The Elixir

by George Willson

  He sat still for several minutes before he decided he needed something to take his mind of his situation. He rifled through the files on his desk regarding the newer patients that had been admitted. He needed someone different. Someone who might at least give him a challenge to distract him entirely from Lucy Westenra. He would have no problem being friendly with her on a limited basis someday, but at present, he could not bear to think of her.

  He passed over several files that were standard cases of a mind lost to tragedy or age until he happened upon one that he had made a note of when the man arrived, but that was about the time Arthur had introduced him to Lucy. He cursed Arthur for such an introduction, but let it go. Arthur was a good friend and could not have known how he would fall for her.

  The gentleman in the file had been on a trip through Romania to the Transylvanian region of the Carpathian Mountains for his employer when he suddenly returned home having never reached his destination. His name was Richard Mark Renfield, a fifty-nine year old solicitor from Exeter who seemed manic depressive swinging from excitable and gloomy over a period of days, but fixated on life and blood. Sometimes, he spoke in complete thoughts while at other times, he descended to incoherent babbles. When fits forced them to restrain him, it often took several orderlies to hold him down, making Seward wonder if he always possessed such strength, or if it was a recent development. More strangely, his body temperature was ridiculously cold. Cold enough that based on Seward’s reading of his temperature, no matter how he gathered it, he deduced that the man should be dead.

  He decided Renfield could be an interesting study to take his mind off his woes. What research he had done into Renfield’s former life revealed nothing that would have precipitated such a change to his disposition, and he certainly had no explanation for his body temperature. Whether that should have killed him or not, the fact remained that the man was alive, and he would certainly serve as an adequate distraction from the devastation of his life.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Harker awakened late in the day and opened the curtains to the single window in his room. Behind the curtains was a pair of ancient wooden shutters which helped to protect the room from the elements. He unlatched these and opened them to find the sun low in the sky to his right. His journey up the mountain left him wondering whether he were facing north or south, and as such, he could not firmly determine whether the sun was coming or going. Based on the hour in which he had come to bed, however, he guessed for now that it was more likely to be later than earlier.

  He left his room to find a cold breakfast on the table and pot of coffee kept warm on the fire. On the table, he found a note from Voivode which read:

  I have to be absent for awhile. Do not wait for me to take your breakfast. Should you wish to pass the time, you will find a library connected to the dining room. M. Draculya.

  Harker set himself at the table and ate of the food which had been left for him. He found it excellent and pleasing to his appetite. He rang a bell when he had finished, but despite the lavish surroundings, the castle appeared to be devoid of servants, and indeed, any life at all. In fact, with the exception of the driver who had disappeared upon their arrival, he had seen no one except Draculya, and he wondered if that were deliberate.

  He checked the time on the clock in the dining room and found it to be after 5:00, and based on the light outside, he assumed he had just eaten dinner rather than breakfast, so desiring something to read, he decided to see about this library. He opened the door leading away from the dining room and found a library containing a wide array of English books on every subject ranging from geography, botany, and geology to history, politics, political economy and law, all relating to England and English life and customs and manners.

  While he was looking over the book selections, Voivode entered the library and gave a friendly greeting. “I trust you rested well, my friend.”

  “I did, thank you,” Jonathan replied. “I confess I slept far longer than I intended.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Voivode assured him, “for I have developed the unfortunate habit of being a night owl, you might say. Staying up far too late for most of my life is a hard habit to break. I am glad you found your way in here for I am sure there is much that will interest you. I have only visited London a few times, but through these books, I have come to know your great England, and to know her is to love her. I will not likely find myself in the crowded streets of your mighty London, sharing in the life, change, and death in the midst of the whirl and rush of humanity. That is truly what makes your home what it is, but unfortunately, I only know your tongue through books. To you, I’m sure I sound like a novice.”

  “To me, you know and speak English excellently,” Jonathan insisted. Voivode bowed.

