A Sharpness On The Neck (Saberhagen's Dracula Book 9)

by Fred Saberhagen

  She alone among those present, besides Radu, could testify absolutely to my true identity. She had in fact been present at my first emergence from my first grave—another story I have told elsewhere.

  “Vlad Dracula, Prince of Wallachia.”

  All the group save Radu and Constantia were strangers to me. I had the feeling of one who had neglected his social obligations and fallen out of touch. Constantia introduced the others, one by one, and I bowed slightly at each name. They were of a wide range of ages, and some bore names I recognized. It was not exactly the sort of gathering I had been hoping for; there were none I would have chosen for my associates.

  To Radu I remarked: “You appear to have rested well since our last meeting. Did you enjoy a satisfying sleep?”

  “I feel quite refreshed, thank you,” Radu responded. “Quite energetic.”

  “Would it be impolite of me to inquire how all this energy is going to be employed?”

  The stone-arched room before me was high and narrow, not big enough to accommodate many more than the lord of the manor and his immediate family at their devotions. Though partially roofless, on that night it was by breathers’ standards very dark, which mattered little, because none of those on hand for the meeting needed much light to see. In that old room, redolent of remembered prayers, the very walls still reeking faintly of old incense, the eyes of a breathing human would have picked out only ghosts of illumination entering by the tall windows, where only fragments of stained glass still remained, making an irregular rim and corners.

  Down in the empty cellars and across the occasionally moonlit floors of the old house, rats and mice went scurrying here and there, going about their murine business, accepting vampires as one more fact of life, no more and no less incomprehensible to mice than so many breathing farmers, or tax-collectors, would have been. And spiders, progressing in their eight-fold strides so swift and light that even I needed to strain my ears to pick them up.

  And there, standing in the midst of the little gathering, was my beautiful, beautiful brother, beautifully dressed for the meeting in silks and furs, in the style of a century long gone. As our eyes met at last, Radu stood silent for a moment, trying to be aristocratically impassive, and almost succeeding—but I could see that he was afraid.

  Was he on that evening a little taller than I, or a little shorter? I find it difficult to remember. In the course of his adult life, Radu has been both. As usual, more slender. Quite young in appearance, as always. Almost always. I sometimes think that Radu would rather die than let himself be seen in public with an aged face, gray hair, or wrinkled, sagging skin at his throat and on the backs of his hands. In vampires these phenomena tend to come and go, largely dependent on the vagaries of diet, and to me they are generally matters of indifference.

  In this company of our peers—if that is the right word for them—neither of us felt quite secure enough to move decisively against the other.

  Radu faced me solemnly. “Vlad, we have been enemies long enough.”

  I took time to gather my thoughts before replying. “What do you propose?”

  “We are brothers, after all. I have sworn an oath to give you no more cause to hate me.”

  “You? Have sworn?”

  “Upon our father’s grave,” he proclaimed in a clear, convincing voice, meanwhile raising his right hand. “There is nothing that I hold more sacred.”

  “Bah! I doubt that you even know where it is.”

  He looked nobly sad. Chagrined at this rebuff, but still determined to make himself my friend. “I suppose it’s only to be expected that you would not believe me. Nevertheless, I have sworn.”

  * * *

  My brother’s face was no longer disfigured by the mustache I had glimpsed at the Tuileries on the tenth of August. He would not choose to wear that appearance in this company, nor did I choose to mention our near-meeting then. Nor, of course, was he wearing now either the red cap or the carmagnole.

  It so happened that I was now the one in disguise. On seeing me, one of Radu’s friends made some harsh jest about the soutane, asking when I had taken holy orders, and a little later inquired whether I intended to say mass.

  I gazed at him steadily. “I dislike jesting about sacred matters.”

  The vampire who had spoken fell silent, blinking, not knowing what to make of that dead-serious reply.

  “Vlad has had just cause to be upset with me.” Radu was musing aloud. His demeanor was that of one inclined to be forgiving. “In fact I sometimes fear that he might even nerve himself one day to make a serious attempt upon my life.” Radu turned to our peers and colleagues, wistfully inviting their understanding.

  “Do not tempt me,” I growled softly.

  * * *

  Throughout the course of this dialogue, our peers and colleagues were looking at me thoughtfully, and I could see that most of them were not quite able to reconcile the figure I presented with the one they had been forming in their minds, based on Radu’s description.

  “So, this is the famous Prince of Wallachia?” one demanded suddenly.

