by Joseph Rubas
CHAPTER FIVE
Drs. Seward and Van Helsing were more than capable of treating Lord Godalming, but Captain Smith insisted that the ship’s doctor be brought in, perhaps not trusting his longtime friend in the hands of two men that he barely knew (an understandable sentiment). At first, there was worry that Art’s larynx had been crushed or that his lung may have collapsed. Further into the examination, the doctor pronounced him healthy and left him with Seward and Van Helsing. Art, in action and appearance, was normal, save that an ugly purple bruise hung round his throat like a satanic necklace.
“That son of a bitch!” Art raged after the doctor had left him alone in his stateroom with Seward and Van Helsing. “If I’d been ready, I could have ended him! That bastard…how could he say those horrible things? Fucking scum is all he is; I’ll rip him in half!”
Art sat on his bed, marinating in rage. Van Helsing and Seward stood side-by-side before the closed door, shocked into silence by Art’s vulgar tirade.
When he wasn’t cursing like a sailor, his mouth was closed and slightly bulged, giving testament to the fact that he was bearing down exceptionally hard on his teeth. His bright red face was covered in a film of perspiration, and he trembled all over as if he were a dying leaf on a thin October branch. His eyes glared down at his balled fists, damning their impotence. When the thought of breathing penetrated the dark haze of his anger, he sucked in massive breaths as if he were an opium addict attempting to inhale any traces of the intoxicating smoke left in the air.
“Calm down, Arthur, you did your best to fight Dracula; he ambushed you.” Van Helsing looked from Art to John next to him; his eyes were clouded with worry…and excitement. They had proof that Dracula was onboard, and they knew that he wasn’t shy about coming out. Their luck, it could be argued, had taken a turn for the better.
“I still should have beaten him, he’s a…”
“A vampire, Arthur, he has the power of ten men,” Van Helsing said lowly, in his teacher’s voice.
“Yes, a vampire, old man,” Seward said, “and you are, paraphrasing you own words from earlier ‘a true gentleman.”
Art could not suppress the sunny grin which broadened his stony face. But at once, he went back to staring at his shaking fists, his lips pursed, his eyes hard, his countenance grim.
“I think that from now on,” Van Helsing said, “we had better sleep in one room.”
“Okay,” Art mumbled, “Dr., you take the bed first, I’m going out to look for Dracula. John, I’ll relieve you at midnight.”
“Arthur,” Van Helsing said in a fatherly manner, “that is not such a good idea. We are only men, and if he can get us each alone, he can squash us like we were garden bugs.”
“Not if I have the right tools with which to fight him,” Art said and withdrew the crucifix from inside of his jacket. “It was in here when that bastard got me; I put it back after we searched the hold and never thought of it again; now it will never leave my side.”
Seward and Van Helsing exchanged an uneasy glance.
“Okay,” Van Helsing said, “but you must be careful, Dracula is ruthless and evil; you cannot count on him to fight fair.”
“He’s already shown me what he is,” Art said as he stood, “and I’ll show him what I am.”
Art pulled on his dark topcoat and his hat, apparently ready for the numbing cold of the decks.
Seward and Van Helsing stepped apart like the Red Sea, and Art past in a swift wind smelling of cologne.
“Well, Doctor Van Helsing,” Seward said after Art had left, “what do you think we should do?”
After a long quiet moment, Van Helsing replied, “Why not take a little walk around the ship, and see if Dracula tries to attack us?”
Seward nodded, “Just what I was hoping you’d say.”
The two men made a quick return to Van Helsing’s stateroom, from which he took his bag, which held his Bible, a wooden mallet, and a sharpened stake; his crucifix was always in his jacket pocket, and a rosary around his neck, to protect against the same fate that had befallen Art.