  “I thank you, my friend, for your all too-flattering estimate,” Voivode said, “however, I am sure that were I to move and speak in your London, all would know me as a stranger. I do not wish to draw attention to myself at any time, and one who stands out of a crowd for any reason, especially for being a foreigner, would be unpleasant for a man of my age. Such people are treated as infants and fools, and being neither, I should hope, I wish for you to rest here with me for awhile, so that by our talking I may learn the English intonation. I would ask that you tell me if I should make an error, even of the smallest, in my speaking.”

  “I will make every effort, Voivode. You’ll forgive my discomfort in instructing an elder.”

  “Think nothing of it. You do so at my behest.”

  “And if I may venture, would you permit me to come into this room when I desire?”

  “Of course,” Voivode replied. “You may go anywhere you wish in the castle, except where the doors are locked. There is a reason that all things are as they are, and if you were to see with my eyes and know with my knowledge, you would fully understand. You have to trust me for now.”

  “Is there something I should know?” Harker asked.

  “Take this sincerely, Mr. Harker. We are in Transylvania, and Transylvania is not England. Our ways are not your ways, and there will be to you many strange things. From what you have told me so far of your experiences, you know something of what strange things there may be.”

  “Quite so, sir,” Harker nodded. “I will trust you.”

  “And now,” Voivode said, changing the subject, “you have been sent by our friend, Mr. Peter Hawkins, to discuss with me and secure the sale of an estate in London.”

  Jonathan agreed and excused himself to go to his room to retrieve the papers from his bag. Once he was certain he had everything, he returned to the library where Voivode had prepared a table for Jonathan to spread out the information he had. He presented photographs of the property taken from several angles, hand-drawn floor plans Mr. Hawkins had made some years ago as the original blueprints were unavailable and may never have existed, and the deed for the property. Despite Voivode’s trepidation regarding his English, his primary concern was for the area to be quiet, and since the house sat upon twenty acres of land, it certainly tended to be.

  Jonathan referenced the notes made during the original survey of the place which had been in the file during all the years he had been unable to find a buyer along with some additional notes he had made just before he left. “The place is at Purfleet on a by-road surrounded by a high wall of ancient structure, built of heavy stones, and has not been repaired for a large number of years. The closed gates are of heavy old oak and iron, all eaten with rust and upon which was displayed a dilapidated notice that the place was for sale.”

  Jonathan paused for a moment and noted, “That was the original notice. We, of course, removed it and kept updating it with a newer one so one would be aware it was currently for sale. Naturally, we removed it before I left.” He continued with his notes along with some asides as he spoke.

  “The estate is called Carfax, no doubt a corruption of the old Quatre Face, as the house is four-sided, agreeing with the cardinal points of the compass. It c
ontains in all some twenty acres, quite surrounded by the solid stone wall. There are many trees on it, which make it in places gloomy, and there is a deep, dark-looking pond or small lake, evidently fed by some springs as the water is clear and flows away in a fair-sized stream. The house is large and of all periods back, I should say, to medieval times, for one part is of stone immensely thick, with only a few windows high up and heavily barred with iron. It looks like part of a keep, and is close to an old chapel or church. I could not enter it, and I didn’t have the key to the door leading to it from the house. The house had been added to, but in a straggling way, and I can only guess at the amount of ground it covers, which must be exceptional. There are but a few houses close at hand, one being a spacious house only recently added to and formed into a lunatic asylum.” Jonathan paused and looked at Voivode, who patiently listened. “Naturally, the asylum is not visible from the grounds.”

  “I have gathered from both correspondence, your description, and these photographs, all of which are excellent,” Voivode said, “it has not been well-maintained over the years.”

  “It has seen better days, yes,” Jonathan answered, “but the structure is quite sound.”

  “The old properties tend to be so. I also understand your employer is quite eager to be rid of it, as it has been in his possession for some time.”

