with the rest of them.’
‘I take it we are going to the Cave of Magdalene?’
‘I am always amazed at how you manage to discover everything for yourself. It has been decided that you are to become one of us. A man as psychotic as you is too good to remain human.’ Ozymandias took a small glass vial from his pocket. ‘I know how you want to live and how you fear death. Madame Arantez told me all about your conversations.’
‘I think I have changed my mind since then.’
It is a shame really. The linctus I gave you to take away the pain is a very slow poison. The only way to stay alive is to keep drinking it. If you stop your body will feel as if it is on fire and you will slowly burn from the inside as every nerve disintegrates. Not even a man like you could stand the pain. You will beg me to kill you.’
‘Not if I have killed you first,’ Walpurgis snapped as he struggled to be free.
‘That will not happen,’ Ozymandias answered. ‘If you want to live, then you will have to become one with us. We have a very special ritual planned in three nights’ time. A sacrifice that will bring about the dawn of a new age.’
‘Witchcraft,’ Walpurgis snarled as the car lurched through the narrow streets of the old town and headed towards Mougin and the hills near Grasse.
‘Not quite – more of a ceremony of deliverance. You will be there and that is when your wife will take what is rightfully hers …’
‘Vibica is alive? I thought –’
‘Your wife is alive and well. She was protected from the rigours of the war and brought to France. She is quite safe and looking forward to meeting you.’
‘And what of Toran Blaine?’ Walpurgis asked.
‘Your rival in love is dead – or so I believe. We will soon know for sure. In return for my help, Ezra Morgan has promised that I can use the Oracle. Everything is prepared. The blood of Jago Harker will be used to ignite the stone. Then we shall all see the future.’
[ 23 ]
The Convent of Magdalene
JAGO SAT IN THE BACK of the taxi between Medea and Mina Karlstein. They pressed uncomfortably against him so that he couldn’t move. Neither of them spoke. Since capturing him on the train they had both been silent. Mina Karlstein had pushed him from the carriage when it had arrived at Toulon and marched him from the station through the crowds to the small taxi rank. Then she had opened the door of a battered old taxi, sliding across the back seat as Medea forced Jago to follow.
The driver stared ahead as he drove through the narrow streets. Jago stared at the reflection of his bearded face in the mirror on the windshield. He tried to catch his eye and show him that something was wrong, but the driver refused to even glance at the boy.
Soon they had left the town behind. The car struggled with the winding mountain roads, creeping around the tight corners as it climbed higher and higher. Jago wiped the sweat from his brow as the driver finally caught his eye.
‘Convent?’ he asked Mina Karlstein. ‘Are you sure you want the Convent?’
His English wasn’t perfect. The man sounded Italian and looked Turkish. His hair was greased back and his double chin made him appear older than he was.
‘The Convent Hotel – do you know it?’ Medea asked sweetly as she reached out and rubbed the back of his neck.
‘Shall we stop before we get there? It is a long way beyond Riboux. I have some wine in the car and bread. I could take you for a walk,’ the driver answered as he rubbed the back of his neck against the tips of her fingers.
Jago saw Medea look to Mina Karlstein. He dug deep into his pocket to find the Vampyre compass. It was gone. ‘Mina,’ he thought to himself knowing she had taken it from his pocket whilst he had slept.
‘I suppose that might be nice,’ Mina answered. ‘Find somewhere an hour before we arrive. The sun should be quite warm then.’
‘I know a perfect place. It has a fantastic view. You can see all of France.’
‘That would be good,’ Medea answered as she continued to rub the back of his neck with her long fingernails.
For the next hour, the driver explained the route. At every corner he gave details of less than interesting facts. Jago tried to cloud his mind and numb himself from the journey. He thought of Lana and wondered if she was alive. And then a sudden dark thought crept into his mind: he was taken back to the day when he had been alone in the library at the house of Crispin Draigorian. It had been the day when the poltergeist had made itself known. Jago could feel again every drop of fear that had surged through his veins. He shuddered visibly as the hair stood up on the back of his neck. Medea looked at him as if she had felt the same.
The taxi stopped suddenly, the brakes squealing as it turned off the road into a dusty lay-by.
‘This is the place,’ the driver said proudly, as if making a great discovery. ‘I will get the picnic and call you when it is ready.’
He got out of the car and opened the trunk. Jago stared through the window. The scarp fell away below them. Blocks of white stone were piled one on the other at the edge of a cliff, and gnarled bushes grew out of the rocks surrounded by patches of small flowers.
‘I will kill you, Jago, if you try to escape,’ Mina said coldly. ‘It would give me great pleasure.’
Jago sensed doubt in her words. The driver set out the rug and a large reed basket and wine and then opened the door for Medea.
‘All is ready,’ he said excitedly. ‘I always take the opportunity to eat well.’
Medea laughed. Jago saw her eye the man and then look to Mina.
‘Why don’t we take our food over to the rocks and look to the sea?’ Medea asked. ‘These two want to talk and I need to get to know you.’
