The London Vampire Panic

by Michael Romkey

  "I was impressed and said as much.

  " 'Just wait,' Brother Michael said. 'My invention is going to shake things up. I've been sharing my ideas about incandescent lights with a bright young man named Edison I correspond with in the United States. Mark my words, Miss Moore: The incandescent light is going to have a profound impact on the world. Homes and cities will be more hospitable and safer during the nighttime in the years to come because of the incandescent light.'

  "In one corner was a box emitting a low hum. This was an invention that collected moisture from the air, which Brother Michael called a 'dehumidifier.' It, too, was powered by electricity. He said the device pumped compressed gas through copper tubing, causing it to cool. Moisture in the air then condensed on the coil and dripped into a pan. Brother Michael used the collected water for the plants in his greenhouse. He had installed several of the units in the abbey to remove the unpleasant dampness that often permeates stone buildings.

  " 'I wish all of my inventions were a success, but alas they are not,' he said. As if to confess the limitations of his ability if not his imagination, he showed me a box about the size of a large concertina, with numerals written on the keyboard. It was a mechanical abacus.

  " 'You press in numbers you wish to add, subtract, multiply, or divide using the keyboard. When this lever is pulled, the answer to the simple arithmetic problem is displayed here. Try it.'

  "I manipulated the keys to multiply seven times seven. The answer—forty-nine—was displayed in rotating numbers on the top of the box.

  " 'But it works,' I said. 'How clever!'

  " 'Only for simple operations,' Brother Michael said. 'To be truly useful, my calculating automaton would need to do square roots, tangents, and so forth. Unfortunately, higher functions are beyond the capability of a mechanical device of this sort. It would take a machine the size of this room and a tremendous amount of energy to operate it to solve each problem. But I am not beaten yet. For a calculating automaton to work, it would have to be electrical and built of miniaturized parts, using not gears, as my first model, but perhaps electrical impulses powering tiny switches to perform computations. The switches themselves would be electrical, not mechanical, and would count by remembering their charge. Since electrical energy moves with the speed of light, such a machine could be tiny enough to hold in your hand, yet it would be capable of crushing the most enormous equations in fractions of a second.

  " 'But,' he said, as if waking himself from his technological dream, 'none of this is why you traveled all the way to the Abbey of St. Stephen.'

  "I followed him back into the other room. We retook our chairs. He made a steeple with his fingers and rested his chin against the peak, looking at me intently.

  " 'Medicine,' he said, after remaining silent for nearly a minute, 'sometimes uses fire to fight fire. Substances that are quite toxic in large doses—arsenic, mercury—can be used to treat certain diseases and illnesses. Sometimes embracing a potentially deadly substance is the only way to counteract an equally lethal pathology.'

  " 'Are you saying the treatment carries its own risk?'

  " 'There is always risk,' Brother Michael said. 'In this case, the risk would not be so much to Andrew as it would be to those around him.'

  "I had no idea what he meant by that, but I waited to hear the rest.

  " 'If you decide you want us to treat Andrew, we can defeat his sickness, but only through giving him a sickness of another sort. This one, however, poses little threat to Andrew. Indeed, it is the only disease under the sun that confers certain benefits. It will give him great physical strength as he grows older. It is a jealous disease and will let no other sicknesses infect him as long as he is its host. It will enhance his mental capacity to an extraordinary degree. He will be able to read one of Kant's dense philosophical tomes in an astonishingly short amount of time and remember each word.

  " 'But,' Brother Michael said, pointing his index finger at me, 'there is a cost. In physics, we say that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. The benefits do not come without their price. We can only defeat Andrew's disease with another disease. And a disease is never a pleasant or harmless affair. The particular disease we will use to defeat Andrew's leukemia will change the boy in small but significant ways and leave him forever dependent upon one peculiar and undeniable need.'

  "Brother Michael stopped. He leaned back in his chair and stared at me, as if it were up to me to continue the discussion.

  " 'What is it that Andrew will need?' I asked.

  " 'Every fortnight he will need to drink a few ounces of fresh human blood.' "

  Lucian stopped as if he'd suddenly reached the end of a long chain tether. He stared at Olivia, his lips parted as if he had been struck momentarily dumb. She could see the confusion in his eyes, and behind it, horror.

  "If you love me…" she said.

  He nodded dully.

  "Brother Michael then said to me, 'This brings up the matter of how you fit into the equation of Andrew's treatment, Miss Moore. None of this can happen without your complete cooperation.'

  " 'If I must agree to provide Andrew with a transfusion of my blood every two weeks, you needn't even wonder if I will give my consent,' I said. I would have done anything to save my precious brother's life. Anybody in my position would have, even you, Lucian:

  "Brother Michael lowered his head, looking at me through his eyebrows, and said cryptically, 'I am afraid that it is somewhat more complicated than a simple matter of transfusions, Miss Moore.' "

  * * *

  40

  The Miracle

  AFTER THE TREATMENT, Andrew fell into a delirious fever."