  Jonathan stuttered at this point, unable to produce a quick response, since the simple fact of the matter was that since the property was quite large, old, and ill-maintained, many people would be unable to afford the immediate upkeep of such a structure. The longer it remained untended, the less likely anyone would purchase it, so as soon as someone, no matter how far away they lived now, expressed a desire to purchase, Mr. Hawkins was more than willing to do what it took to secure the sale. Voivode saw the concern in Harker’s face and smiled.

  “Do not fret, my dear Harker Jonathan, no, I beg your pardon. I fall into my country’s habit of putting your patronymic first, Jonathon Harker. My interest in the estate is heightened, not diminished by its age, and I am more than happy to relieve your employer of its burden. I am grateful you have risked your life to show it to me.”

  Voivode moved quickly into the business of the purchase of the estate at Purfleet. Once Jonathan had told him the facts and he had signed the necessary papers and had written a letter with them ready to post to Mr. Hawkins, Jonathan felt more relaxed and Voivode spoke again as Jonathan gathered the papers together to clear the table.

  “I am glad it is old and big,” Voivode said casually. “I myself am of an old family, and to live in a new house would kill me, I’m certain. A house cannot be made habitable in a day, and after all, how few days go to make up a century? I rejoice also for a chapel of old times. I seek neither gaiety nor mirth, nor the bright voluptuousness of much sunshine and sparkling waters which please the young and free. I am no longer young, and my heart, through weary years of mourning over the dead, is attuned to mirth. Moreover, the walls of my castle are broken. The shadows are many, and the wind breathes cold through the broken battlements and casements. I love the shade and the shadow, and would be alone with my thoughts when I may. Since I am to move from here, I am glad to have somewhere to go.”

  “If I may be so bold, Voivode,” Jonathan said, “why are you leaving this place?”

  “You may not have noticed during the darkness of the time in which you arrived that our northern wing is no longer with us,” Voivode said. “The mountain claimed it during the last year, and I believe it is only a matter of time before nature claims the rest of this structure. In addition, I fear I may have fallen into some part of the superstition of this area since I isolate myself, so I desire to go where I am unknown as well. What titles I do have are ancestral in nature, and monies gathered over the years come from service to Transylvania, Wallachia, Moldavia, Romania, Austria, Felletterusk, and a few others here and there. Finally, as you can see, we are some distance to the nearest town, and while I pride myself on self-sufficiency, I still require supplies from that town and have had the need to go further when that hamlet could not give me what I require. A thriving city such as your London will have my needs closer and in greater supply.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Voivode concluded, “I will leave you to finish here, and I will see to our supper.”

  Jonathan had already put away the presentational paperwork, and prepared the documents required to post to Mr. Hawkins. He knew since it felt like this business was concluded, he should be able to leave soon, possibly even taking the post with him. He glanced at his watch and found the time to be nearly midnight, so supper seemed a little odd for such an hour, but no sooner were his papers put away than Voivode returned and announced that his supper was served.

  Unlike the previous evening, Voivode sat with him to eat, and they spoke of every subject conceivable, each learning from the other about the customs of their countries, though Voivode seemed to deliberately veer off certain topics only to touch on others closer to Jonathan’s realm of knowledge. Several things Voivode said regarding his country, his people, and the history of the castle seemed to indicate venerable knowledge, and he spoke first-hand, as if he were actually there, such as when he had spoken of Vlad III the night before. The talk continued long past dinner and well into the dark morning hours. So long, in fact, that before he had realized, the sun was rising.

  “You must forgive me,” Voivode said, standing up. “I have kept you up very late, and you prefer to sleep during the night. You must make your conversation regarding my new dear country of England less interesting, so that I may not forget how time flies by us. I do hope this habit of mine will not affect you when you return home.”

  Voivode took his leave, and Jonathan returned to his room and looked out his window over the mountains to the east. There was little to notice, however, as all he could see was the warm grey sky receiving the sun from its own slumber. He drew the curtains and went to bed.

