by Jim Butcher
Thereupon Mrs. Merriemouse-Jones told her husband that if the authorities would not take the matter into their own paws, then Lightning’s devoted parents should do so, by re-engaging the services of Quincey Dormouse. Quite happily, the Texan had entertained hopes of being sent for, and so had traveled from Catpathia to London on another ship. From there, it was but a train ride to the village where Lightning lay in her swoon.
Mrs. Merriemouse-Jones found Mr. Dormouse very strapping and youthful, cutting quite a figure in a suit tailored in the “Western” style. Upon being introduced, he doffed an enormous hat such as Texan cattle ranchers wore and swept a courtly bow.
Hardly had he stepped from the train platform at Hedgehogs-upon-Trivets than he studied the letter and the captain’s log. He did not stop even for tea, and, upon conclusion, declared in his affable American way: “Something here sure stinks, and it ain’t the Longhorn Cheddar.”
He applied next for permission to observe Miss Merriemouse-Jones in her sickroom. There was some further discussion between Lightning’s parents about the propriety of allowing Mr. Dormouse to visit their daughter; but her mother insisted that they had no one else to turn to.
And so, with Lightning’s mother and a nurse present, Mr. Dormouse entered the chamber of Miss Merriemouse-Jones for the first time.
How can one describe the effect her ethereal loveliness had upon the youthful gentleman? Hovering at her bedside, he was struck dumb, then was heard to utter softly, “‘Ah! She doth teach the torches to burn bright!’”
Mindful of her modesty, he nevertheless resolutely proceeded to examine her neck, and there discovered two tiny puncture marks. His mouth set in a grim line, he entreated first the nurse and then Mrs. Merriemouse-Jones to look as well.
Madame Merriemouse-Jones gasped in horror, inquiring what on earth they might be, while the nurse examined them with obvious confusion.
“How long have these been here?” he inquired of them both.
“Truthfully, sir, I’ve never seen them before,” the nurse replied.
Mrs. Merriemouse-Jones was equally at a loss. Thereupon Mr. Dormouse entreated Dr. Sewerat to examine them as well. The good doctor was astounded by their presence, and assured Mr. Dormouse that they had not been there previously. Challenged by Mr. Dormouse to account for the last time he had examined Miss Merriemouse-Jones, he allowed as how he had not thought to do so since the day she was brought to the asylum, now some nine days previous.
It was apparent that his reply overset Mr. Dormouse, who blurted, “Y’all haven’t been checking in on her?”
Dr. Sewerat reminded Mr. Dormouse that the oath of his profession required that he do no harm, and since he had had no inkling of the nature of Lightning’s affliction, he had nursed no wish to compromise her privacy until he had some reason to do so.
Mr. Dormouse seemed displeased by this explanation. He took Mrs. Merriemouse-Jones aside. He said to her, “Madame, I don’t know how else to explain this to y’all, but it is my belief that your precious daughter has, been, ah, visited upon by a vampire. And from what I saw on my previous assignment for you and Mr. Merriemouse-Jones, and what I have seen here, I can reach no other conclusion that that you were quite correct. I believe that Count Dracurat is that vampire! And I also believe that he has taken up residence in Hedgehogs-upon-Trivets, here to commit his nefarious deeds!”
Rather than succumb to the strong emotions one may expect from a mother under these circumstances, Madame revealed that she was made of sterner stuff. Her eyes glittered like Spanish steel as she held out her paw to Quincey Dormouse and said, “Then clap hands and a bargain, sir! You are my deputy in this wild work. I beg of you to locate and dispatch this monster to that unholy realm where his soul belongs!”
She spoke further of payment, at which point Mr. Dormouse put hand to heart and said, “Mrs. Merriemouse-Jones, pray, I entreat y’all, do not speak of money at a time like this. To see your beautiful li’l gal up and around will be recompense enough. I would gladly die in the performance of this duty, should it come to that.”
The violence of this speech privately decided Madame Merriemouse-Jones then and there, that if her darling daughter should be restored to her, she would encourage a match between Lightning and Mr. Quincey Dormouse. He was a mouse’s mouse, and surely her young lady would consent to such a dashing stalwart as a mate.