The man slipped his fingers into his belt and nodded in agreement. A broad smile spread across his unshaven face. He picked up an open bottle of cheap wine and carried it across to a pile of rocks by the side of the cliff.
Mina took hold of Jago by the hand.
‘It won’t be long,’ she whispered. ‘Stay in the car.’
Medea put her long, slender arm around the man and then took hold of his hand.
‘Let’s go further, so they can’t see us,’ she whispered as he swigged from the bottle. ‘You have something that I need.’
The driver followed. At one point he looked back. Jago smiled at him as he disappeared over the edge of the ridge to a path that led down the side of the scarp. He took a last look at Medea. She stopped on the ridge of large rocks and smiled at Mina.
‘He has a minute to live,’ Mina whispered, an obvious look of intense glee on her face. ‘I do hope she remembers the keys to the car.’
Her throwaway comment made Jago shudder. Just like the woman at the railway station, the taxi driver had been chosen at random to die. Had he not spoken, Jago wondered if they would have decided to kill him.
‘Do you need to eat?’ he asked Mina.
‘Why – does it bother you?’ she asked begrudgingly. ‘Since you cosied up to my sister, I didn’t think you would have been concerned at all.’
‘He’s just a taxi driver,’ he a
nswered.
‘She was just a woman at a station,’ Mina replied with a snarl of her lip.
There was no scream. In fact there was nothing to say that the man was dead. Medea walked slowly back to the car, the keys draped on her longest finger and held like a prize.
‘He tasted like vomit,’ she said as she got near. ‘I made sure it looked as though he had fallen – got drunk and jumped to his death.’
‘You drive and I will look after Jago,’ Mina answered as Medea slinked into the front seat, pulled up her tight skirt and turned on the engine.
By later that afternoon, as they drove along the narrow roads near La Coutronne, the car was nearly out of petrol. The engine juddered and stopped, and Medea pulled in to the side of the road.
‘If they find the car they can trace it to you,’ Jago said as Mina pushed him out.
‘Thought of that,’ Medea answered. ‘It’s not far to where we are going and they will never find the car.’
‘Give us an hour, we don’t want to arrive together,’ Mina said as she kissed Medea on the lips.
‘An hour will be too long to be without you,’ she answered as she touched the tip of Mina’s nose.
‘I will make up for every lost minute,’ Mina replied softly.
‘And every second?’ Medea asked.
Taking a path across country, Mina kept looking back to the car at the side of the road. Soon it was just a small speck in the distance. Jago wondered if he could run away. He eyed her warily to see if he could kill her. She was more of a man than a woman; her features had grown harsh with time. Jago thought how different she was to her sister. Lana had a heart, she was beautiful, and now as he walked across the desolate highlands of the plateau, Jago realised that he loved her.
‘Where are you taking me?’ he asked Mina as they walked side by side.
‘You will soon see,’ she answered coldly.
‘Walpurgis will come for us,’ he answered.
‘I hope so – it would be good to see him again.’
‘And Biatra, Hugh and Jack Henson – what have you done with them?’ Jago asked.
‘It matters not. They are of no consequence any more.’ Mina looked at him as they stopped on an outcrop of rock. She thought before speaking. ‘She can’t help it … Lana can’t help falling in love. I have seen it so many times and this is no different. You are just one of a thousand men who have come and gone. Don’t get all sentimental.’
‘She is beautiful,’ he answered.
‘But she is a monster just like you and me. A monster that would have grown bored of you and in the end killed you.’ Mina tugged on the sleeve of his tweed jacket. ‘Perhaps it is best that she is dead – do you know what happens to Vampyres when we die, Jago?’
‘The same as what happens to everyone else – nothing,’ he replied not wanting to speak of death.
Mina walked on and kicked stones from the path. With every step she looked back to him and then to the horizon, as if she was waiting for him to escape.
‘When I heard you had been born my heart leapt with joy,’ she said as they followed the path down a long slope towards a patch of trees. ‘The whole world awaited you like a saviour. There is a day coming when that expectation will be fulfilled.’
‘The Oracle and the prophecy?’ he answered.
‘The Cult of the Oracle believe in a life beyond death. Living in this world becomes tiresome. Even Vampyres look upon death as a rest from the world. To live beyond the grave is something I desire.’
‘Then for your sake I hope it is true. If it had not been for your faith my life would have been different,’ he said as the path fell more steeply and mist came over the hills towards them.
‘If it had not been for the Cult of the Oracle then you would not have been born,’ she snapped as a low rumble of thunder broke from the distant clouds and echoed around the hills. ‘The sole purpose of your birth was to bring peace and life. Strackan needed you – it was his wish that we should follow the Oracle. When the diamond was lost, the Oracle lost her power. Now it has been found all is well.’
‘But the Maleficarum have been killed – Ezra Morgan had them all murdered.’
‘It was necessary. There were too many people with ideas of their own. Our success has been our loyalty to one another. When the faction came two hundred years ago life began to change.’
