The Nosferatu Scroll

by James Becker

  But then, bearing in mind the activities of the group that had snatched Angela, they would hardly be likely to advertise their presence.

  The police launch was now much closer. It had slowed down, and the bow wave was about half the size it had been previously. As Bronson watched, the boat swung around the end of the island and slowed even more, finally coming to a halt beside the entrance to the inlet, where the driver of the vessel reversed the direction of the propeller in a short burst to bring the boat to a stop. He didn’t steer the boat into the inlet, which puzzled Bronson for a moment until he focused the binoculars more carefully and saw a substantial chain locked across the seaward end of the inlet, preventing the launch from entering.

  Two police officers leapt nimbly on to the jetty from the cockpit of the launch and walked unhurriedly along a gravel path towards the house. At the front door they paused and then one of them pressed the bell push. But the door remained firmly closed and there was no sign of life whatsoever from the house. Eventually, the officers stepped back from the door and looked up at the house. Even from the distance he was watching, Bronson saw one of them give an expressive shrug of his shoulders, then they walked back to the police launch and got back on board. The driver gunned the engine, turned sharply in a sudden spray of white water and accelerated away from the island.

  For a few seconds, Bronson just lay there staring through the binoculars at the departing vessel. As searches went, the most accurate description of what he’d just witnessed would be ‘pathetic’. The officers had made no attempt to look around the island, to try opening the main door, or even to try the other entrance to the house – there would certainly be a second and maybe even a third door into the property.

  He sighed. If the Italian police weren’t prepared to search the place, he would just have to do it himself.

  With a deep sense of foreboding, he stood up, took a final look towards the house on the island, and strode back to the small bay where he’d left his boat.

  58

  Angela sat at the desk and stared down at the text she was translating. In her work at the British Museum, she had quite often had to translate passages of Latin, usually sections of very old documents or inscriptions that dated back almost two millennia to the height of the Roman Empire, and she’d become familiar with the syntax and sentence construction of writings from that period.

  But she’d also worked on documents that were much more recent, everything from documents produced at the height of the Byzantine Empire at the end of the First Millennium through mediaeval texts and all the way to passages that were only a couple of hundred years old. It had always fascinated her the way that Latin, though essentially ‘dead’ and unchanging, had been adapted by its users to the changing patterns of speech and writing over the centuries. It was sometimes possible to estimate the age of a piece of text simply from the way the Latin had been written, by the words that were used.

  And what she was working on now was clearly much more ancient than the bulk of the diary that she’d seen before. The syntax suggested it was probably late mediaeval, dating from between the tenth and fourteenth centuries, hundreds of years before Carmelita Paganini had started keeping her journal. That suggested that Marco had been right in the date he’d ascribed to the scroll.

  On one level, Angela was quite enjoying what she was doing, working out the meaning of the Latin sentences and transcribing them into clear and understandable English. But even as she worked, a growing sense of foreboding was creeping over her, a foreboding that gave way to a kind of numb resignation as she understood the full implications of the information contained in the scroll. Even the title of the text was disturbing, though not entirely a surprise: The Noble Vampyr.

  Once she’d completed what Marco had told her to do with the genealogy, just confirming the link, the bloodline, which existed between Nicodema Diluca and the so-called Vampire Princess, she’d started working on the next page. But she hadn’t needed to translate the initial section, because within a few minutes she’d realized that it was almost exactly the same as the Latin she’d already seen in the leather-bound diary, and had presumably been copied from the same source. This part of the scroll appeared to be essentially an introduction to the topic and included the attempt to justify the ridiculous claims that the author had made and which Angela had already translated.

  But the second section of the manuscript was highly specific about vampires. It explained at some length about the way vampires were supposed to live and, according to the unidentified author, the reality was a far cry from the romantic images of suave, well-dressed vampires of the twentieth century drinking the blood of their willing victims. Clearly, none of the more contemporary writers had referred to this text or to any other ancient source documents that might have contained similar descriptions.

  According to this treatise, vampires were both cannibalistic – which was hardly a surprise, given that their favourite diet was supposed to be blood drunk from the necks of nubile young girls – and scavengers. In fact, according to the translated text, the favourite hunting grounds of vampires were graveyards, where they would break into the tombs of recent burials and feast on the decaying flesh of the bodies they found there. The only inviolate rule was that the bodies of former vampires – the discarded hosts, as it were – were considered to be noble, and were never to be consumed.

  The most reliable way to identify a vampire, the author of the text asserted, was by the smell of rotting meat which they invariably exuded, and which normally caused them to be shunned by mere mortals. But this, the author then explained, was a small price for the vampire to pay in exchange for the priceless gift of eternal life.