  "But—"

  "Kindly allow me to tell the story my way, Lucian," Olivia interrupted. "All will be made plain in the end. Besides, I can only tell you some things by inference. I was not present for the treatment, although I was to learn everything soon enough.

  "While Mama and I feared the worst, judging from Andrew's condition, Brother Michael did not appear to be unduly concerned. I prayed—oh, how I prayed—that the physician-monk was not merely making a good show of it. Time proved Brother Michael correct in his optimism, thank God. Mama and I were sitting beside Andrew's bed one evening—I was pretending to read, Mama was staring at the child with the stricken expression that had not left her face since Andrew's treatment—when he opened his eyes and sat up in bed. His eyes were clear, his color good, his smile radiant.

  " 'Mama,' he said and put out his arms.

  "Brother Michael had worked his miracle.

  "We stayed on at the Abbey of St. Stephen so Brother Michael could observe Andrew's progress and help us all adjust to his special circumstances. The monks and nuns, while unaccustomed to little ones, were very accepting of Andrew. Though the members of the order had undertaken a penitential vow of silence around the time of our arrival, Brother Michael had given them leave to speak to Andrew, and many of them seemed to take special delight in his company. Andrew was given free run of the place, and his insatiable curiosity and tireless feet took him all the places there were to visit, invited or not. Brother Michael encouraged Mama and me to let the boy go off with the others in the abbey for hours on end without our supervision, though one of the brothers or sisters was always with him. This served as a tonic for us all, he said; people, like plants and animals, need room to breathe. Andrew's illness had necessarily kept him from interacting with others and exercising his young wits as well as his body. And Mama and I had made it our business to never let the child out of our waking minds for a moment, whether we were in the same room with him or merely nearby.

  "Mama lost her care-worn look, although I had exchanged one burden in my heart for another that, while less heavy, was onerous enough in its own right. Still, it filled me with joy to see Andrew running through the abbey like a healthy child, singing or laughing. It was during our time at the monastery that he began to talk, and not just a few mispronounced words and broken phrase
s, but in complete sentences that evidenced his increasingly complex grasp of abstract things that should have been beyond the knowledge of so young a toddler. Mama was delighted with her precocious little boy. As was I, though my delight was tempered with the understanding that his rapid intellectual development would soon present its own challenges.

  "The main consequence of Andrew's treatment, at least at the first, was that his new condition left him unusually sensitive to light. In time he would learn to overcome this, Brother Michael said. Again, he was right. Brother Raphael, one of the monks who was especially fond of my brother, helped Andrew train himself to gradually overcome his sensitivity, to the point that he learned to go outside in the direct sunlight and suffer no discomfort.

  "One of the most curious things about our stay at the Abbey of St. Stephen was that I did not see the Maestro. Brother Michael would only say that Liszt had gone into seclusion at the monastery to do special penance. I gathered the penance, like the order's overall vow of silence, had something to do with his bringing us to the abbey, thus permitting mere outsiders to become privy to the hermetic brotherhood's greatest secrets.

  "I finally saw the Maestro a week before we were to leave. I was in one of the abbey's many small chapels. I had gotten in the habit of going there to pray before bedtime, asking God for strength for what lay ahead. I heard someone come in. I looked around and there was Brother Franz, smiling in the doorway. You must be wondering which Liszt I found myself regarding: young or old. It was young Liszt, in appearance if not years. I got up from my knees as he slid into the pew beside me. I regarded him carefully in the flickering light of the altar candles. It would have been easy to be deceived in such light, but he was as near to me as are you. This was no illusion. Franz Liszt appeared to be no older than thirty. Such was the power of the brotherhood's secret. It had saved us the grief of laying Andrew out in a tiny coffin and bathing him in our tears; it had saved the Maestro from the ravages of his old age.

  " 'I would have never imagined it possible to cheat time,' he said. He seemed to read my thoughts, for he added, 'I have been given special leave of my vow of silence to speak with you. You're wondering about the way I look.'

  "I nodded. He seemed to know exactly what I was thinking.

  " 'It has erased the years in my face and body. I did not believe it was possible.'

  " 'Will you become older, then, as the years pass?' I asked. 'Is the condition permanent, or has it only given you a second start in life?'

  " 'I will not age outwardly. Not in my physical body. Only in here.' He touched his heart.

  " 'But Andrew will grow into an adult?'

  " 'Brother Michael has assured me of as much, although no older.'

  " 'And the others here?' I asked.

  " 'We all have several things in common,' Liszt told me. 'Our faith, our dedication to knowledge and art, and the peculiar circumstances of a condition we all share.'

  " 'Then Mama and I are the only—'

  " 'There are the peasants who live behind the mountain in a small village. The brotherhood has watched over them for generations. We take care of them and they take care of us, if you understand my meaning. You might be surprised to learn they have no idea of their importance to us. We can be very subtle.'

  "I touched my fingers to my neck without realizing what I was doing until I saw the Maestro's stricken look. 'I would never touch you without your permission,' he said. 'None of us would.'

  " 'Of course not,' I said, embarrassed that I had hurt his feelings. I tried to cover the moment by asking him about the others' ages.