Whatever the outcome of that, Mr. Dormouse directed that garlic be hung about her chamber. Dr. Sewerat was rather uncertain about the efficacy of such a precaution, but consented, as he felt most culpable that the young lady had been ah… punctured… while in his care. It seemed to have no effect on Lightning, although her mother claimed that she became whiter still, taking on the pallor of death itself.
Quincey Dormouse next secured the services of an individual with the somewhat notorious reputation of having not only studied, but successfully hunted, Creatures of the Night in his native Switzerland. This was none other than Professor Abraham Van Lemming. He was a remarkable old fellow, quite gray and, one might say with some accuracy (if indelicacy), that he was mangy.
Embarking on a series of research expeditions, Dr. Van Lemming announced that it was his belief that Count Dracurat had transported his many coffins from the Fontina and placed them throughout the village of Hedgehogs-upon-Trivets. He revealed that he found several odd coffins in warehouses and beneath the wharf, and had placed hosts of holy water in them in the hopes of preventing the Count, if they were indeed his coffins, from resting in his native earth.
He said to Quincey, scratching at the mangy patches of his coat, “However, it is mine believing that he has other coffins in the village gehidden, and they must be found and destroyed!”
Quincey Dormouse was quite in accord. While Dr. Van Lemming conducted his searches, he guarded the beauteous Miss Lightning. Then, one night, he received a note from the good doctor:
Tonight. Catfax Abbey.
With assurances to Mr. and Mrs. Merriemouse-Jones that he would soon return, he met Dr. Van Lemming by moonlight at the appointed place. Dr. Van Lemming then produced two crucifixes, wooden stakes, and holy water. He presented Quincey Dormouse with one of each, and revealed to him his belief that Count Dracurat had set up residence in the shadow of the abbey itself.
“For when one searches for the things of the shadows, one does not look into the light, eh?” he asked, with a twinkle in his eye. “In other words, this evil Count flaunts his diabolical nature by dwelling in close proximity to a house of worship!”
Mr. Dormouse was much amazed by the professor’s deduction, but as they crept beyond the abbey walls, such a sense of foreboding came over him that he perceived the truth of the professor’s words: they moved in the presence of a great evil.
This they did not know, but at that precise moment, Captain Van Rattraap awoke in his cell and began thrashing about, raving, “My master comes! See how he comes, with his beady red eyes and his great, enormous teeth!”
He was quite inconsolable, though Dr. Sewerat employed all the most modern methods of psychic medicine at his disposal to ease his hysteria: a bath of cold water and a good beating. So distraught was the captain that Dr. Sewerat raced from asylum to private rooms, alerting Mr. and Mrs. Merriemouse-Jones that something was amiss.
Together, the trio burst into Lightning’s boudoir. And there, revealed to their horrified gazes, they discovered the silhouette of a great rat thrown against the wall!
Mrs. Merriemouse-Jones screamed as Dr. Sewerat and her husband darted forward, brandishing the gas lamp Dr. Sewerat carried as one would a weapon. The soft light from the fixture cast a revealing glow: an enormous, hulking rat stood with his back to the balcony door (for such was there, for the duration of this tale, but never spoken of previously.) He had ebony fur, large red eyes, and long, beaverlike teeth. He wore a black opera cape lined in red silk and a medal of honor around his neck, though what honor can a fiend of Hell possess?
Few can dispute the ferocity of the bo
nds that exist between mother and child. Without thought of her own safety, Mrs. Merriemouse-Jones advanced upon the villain and attempted to fling her arms around him. But as she did so, he spread forth his paws. He stared into her eyes, and began to chant in a language she did not know.
In an instant, she, Mr. Merriemouse-Jones, and Dr. Sewerat were mesmerized, standing still as statues, in a state of catatonia.
As they looked helplessly on, the dread Count Dracurat spoke these words:
“You have thought to keep me from this lovely maiden. Ah, foolish mices of England! Now that you have sent your varriors to my abode, I am free to make Lightning Merriemouse-Jones my new bride! For surely your menfolk vill destroy my old Countess, and I shall begin a new life of romance vith this exquisite creature! Now, you, doctor of the insane, remove the odious garlic bulbs from the vicinity of her person!”