  As she finished translating this particular sentence, Angela shuddered at her recollection of the hooded man and the appalling smell that seemed to surround him like a miasma. Whoever he was, he was clearly the leader of this group of deranged men, and had presumably decided to make himself seem as much like an authentic vampire as he could. She guessed that somewhere under his black robe he was carrying a piece of decaying meat to produce the odour she had smelt.

  She shook her head and returned to the translation.

  The next few sentences dealt with the misguided and usually futile attempts to kill vampires, attempts that the text stated were frequently mounted by people who simply failed to appreciate the inherent nobility of the vampire. Then the only guaranteed ways by which the death of a vampire might be achieved were specified in some detail. The most effective method was for the heart of the creature to be removed from the body and buried separately – as far away from the vampire as possible.

  Decapitation also worked, but driving a wooden stake through the heart was, in the opinion of the author, useless because the heart remained in place, and the heart of a vampire was so powerful that nothing short of its removal from the body would guarantee death. Similar derision was reserved for the idea of placing some object – a brick or a length of timber – in the mouth of the vampire, and the author cited two cases that he had known of personally where a body had been buried with a brick driven into the jaw, and where the vampire had risen effortlessly from the grave after biting through the offending object. Again, he failed to be specific about where and when these alleged events were supposed to have occurred.

  What bothered Angela the most about the text was the author’s matter-of-fact acceptance of the existence of vampires. From the tone of his descriptions, he could have been talking about any natural phenomenon with which he would have expected most of his readers to be familiar. It was as if, at the time the author was writing, vampires were regular and accepted members of society who simply lived very different lives to most of the people around them.

  Angela found such an attitude impossible to accept, and she repeatedly checked the text for any sign that the author was being less than completely serious. But there was no indication that this was the case. Whoever had created the original text was apparently absolutely fac
tual in what he was describing – or, at least, he appeared to believe he was being absolutely factual. He was certainly convinced of the reality of the vampire as a living and breathing – albeit undead – member of the society in which he lived.

  Again, Angela wished she had some idea who the author had been, and where and in which period he’d lived. She was still certain, from the Latin syntax, that the time period was roughly mediaeval, but beyond that she hadn’t been able to pin it down.

  She read the English translation she had prepared for a second time, then held it up to Marco, who walked over to the desk and took it from her with a nod.

  Then she sighed deeply, and read the first sentence of the Latin text that formed the third part of the treatise written on the scroll: the section of the document which she now understood contained detailed instructions on how anyone who wished to do so could become a vampire themselves.

  59

  Bronson cut the motor as he approached the entrance to the inlet. There was, he realized, no point in trying to sneak ashore. The island was too open to make any sort of covert approach feasible, so he allowed the boat to coast gently forward until it just nudged the end of the jetty, then stepped ashore, tying the rope around the heavy chain that barred the entrance to the inlet. As he did so, he noted that the chain itself was rusty, as was the padlock that secured it, and for the first time since he’d followed the two men, a scintilla of doubt entered his mind. It didn’t look to him as if anyone had unlocked the padlock or moved the chain for quite a long time, otherwise at least some of the rust would have flaked off.

  He looked at the launch that was secured to the jetty. The water was quite clear and he could see the curve of the hull where it vanished beneath the surface. The dark paintwork was liberally covered in marine growth, which suggested that the boat had been sitting there for some time – boats that were used regularly tended to have much cleaner hulls.

  But that, of course, might also mean that the owner tended to commute by helicopter. It was an alternative explanation, but didn’t do much to quell the doubts that were now nagging at him. The island really did look deserted.

  He took out the Browning semi-automatic, removed the magazine and checked it, then replaced it in the pistol, pulled back the slide to chamber a round and cock the hammer, and set the safety catch. Then he walked slowly along the gravel path that led from the jetty and past the helicopter landing-pad to the house, looking all around him all the time as he did so.

  He didn’t ring the bell, just pressed his ear to the wooden front door and listened. There was absolutely no sound from inside the property. With the pistol held ready in his right hand, he walked all the way around the house, checking each window as he went, and listening at both of the other doors. Finally he accepted the sickening truth: he’d got the wrong island.

  He couldn’t understand it. This was definitely the place where he’d seen the two men in the blue boat disappear; although the restricted size of the inlet and the state of the chain that barred it suggested that the boat couldn’t have been tied up at the jetty.

  At that moment, his mobile phone rang. It was an Italian number, and when he pressed the key to answer it, he wasn’t entirely surprised to hear the cool and indifferent voice of Inspector Bianchi in his ear.

  ‘I did as you requested, Signor Bronson,’ he said. ‘I sent a launch to the island where you think your wife is being held, and the officers found absolutely nothing. There was nobody on the island, and the house is shuttered and barred. All you’ve achieved is to waste valuable police time, which is an offence in Italy just as, I believe, it is an offence in Britain.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Bronson said. There really wasn’t anything else he could say. ‘I was certain that you would find her there.’