  " 'Most of them are a great deal older than I, thanks to the gift. I am but a babe compared with Brother Michael and Brother Raphael.'

  "I thought it odd for him to call it a gift. Brother Michael always referred to it as a disease with certain benevolent side effects. But in many ways it was a gift, or would be, if its power could be carefully contained.

  " 'Like us, Andrew will never know the ignominy of old age. There will be no lines in the corners of his eyes, no wrinkles in his cheeks from smiling. His back will not hurt or his joints begin to ache from rheumatism. The ravages of time will not touch him. He will be like an angel—perfect, beautiful, ageless. And like an angel he must devote himself to improving humanity, to making the world more beautiful, to celebrating the joy of God's creation.'

  "The Maestro put his hand lightly on my shoulder, and as he spoke I knew he was giving me a solemn charge.

  " 'You must ensure Andrew grows up understanding these things, Olivia. You bear a tremendous responsibility. As the child grows, so will his capacity for good. Channel his interests and powers in the right direction. Teach him to resist the Devil's temptations. God gave all of us free will to choose between good and evil. For the ordinary mortal, his eternal soul hangs in the balance. So it shall be with Andrew. But because of his special abilities, he will have the power to influence countless other souls. It is up to you to make sure he grows up working for the good of man and the glory of God. The alternative is unspeakable. Do you understand what I am telling you, my dear?'

  "I said I did, and promised the Maestro I would not disappoint him and the others.

  " 'The years that must be devoted to the child's upbringing is why the Illuminati Council here at the abbey chose you over the child's mother as his guardian. While the task will require the constant care a mother might best provide, the job is better suited to someone with fewer worldly entanglements, shall we say. It will be far easier for an older sister, someone blessed with intelligence, talent, devotion, and more than a little courage to look after the child until he has grown.

  " 'Your responsibility will not end until Andrew has grown up straight and true and can return to the Abbey of St. Stephen to claim his rights as a full member of the brotherhood. At that time you, too, will be welcome to join us, if you so choose. Do not look so alarmed, my dear,' he said. 'You would not have to remain cloistered here. Most of the Illuminati live out in the world and return here only for periods of rest and contemplation. We can do the most good living amidst humanity, not here behind the abbey walls.'

  "I started to ask a question about returning to Budapest, but he stopped me and said he would not accompany us when we left.

  " 'I must remain here to continue the penance assigned for bringing Andrew to the abbey without receiving approval first. It is a small price to pay for saving the child's life. There wasn't time for the formalities. Brother Michael and the others understand that, even if the boy does not fit the criteria the Illuminati have developed to decide who to help in that way. That is an issue on which I have to part company with my brothers and sisters, though I concede the principle. There's something off-key about a law that declares the life of an old pianist worth preserving, but not the life of a beautiful little boy. I promise to visit you in Budapest if I can, but I do not have much time left for Franz Liszt. The time has come for me, as an ordinary mortal, to make my exit from the world's stage. Brother Franz will not really be dying, of course, but his old identity must. It's the way of this life, you see. Perhaps you could bring Andrew to Bayreuth. I hope to be there to hear Parsifal performed. Dear Wagner: His immense genius towers over everything. Next to you and Andrew, dear girl, his Nibelungenring is the sun that illumines my summer sky. In the meantime, the solitude and meditation will do me well. Maintaining the illusion that I appear as aged as I should is a tremendous drain on my energy.'

  "I started to tell him I didn't know how we would get along without him. He'd become a part of my family.

  " 'Then we must say goodbye when the time comes but not farewell. I promise you one day we will sit down together at the keys of Beethoven's Broadwood and play duets. Brother Ludwig would love to have that piano back from me, but I can't bear the thought of parting with it.'

  " 'Brother Ludwig?'

  " 'Oh, my goodness, yes. You didn't know? You are in for a treat. You must pay your respects to old Beethoven before you go. Brother Ludwig m
ay look a bit formidable, like a thunderstorm in the form of a man, but he positively melts when he meets someone who admires his music. Ask him to play you his new sonata. On second thought, you won't have to ask. It would be impossible to get him to not play it for a pretty admirer! It's very good, you know, though unfortunately no one outside the Illuminati's little circle will ever get to hear it.'

  "Liszt leaned forward then and did something that very much surprised me. He took my head in both his hands and kissed me on the forehead. The way his eyes fell to my lips just before he did it made me think his original intention was to kiss me full on the mouth, but he apparently thought the better of it.

  "And then, before I could react, he was gone."

  * * *

  41

  Interlude and Recapitulation

  WE RETURNED TO Budapest and were very happy for a time. My best memories are from this period. Papa and Mama went about in a state of bliss, now that their golden child's health had been restored by our visit to a cloister of odd, secretive monks.

  "Of course, Andrew's well-being was conditional upon one peculiar need being met. That was taken care of every two weeks with a minimum of trouble and certainly without causing any lasting harm. One of our servants would experience a strange, pleasurable dream, nothing more. Brother Michael, Brother Gabriel, and the others had done an excellent job of teaching us how to handle the process with a minimum of disturbance and no lasting effects for the benefactors.