Imagine the despair with which Lightning’s parents attended his pronouncement! Unable to stop himself, Dr. Sewerat did as he commanded, gathering up the garlic that prevented Count Dracurat from harming their child. As further ordered, he carried everything into the hall, and there remained.
The Count’s smile was wicked and toothsome as he then approached their beloved daughter, opened wide his mouth, and prepared to bite down upon her neck!
But in the precise moment of her undoing, Count Dracurat drew back and cried, “Who has bitten this young lady?”
And in that moment of reprieve, via the aforementioned balcony, a second black rat with red eyes and sharp, protruding teeth flew into the room!
Yes, flew, as would a bat, although this creature was most assuredly a rat. This one wore a scarlet gown with a ruff of ebony; the apparently feminine monster seized Count Dracurat around the neck and began to shriek in a tone most shrill and ignoble:
“You cheating creepinski! How dare you leave me, a Countess and a Fancy Rat, in our matrimonial coffin for vampire hunters to find, while you cavort vith a common mouse girl!”
Then she squeezed her paws tighter and tighter still. The Count’s eyes bugged, and he began to gasp. As the Countess Dracurat strangled her errant spouse, his hold upon the Merriemouse-Joneses dissolved. Yes, even the young lady was released. Her eyes flew open; she sat up in her bed, and cried, “Mama! Papa!”
Her elders raced to her, her paternal relative lifting her up into his arms while both father and mother kissed her sweet, furry face. Sobbing with joy, they were about to quit the scene of so much violence and disaster, when Abraham van Lemming and Quincey Dormouse also burst through the balcony door, stakes, holy water, and garlic bulbs in hand.
“Ah ha! You thought to escape!” Abraham van Lemming cried with what can only be described as glee.
“Mister Merriemouse-Jones!” Quincey bellowed. “Please convey Miss Lightning to a more yonderous location! These two are about to meet their Maker and I doubt it will be pretty!”
So it was done, and therefore, Gentle Reader, you are assured that the actual destruction of the two evil vampire rats was accomplished out of the sight of the gentle Miss Lightning Merriemouse-Jones and her beloved parents, just as it is accomplished out of your own sight. Suffice to say that it was bloody and horrible in the extreme, and that Quincey Dormouse nearly gave his own life in the ordeal.
When it was done, Van Lemming and Quincey reunited with the trembling family. Dr Sewerat joined them also, most contrite for twice remaining passive and offstage when his presence could have thwarted the plot.
All was revealed: The two fearless vampire hunters explained that the evil Count Dracurat had designs upon Miss Merriemouse-Jones back at his castle, of a nature which could not be detailed in mixed company. However, his wife was suspicious. Happily, Madame was also tired of living in the country. Therefore the Count suggested they quit the cold climate of Catpathia and mix in England, forcing Lightning to act as their interpreter in all things English—to serve as Beatrice to their Dante, in their presumption to enter civilized human congress. But in truth, he had hoped to find a way to rid himself of the Countess during their voyage on the Fontina.
Alas, Countess Dracurat proved tenacious and continually suspicious, and as before, his “dread bride” stood between him and the delectable young maiden he coveted with all the lasciviousness with which a fiend of Hell was capable. For it was of the Countess that Captain Van Rattraap wrote in the log, a fact he himself made clear, now that he had regained his wits.
The crafty Count devised a secondary scheme: he would made it easy for Van Lemming to discover the coffins containing the native Catpathian earth in which Count and Countess must rest, in order to continue their unholy lives. His ultimate object what that Van Lemming should discover the Countess asleep in the matrimonial coffin the Count so unwillingly shared. Once the vampire hunters dispatched his current Countess, the Count could honorably install Lightning in that position. Therefore, though evil, he was courtly, and he himself had never touched their young lady, preferring to wait until such time as he could “rightly” claim her as his own.
The marks that Quincey Dormouse had found upon the delicate neck of Miss Lightning had been made by the Countess. She had hoped to rid herself of her rival, but the wreck of the Fontina had interrupted her plans. However, once Lightning was ensconced in her room at the asylum, she had managed to attack her! But just the once; and then she was further prevented by Quincey Dormouse’s order that garlic be placed in the room… which in the end, may have proved the saving of Lightning’s life, and her immortal soul as well!