  ‘Well, we didn’t, and I suggest that now you stop interfering and leave the business of investigating this crime to the professionals.’

  And with this, the phone went dead. Bronson looked at it for a moment, then slipped it back into his pocket. The one thing he wasn’t going to do was stop looking for Angela.

  He replayed the sequence of events in his mind. He visualized the pursuit across the lagoon, and his decision to watch from the smaller island. He’d seen the blue boat slow down and then disappear from view. Then he remembered something else: there had been several other craft in the area, buzzing around the islands. Perhaps the men he’d been following, who’d clearly been checking around them as they approached the island – he remembered seeing them do this – had simply stopped the boat beside the chained-off inlet and waited there for a few minutes until the other tourist boats had cleared the area. And then they would have continued their journey, careful not to let anybody see their final destination.

  Bronson groaned as the realization struck home. If these men were part of the gang responsible for the deaths of half a dozen young women in Venice, their caution was merited. The only encouraging fact was that there were so few islands any further south: their hideaway had to be somewhere nearby.

  All he had to do now was find it.

  60

  Angela had thought that the second section of the Latin treatise was bizarre enough, but the contents of the third and final part of the text were shockingly brutal.

  It began simply enough with a declaration that it was possible for anyone who so wished to join the ranks of the ‘favoured immortals’, as it described vampires. But, the author cautioned, the process was lengthy and required the utmost dedication and commitment. As she translated the next few lines, Angela realized that dedication and commitment were only a part of it. The aspiring vampire also had to be prepared to become a genealogist, a grave robber and, finally and most shockingly of all, a rapist and murderer.

  First, she read, it was essential to identify one of the most important of the vampire families. That concept seemed bizarre enough on its own. It suggested that vampires could breed just like normal people, and sparked a whole new line of thought for Angela. Would it be enough, she wondered, if just one parent was a vampire? Would that be sufficient to convey immortality and unpleasant dietary requirements on the children? Or did it have to be both parents? She shook her head. She’d become so immersed in this ridiculous piece of mediaeval fantasy that she wasn’t thinking straight.

  The reason for identifying a vampire family was then explained. Vampires, the author went on, had the ability to discard the body they were inhabiting and take over another one, when the first body became infirm or so well-known that continuing to live the lifestyle of a vampire became impossible.

  When she’d translated that, she sat in thought for another minute or two. What could it mean exactly? And then it dawned on her. This was the crux of the matter. This was the explanation – both the reason and the justification. This was how people who believed in the reality of vampires were able to reconcile the claim of immortality with the fact that alleged vampires did actually grow old and die. It wasn’t that they died, in the usual sense of the word. Rather, the author was suggesting, their essential life force was able to move from one body to another, and they simply discarded their previous body when it was convenient for them to do so.

  Quite how you reconciled the completely different personality of the new host for the vampire’s spirit with that of the previous person, Angela didn’t quite understand, though perhaps the explanation was a lot simpler than that. Maybe people just looked for similarities in behaviour or appearance or anything else, and made the assumption that the vampire’s spirit now inhabited a new host. And, as proving a negative is always virtually impossible, any protestations of innocence made by the new alleged vampire would be dismissed.

  The important thing, the author then explained, was that once a human body had been inhabited by the immortal spirit of a vampire, a part of the vampire’s essence would be retained in the flesh and bones, and especially in the skull.

  There were two reasons for identifying the family of a vampire, he went on. The first
was so that the corpse of a former vampire could be located and part of the skeleton, ideally the skull, obtained for the ritual. That was the first mention of any ritual or ceremony, but Angela was quite sure it wouldn’t be the last.

  So the first thing the aspiring vampire had to do was find the tomb belonging to a person who had been a vampire, break into it and remove the head. That was distasteful enough, but it was only the beginning.

  A section of the skull then had to be removed and ground up into a powder, as finely as possible, so that the essence of the vampire’s spirit could be released from the bone. But this operation would only be carried out once the other essential component of the formula had been identified and obtained.

  This was the other reason for identifying the vampire family, because in order for the essence of the vampire’s spirit to be released from the bone and then recaptured, the ground-up skull had to be mixed with the fresh blood of a female descendant of that same family.

  The author digressed slightly at this point to explain, using quasi-scientific reasoning, how the female line retained the spirit of the vampire more strongly than the male line. The explanation frankly made no sense – like almost everything else Angela had translated – but it seemed to involve a woman’s periods, when she, voided her excess of blood to summon a noble vampyr and signify her willingness to be taken. The blood of a female child was of no use, for the essence is not yet sufficient strong in her, and nor was the blood of a woman past childbearing age, or even that of a woman who had given birth. She should bleed but be without child, as the author succinctly put it.