  * * * * * * * * * *

  After only a few hours of sleep, Jonathan awoke to the sun still high overhead. Since he had slept so long the night before and had been relatively inactive the rest of the time, despite the fact that he had been up all night, he did not feel like going back to sleep. He arose and shaved before looking around the castle. As before, there was non-perishable food on the table in the dining room to serve as his breakfast, and he briefly supped before moving onto his castle exploration.

  He exited the dining room into the main hall and walked down as far as it would go away from the main entrance until he came up against a formidable locked door. He moved on from that door to try a few more until he found one with a barred window looking to the northeast. The view was magnificent as the castle sat right on the top of the mountain and overlooked the Carpathians beautifully. As far as the eye could see was a sea of green tree tops with the occasional rift where the ground dipped sharply into valleys. Here and there were silver threads where the rivers wound in their deep gorges through the forest.

  The drop from the window was impressive, and he could only imagine how difficult it must have been to build this place originally, situated as it was to guard against invasion from the south. How many peasants, he wondered, had its builder sacrificed to ensure his fortress was impenetrable? He hoped they were given the briefest moment to take in the beauty he had seen in this moment and appreciate the breathlessness of it.

  Satisfied with the view, he decided to explore further. Yet other than his room, the dining room with its library, and the one with the view, he found door after door to be locked. Jonathan was not concerned by this, however, since Voivode was free to block access to wherever he desired when he had a houseguest. His mind turned to the courtyard he had only briefly seen when he had arrived and decided to see the exterior of the castle. He walked down the main steps, occasionally trying a few more doors only to find them locked as well.

  He reached the main entrance and tried the door, but it was also locked. He looked along t
he back side of the door to determine how it was locked, and he saw a handle attached to some antiquated and unwieldy latches along with two sliding wooden planks, both of which would be far too heavy for him to move. He tried anyway, but his suspicion was quickly confirmed. He could not leave if he wanted to. He was a prisoner.

  In a panic, he tried a few more doors, but none of them were unlocked. Defeated, he returned upstairs to the only place open to him. He entered the library, sat down to read, and tried to be rational about the situation considering that just because the main door was locked did not mean Voivode was trying to trap him. It was simply an old castle, and that was how the locks worked. He stared at the book he had chosen, but he could not focus on it.

  Bars on the windows. The window of the room that looked northeast had bars on it, but why have bars on a window so far off the ground? He thought back to his room, and on the only occasion he had looked out of it, he had only focused on the scenery before going to bed.

  He put down his book and walked to his room where he opened the shutters on the inside of the window to find bars on the outside. The bars did not appear to have been part of the castle when it was built but added recently based on how new the iron work appeared to be. He looked down the castle wall outside his window, and considered that if it came down to escaping, he might be able to crawl down using the crevices in the aging brickwork. Of course, the bars would be a problem.

  He shook his head, closed the shutters and returned to the library. Paranoia was getting to him. It was the country, the superstition, and general dread the place seemed to give off. He looked over his book and decided to try and absorb himself in it.

  Several hours later, he heard a door open somewhere in the castle, and he heard footfalls on the stairs coming to his room. He glanced out of the library and across the dining room to see Voivode changing the linens on his bed. Once this task was done, Voivode left his room and then arrived in the dining room with a warm dinner. It seemed that Voivode was alone in this castle, but the idea seemed highly unlikely. He moved and acted like a frail, old man – the type of old man that usually had some kind of caregiver. Yet, here he was doing tasks usually reserved for housekeepers on his own. Jonathan felt there was a mystery here, but was uncertain as to how to start looking for answers. He suspected Voivode might want to talk with him as he had on previous evenings, but Jonathan recalled that any time he had ventured into subjects dealing with Voivode or this castle specifically, the old man tended to change the subject to some aspect of English life. He was certainly clever.