The Elixir

by George Willson

  “We’ll secure these doors, so none of them can get in this way,” David said, “and I’ll check the castle over to make sure everything else is still secure. We’ve been safe here for a good long time, and we need to hold out a little while longer.”

  “But I’ve never been able to duplicate that cure,” Voivode said, his voice shaky with fear. “And my lab is in the valley in pieces. I can’t do it.”

  “You won’t have to,” David said, an idea forming in his mind.

  “He’ll kill us.”

  “We’ll leave.

  “Leave?”

  “You work on it however you can so he sees you doing something,” David explained. “In the meantime, we’ll make the necessary arrangements. We leave in the rain, and he’ll be stuck wondering.”

  Voivode stared at him for a moment before he shook his head. “This is my home, David,” he said. “I can’t leave it. Where would I go?”

  In the almost seventy years since David had met Voivode, the two of them had traveled the world as they knew it from western Europe to eastern Asia while always returning safely to Transylvania and Voivode’s castle. In his mind, David had a place that could work for them.

  “Somewhere the Mutations can’t get us,” David said. “Somewhere we’ve been to that is on an island. Somewhere that has a lot of fog and rain. Somewhere absolutely lethal to them.” He looked at Voivode who easily worked out the destination.

  “London?” Voivode asked warily.

  “London,” David nodded.

  June 1889

  CHAPTER TWO

  Jonathan Harker walked to the Hotel across from the railway station in Curtea de Argeş in Romania. He had been traveling and switching trains between France and Romania for the last three days, and he was looking forward to sleeping in a bed, even though he had yet to make the final leg of his journey. The oddest part of the last leg of his journey to meet with his client in the Southern part of the Carpathian Mountains just across the Austria-Hungarian border in historical Transylvania involved the directive to stay at the hotel in Curtea de Argeş and await instructions.

  Jonathan was in his mid-twenties and in the service of Peter Hawkins of Exeter, a solicitor whose services had been employed by Count Draculya, for the purposes of purchasing a property in London known on their books as Carfax Abbey. The property had come into the possession of Mr. Hawkins some years ago as part of a sale that had fallen through, and though he had tried for many years to sell it, he had been quite unsuccessful in doing so.

  When he had received word that this noble of Transylvania was looking for a large, old property in London, he was more than eager to offer Carfax as the solution. The count had agreed to this, but wanted to see as much information as they had available on it as well as completing the purchase before moving to London. Mr. Hawkins was ready to do whatever it took to sell off the Abbey, so he had begun by sending his most senior man, Richard Renfield, to complete the transaction, but Mr. Renfield had taken ill during the journey with some mind affecting malady.

  Not one to be deterred by this setback, Mr. Hawkins had immediately placed Jonathan on a train to Moldavia, and only after he was on his way did they receive a telegram from the count for Jonathan to await instructions at the hotel in Curtea de Argeş. Mr. Hawkins had forwarded this message to Jonathan who received it at one of the stations where the train had stopped along its route. As he approached the counter in the hotel, a cheery-looking elderly woman wearing a white undergarment with long blue double apron, front and back, fitting almost too tight for modesty bowed to him.

  “The Herr Englishman,” she asked.

  “Yes,” he replied, “Jonathan Harker.”

  She smiled and spoke to an elderly man in white shirt-sleeves, who was standing next to her but immediately left. Clearly, he was expected. He hoped this would lead to receiving the instructions he had been promised without further delay.

  The man returned with a letter and handed it to Jonathan. He thanked the man and carried the letter to his room where he lay on the bed for some time simply allowing himself to take in the motionlessness of the moment after traveling the last few days. Finally, he brought himself to open the letter.

  “My friend. Welcome to the Carpathians. I am anxiously expecting you. Sleep well tonight. At four tomorrow, a coach will travel to Capatsuneni Ungureni; a place on it is kept for you. At the northern border of this little town, my carriage will await you and will bring you to me at Poenari. I trust your journey from London has been a happy one, and you will enjoy your stay in my beautiful land. Your friend, M. Draculya.”

  Jonathan awoke early the next morning, and as he passed through the lobby of the hotel, the landlord stopped him.

  “Mein Herr,” the landlord began in broken English, “The Voï directed that for you the best place on the coach to Arefu to secure.”

  “I was told to go to a Capatsuneni Ungureni,” Jonathan said, hopelessly mispronouncing the name of the town before finally showing the name in the letter to the landlord.

  “On the way it is,” the landlord told him.

  “What do you know about this count?” Jonathan asked, but the landlord only stared at him, as if he did not understand. Jonathan asked again in German, but the landlord still only stared, which was odd since his initial communication with the landlord was in German, and the landlord seemed to understand him well enough then.

  His wife came out, and he muttered something to her in a language Jonathan could not understand. In German, she said something that sounded to Jonathan like, “He only gave us the money and instructions,” but he was unable to follow any more of her speech.