In deep gratitude for the great favor done his family, Mr. Merriemouse-Jones offered Van Lemming and Quincey each all his worldly goods, and each turned him down. Van Lemming assured the fatherly rodent that his calling to rid the world of vampires was on the order of a religious quest, and therefore, he had no need of material things. As for Quincey, he was, as he himself phrased it in the colorful American vernacular, “rich as all get-out.”
Upon hearing this, Madame’s eyes lit up and she gazed meaningfully at her child. But Lightning lifted her lovely white chin in an insouciant manner, as if to remind her dame that she had quitted the family seat rather than be forced to marry, and may do so again, if pressed.
However, when Mr. Dormouse inquired as to whether he may call upon Miss Lightning at the Merriemouse-Jones residence before his scheduled return to Texas, permission was granted.
A protest filed by Miss Belle Holder: Lightning is not white. She hates white. Why did you make her white? Why did you make this a vampire story? We did not discuss that. Also, there is too much talking! Except that there should be as many eeeks in the letter as there are human words. Listen, you need to grab your reader on the first page and go right through it with a beginning, a middle, and an end. Make things happen. People like to read about violence. That’s why Buffy the Vampire Slayer is popular, Mom. Because of the Kung Fu.
ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTORS
Saladin Ahmed
Saladin Ahmed’s poetry has earned fellowships from several universities, and has appeared in over a dozen journals and anthologies. His short stories have been nominated for the Nebula and Campbell awards, have appeared in numerous magazines and podcasts, and have been translated into five foreign languages. He has also written nonfiction for The Escapist, Fantasy Magazine, and Tor.com. Throne of the Crescent Moon is his first novel. Visit Saladin at www.saladinahmed.com.
Peter S. Beagle
Peter S. Beagle is the Hugo, Nebula, Inkpot Award for Outstanding Achievement in Science Fiction and Fantasy, and World Fantasy Award for Life Achievement winning author of The Last Unicorn and Two Hearts. The Last Unicorn ranked #5 on Locus subscribers’ All-Time Best Fantasy Novel list. The Last Unicorn was adapted to an animated movie. Peter also wrote the screenplay for the 1978 movie version of The Lord of the Rings.
Heather Brewer
Heather Brewer is the NY Times bestselling author of the Vladimir Tod series. She grew up on a diet of Twilight Zone and books by Stephen King. She chased them down wi
th every drop of horror she could find—in books, movie theaters, on television. The most delicious parts of her banquet, however, she found lurking in the shadowed corners of her dark imagination. When she’s not writing books, she’s skittering down your wall and lurking underneath your bed.
Heather doesn’t believe in happy endings... unless they involve blood. She lives in Missouri with her husband and two children. Visit Heather at www.heatherbrewer.com.
Jim Butcher
Jim Butcher is the NY Times bestselling author of the Dresden Files series, the Codex Alera, and a new steampunk series, the Cinder Spires. His resume includes a laundry list of skills which were useful a couple of centuries ago, and he plays guitar quite badly. An avid gamer, he plays tabletop games in varying systems, a variety of video games on PC and console, and LARPs whenever he can make time for it. Jim currently resides mostly inside his own head, but his head can generally be found in his home town of Independence, Missouri or at www.jim-butcher.com.
Rachel Caine
NY Times and USA Today bestselling author Rachel Caine is a fictional character herself … a pen name of writer Roxanne Conrad. Since 2003, Rachel has written in the adult Urban Fantasy genre (the Weather Warden, Outcast Season, Revivalist and Red Letter Days series) as well as in Young Adult fiction (the Morganville Vampires series and the upcoming novel Prince of Shadows). She and her husband, artist R. Cat Conrad, live and work in Fort Worth, Texas. Visit Rachel at www.rachelcaine.com.
Kami Garcia
Kami Garcia is the NY Times bestselling coauthor of the Beautiful Creatures novels and the Bram Stoker Award nominated novel Unbreakable, and the sequel Unmarked, in the Legion series.