Mina stopped as the first drops of rain began to pound the dry earth and form pools in amongst the rocks. They took cover in the patch of trees and listened to the rain beat against the ground.
‘I hate the rain,’ Jago muttered. ‘It reminds me of London.’
‘Julius Cresco?’ she asked, as if she knew all about the man who had secretly guarded him all his life.
‘He would sit on the balcony of his flat and watch the rain. He didn’t care,’ Jago answered as he caught the occasional drops that fell through the branches of the trees. ‘Will he live for ever, now that he is dead?’
‘Julius did not believe, so his fate is unknown. I heard you killed him,’ she said, her words more of a question.
‘He killed himself …’ Jago left the words hanging and walked away.
Mina followed him, always keeping a yard behind, knowing that if he decided to run, she could catch him.
Within a mile a solitary stone building came into view. It looked out of place on the vast plateau beneath the high ridge. At each corner was a spire like an English church. Beneath the spires were small arched windows.
‘That is the Convent of Magdalene. It is where we will be staying,’ Mina said as she walked faster.
‘A convent?’ Jago asked, his voice surprised.
‘They follow Magdalene. If only they knew the truth,’ she answered, her words harsh and cutting.
When they arrived at the large oak door, the rain had stopped. Water dripped from Jago, and his tweed coat was sodden with rain. Mina Karlstein rattled the metal knocker. Footsteps echoed along the corridor and then five bolts were slipped from their holders as the door opened.
‘Mina?’ a voice from the darkness chirped. A small face appeared. ‘You haven’t changed in all this time.’
‘The usual room?’ she asked.
‘Everything is as you required,’ the woman answered. Her eyes peered from behind a net veil that covered her face and formed a peculiar hat on the top of her head.
Jago could not take his eyes from her hands. They were small and knotted, as if the fingers had been woven together. They stuck out from the sleeves of the long brown shroud in which she was wrapped, the only part of her body that could be seen.
The woman welcomed them in with an elfin bow.
‘Are the other people here?’ Mina asked the woman in a hushed voice, so as not to be overheard.
‘Tomorrow,’ the woman answered.
She walked ahead of them, leaving Jago to close the immense door and slide the bolts. At the bottom of a long staircase made of ebony tiles, the woman stopped and flicked back the sides of her veil. Her face remained covered but Jago could see the outline clearly. It was as if her lips were two thick scars. Her eyes were deep and sullen and encased in folds of crusted scales like the bark of a tree. Jago had seen this before.
‘Along the landing to the tower and take the second corridor and the third door,’ the woman said, before turning and disappearing into the darkness of the hallway.
‘You’ve been here before?’ Jago asked Mina as she walked up the stairs.
‘Often,’ she answered, the heels of her boots clattering against the wood.
‘Why do they wear the veils?’ Jago asked.
‘The Convent is a secret order. No one, not even their companions, know what they look like. They keep complete silence other than to speak to guests.’
‘Why are we here?’ he asked.
‘It cannot be told – well, not yet,’ she answered as they walked the passageway to the room. ‘This is the door,’ Mina said as she turned the brass handle on the old door and pushed against
it.
Jago peered in. The room was large, with five mullioned windows lined with lead. The light scattered across the polished oak floor. Mina gestured for him to enter. There was no bed, only a long sofa and two leather chairs. A fire was set in the far wall. It crackled, freshly lit, the flames just catching to the wood. By the window, on a small table, was a glass decanter filled with a deep red wine and four silver mugs. Next to the decanter was a small folded piece of paper sealed with red wax.
Jago took the paper and read the inscription.
‘It is for you,’ he said offering the letter to Mina.
She looked perplexed as she reached out and took it from him. Jago watched the expression change on her face as she read the note.
‘They already know we are here,’ she snarled as she tore the paper and threw the fragments in the fire. ‘How did they know?’
‘Who?’ Jago asked standing back from her rage.
‘Ozymandias and Ezra Morgan. They know you are here.’
‘Aren’t you with them?’ he asked. ‘Didn’t they send you for me?’
Mina looked about the room and poured herself a glass of wine and then drank it quickly.
‘You had become a tool for which Medea and I would bargain for our lives. Just like you, we too have been double-crossed. Ozymandias and Morgan want us both dead. In fact, they will not be happy until we are out of the way. Taking you was our guarantee of life. Now they know we are here, the trap is set.’
‘What will you do?’ he asked as she poured another glass of wine and drank it quickly.
Mina savoured the linctus and sniffed the glass. Jago could sense it had been mixed with blood. Her cheeks reddened as she looked at him.
‘They will have what they want. The letter is quite clear. If we leave you here and go from this place they will give us seven days to get out of Europe. We are being banished … The world has gone mad. Before you were born, everything in life had order. We drank blood, lived a good life. Even when the faction came things remained the same. The Maleficarum saw to that. Now, Jago Harker, you have changed everything.’ Mina slurred her words. ‘If you look up to that ridge you can just see the outline of a monastery built into the cliff. Within those doors is the Oracle of Magdalene. That is the place where they took your friends.’