  Jonathan spent the day relaxing in town the best he could, knowing once he reached his destination later, he would spend a good deal of time working and representing Mr. Hawkins in front of Draculya. After a lunch outside where he marveled at the Carpathian Mountains in the distance, he visited the Cathedral to see the strange twisted tambours atop the magnificent Byzantine structure. The town as a whole was picturesque, and he found his momentary holiday to be quite relaxing. It was a welcome surprise on this purely business trip, and he felt he should definitely remember this place to show his fiancée, Mina, someday, should they have the opportunity to travel for pleasure.

  As the time approached for his departure, Jonathan made his way back to his room. When he walked through the lobby of the hotel, he saw the landlady look at him, and then cross herself. He found the gesture to be mysterious, but thought little more of it as he went to his room.

  He had just finished closing his bag when the woman came to his room and said in a hysterical way, “Must you go? Oh! Young Herr, must you go?” This is what he was able to piece together between the German, English, and the other language he did not know, as the old woman rattled on.

  “I’m sorry,” Jonathan said gently, “but I am engaged on important business and must go. Your country is very beautiful though, and I feel compelled to return someday. Excuse me.”

  “You know not what happens in that country and around that castle,” the woman started, but her husband appeared behind her and said something to her angrily. She sheepishly stepped away from Jonathan and nodded.

  “I beg your pardon, but nothing can interfere with my business,” Jonathan said gently. “I do thank you for your concern for my well-being, but my duty is imperative, and I must go.”

  He took a step to walk past her, but she reached out and grabbed him by the wrist. He paused and looked to her and then to her husband whose eyes blazed in response to her display. She looked at him through tear-soaked eyes, and before Jonathan could say anything, she removed a crucifix from her neck and held it out to him.

  He was uncertain as to what he should do. Being an English churchman, he had been taught to regard such things as in some measure idolatrous, but feeling that taking the gift might give her some peace of mind, he almost accepted it. Before he could come to the decision, however, she clearly noticed the doubt in his face and
put the rosary around his neck.

  “For your mother’s sake,” she said quietly. She left the room without another word with her husband trailing close behind, still glowering.

  Neither she nor the landlord were present in the lobby when he left the hotel to sit and wait for the coach. As he waited, he felt uneasy about this journey, especially considering the actions of this old woman and the crucifix now hanging around his neck. He wondered what other ghostly traditions dominated this area, and how many his journey might stir up in those around him. He was certain the trip to this little town would be an interesting one if the other passengers were as adamant over whatever dangers stood before them as the landlady seemed to be.

  As soon as the coach arrived, Jonathan wasted no time getting aboard, though the driver was taking a few moments at the inn before taking his seat again. There, Jonathan noticed he was talking to the landlady, and by their gestures and glances, he knew they were talking about him. As they spoke, a small crowd had gathered, listening to them talk and occasionally crossing themselves.

  Certain words repeated themselves enough times that Jonathan finally looked in his polyglot dictionary to learn their meanings. What he found was not encouraging, for among the words were “Ordog” (Satan), “Pokol” (hell), “stregoica” (witch), “vrolok” and “vlkoslak”, the latter being Slovak and Serbian respectively for something meaning either werewolf or vampire. He decided his best hope for understanding these superstitions would be to ask the count about them presuming these people would permit their superstitions to take him.

  By the time the driver mounted the coach and they had set about on their way, the crowd around the door had grown to considerable size, all of whom were making the sign of the cross and pointing two fingers at him. He turned to a fellow passenger.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Jonathan began, but the man ignored him. Jonathan feared he might not speak English, but continued anyway. “Sir, can you tell me about the signs the people were making back there?”

  The man ignored him still. Jonathan tried German, “I am English and would like to know the meaning of the signs those people were making.” The man finally turned to him.

  “You’re English?” he asked in German.

  “Yes,” Jonathan replied.

  “That is a guard against the evil eye,” the man told him. “Be grateful for these people for their prayers will protect you.”

  “What are they protecting me from?” Jonathan asked.

  “Just accept their kindness, and understand that no one goes where you are going for good reason,” the man replied, and he said no more. To an extent, he seemed sympathetic to Jonathan’s situation, but what his situation was exactly, he did not know. However, considering he was traveling to an unknown place to meet an unknown man, his situation appeared more than unpleasant.

  He looked behind them at the hotel where the crowd stood, watching him go. The yard of the inn was a picturesque view of figures, all crossing themselves as they stood around the wide archway, with its background of rich foliage of oleander and orange trees in green tubs clustered in the center of the yard. Seeing them there apparently for his benefit touched him even though they seemed to believe he was in the direst of circumstances.

  The driver cracked his whip over the horses, and the coach started up proper for his stop between Curtea de Argeş and their eventual destination of Arefu. For the most part, they remained parallel to the Argeş River as they ran north toward the Carpathian Mountains. Once they passed beyond the outer reaches of the city, he found the view to be quite scenic with only the occasional building breaking up the endless grass and trees.

  Jonathan looked at his fellow passengers. They had settled into passing the time on this short ride, and he could not understand what most of them said. While the distance from Curtea de Argeş to his destination was not far, it would take them a couple of hours to get there on account of the road. As they moved further away from the larger cities, the road quality deteriorated, though not to the point of slowing them to the speed of walking.

  Jonathan reached into his pocket and retrieved a small photograph his fiancée had taken just before their engagement. She had only received the print right before he was due to leave. He looked upon her bright, energetic face, long brown hair, deep brown eyes, and a smile to die for and hoped for a speedy return to her. Her name was Mina Murray, born to Andrew and Elizabeth Murray of Whitby in 1870, and he was certain that in his absence, she would find companionship with her childhood friend, Lucy Westenra. They had only just announced their engagement with the blessing of her father when Mr. Hawkins let him know he was to replace Mr. Renfield on the Draculya job, and it pained him to no end to have to leave her so soon. They both acknowledged, however, that this was a significant step for his career, and he simply had to go. He closed his eyes and still felt the warmth and intimacy of their last embrace before he boarded the train to Dover.

  He opened his eyes again and looked at the other passengers. Most of them reading or watching the scenery outside the windows of the coach, but some of them stared at him sympathetically. He tried talking to them again, but they indicated they did not understand either his English or German. He sighed and looked outside again. Capatsuneni Ungureni was coming up on their right, and his only instruction once they arrived was to find a waiting coach.

  They drove through the town as clouds rolled in overhead and were unimpeded by foot traffic as it appeared the majority of the town had already gone in for the evening, even though the sun was not due to set for a couple of hours. One by one several of the passengers offered Jonathan gifts, which they pressed upon him with an earnestness that would take no denial. The things, which he presumed they regarded as talismans, were of an odd and varied kind, but each was given in simple good faith, with a kindly word, and a blessing, and that same strange mixture of fear-meaning movements which he had seen outside the hotel at Curtea de Argeş – the sign of the cross and the guard against the evil eye.

  They reached the North side of town and the driver stopped the coach. The clouds created an early sunset as they darkened overhead, and he hoped he would reach his destination before they unleashed the fury they were building. The passengers grew graver as the air deepened. Jonathan finally decided to get out of the coach.

  He stood beside the driver who remained seated, ready to depart. “There is no carriage here,” the driver said. “The Herr is not expected after all. He will come now to Arefu or perhaps Curtea de Argeş and return tomorrow or the next day, or better the next day.”

  “Please fetch my bag, sir,” Jonathan asked. “I was charged to the home of the count this evening, and I trust his conveyance will arrive shortly to transport me further.”

  “Are you of this certain?” the driver asked. “I would think nothing of taking you onward to ensure your safety.”

  “I will be fine,” Jonathan assured him. “I will take my bag and my leave of you. I thank you for diverting from your regular course to deliver me here.”

  “Yes,” was all the driver said as he retrieved Jonathan’s bag for him. Jonathan stood, bag in hand, and watched the coach disappear to the west. He wondered if this was really a good idea. The rain was clearly coming on, and he stood in the wilds of Romania at the foot of the mountains in the hopes of meeting a coach which had not arrived. He had to maintain an air of certainty with the driver so his fellow travelers could be confident in leaving him here, but as they passed away into the twilight towards Arefu, part of him wished he had gone with them.

  CHAPTER THREE

  As he waited in the small town at the base of the Carpathian Mountains, Jonathan tried to keep himself calm by assuring himself the count’s driver would be along shortly to fetch him since he was expected. It did not help to make the darkness any less ominous nor the warnings of his fellow travelers any less disturbing since they feared the night and insisted the mysteries it held could destroy him somehow.

  He looked toward the Carpathian Mounta
ins looming before him. He suspected the valley he could see would be the way to Poenari Castle. Before leaving for the trip, he had taken a brief moment to visit the British Museum to see what he could learn of the place. It had been originally built around the beginning of the 13th century by the rulers of Wallachia, becoming the main citadel of the Basarab rulers in the 14th century. It had gone through a number of hands after that, changing names and residents several times before it was assumed to be abandoned. The next record of any activity was in the 15th century when Vlad III, Prince of Wallachia of the house of Drăculeşti, itself a branch of the Basarab house, repaired and consolidated the structure into one of his main fortresses. Following Vlad’s death, Poenari fell into disrepair, and little more was said of it. Based on that history, until he was summoned there, he would have guessed it was abandoned, so he fully intended to ask the count about these things. Perhaps there was more to the tale of Poenari than was afforded to the history books.

  He glanced back to the little town. Even in the dimming light of the oncoming evening, he could see how quaint it was. The houses all perfectly positioned in green plots of ground, and the road running through the area seemed to fit perfectly with the view. As his gaze passed across the city and back toward the mountains, he lit upon a man in a dark coat, hat, and trousers watching him. Beyond the man was a dark coach with two horses. He wondered how he could have missed their approach, but conceded that perhaps since the man had stopped the coach so far away, he may not have heard.

  As Jonathan thought this might be who was to take him the rest of the way to see the count, he approached the man, and drawing nearer, he noticed the man wore some kind of armor on his wrists and ankles. The man kept his head down, however, never looking into Jonathan’s face nor allowing his own face to be seen beyond the brim of his hat.