  Having answered that question with regard to myself, if I thought it deserved a straight answer, I now repeated it, turning it on Radu.

  “Thou knowest who is famous and who is not.”

  My brother, it gradually became clear to me as I listened, had been telling these potential recruits to his cause that he was the one who had nailed the turbans of the sultan’s envoys to their heads. (Remind me to tell you about that, another time). He, the prince who had so thoroughly terrorized the potential criminal elements that a merchant’s bag of gold could lie untouched in the streets all night—but that story I have told elsewhere.

  At least Radu had been making those outrageous claims before I arrived. Constantia, who had been listening to them, knew better, and Radu of course realized this; but he also knew that she was not going to contradict him.

  The subject which had been under discussion before my arrival was soon taken up again: the recent shocking events of the Revolution, and how the profound changes taking place in the breathers’ society were going to affect their lives. Opinions were divided on the probable effect of these attacks upon the Church. The consensus was that almost any change was likely to be for the worse—a truer, more spiritually active church would not be a good thing for the villains in the group.

  One of them wondered, with a languid laugh, whether under the new regime aristocrats among the nosferatu might be called to account for drinking the blood of the unwilling. I had gathered from the speaker’s previous remarks that he was planning a dreadful vengeance on his peasants, who in their ignorance were congratulating themselves on having, as they thought, burned the lord of the manor alive.

  Eyes of divers colors, set in a variety of pallid faces, turned in my direction. Some, no doubt, were not impressed with what they saw. Well, it was not my purpose to appear impressive.

  One asked: “And what does our most recent arrival have to say upon the subject?”

  I was reluctant to comment on the Revolution, except to say that the lower classes were not without rights—as long as they chose to exercise them.

  “How do the Americans put it now—we are all ‘endowed by our Creator with certain inalienable rights’? In this the peasants of France are remarkably like everyone else. Including us.”

  My words were met with a largely uncomprehending silence.

  Chapter Eleven

  From the moment of my entry I had been aware that the company had already been enjoying some refreshment. The remnants of some hors d’oeuvres were in fact scattered about, as I soon noticed: fragments of a few small human bodies, quite freshly dismembered, none more than three years old. When the bones are young enough and tender—so I am told—chewing by certain ruthless and discriminating connoisseurs extracts from them an essence composed largely of the blood-manufacturing cells which they contain.

  One of the infants’ lifeless bodies was in plain sight, and still reco
gnizable for what it was. The soft, small bones had been crushed between vampires’ teeth and sucked dry. The floor was stained by a few small drops of fresh blood, wasted by some careless gourmet.

  The delicate peak of flavor, as I have heard from vampires who pride themselves upon their epicurean tastes, begins to fade into a steep decline almost instantly at death. For the true aficionado, only the cells of the living body will do.

  Constantia, catching my eye, shook her head slightly in a gesture of almost prim disapproval. Knowing my own poor opinion of such cannibalistic behavior, she desired to express her sympathy. Politeness, or her idea thereof, had perhaps kept her from stating any forceful objection, beyond merely declining to partake, when the recent snacks had been brought forth and offered round. I did not think it altogether beyond the bounds of possibility that she might have been persuaded to join Radu and his colleagues in their appetizer. For my own peace of mind, I never questioned her on the matter.

  But, as I have already indicated, the supply of treats was not yet exhausted. The single set of operating lungs, whose presence I had noted upon arrival, now sharply drew in air, filling themselves for a desperate effort. A small heart raced. There was a stir of motion in a far corner of the long room. The child who was to be the last hors d’oeuvre (she had hardly blood enough to provide the main course for such a gathering as this) was a small girl of five or six (thoughtfully provided by Radu? One of his colleagues thanked him for the treat), who had evidently been kept immobilized, by hypnotically enhanced fear, at the far side or end of the room.

  It was soon quite clear to me that the child had mistaken my black-garbed figure for that of a priest—her eyes must have been quite well adapted to the dark by this time. She uttered a cry of desperation and came running barefoot, in her small ragged dress, to clasp both arms about the waist of the deceptively familiar figure of the newcome vampire, appealing to him in a shrill wordless cry for help.

  Naturally this outburst attracted the attention of the company. One of Radu’s less mature companions giggled, as a normal human might at some bizarre behavior on the part of a dog or cat; the rest reacted only in an abstracted way, even as their attention might have been drawn to a chicken bursting out of some breather’s kitchen and scampering a half-winged progress across the floor. Even Constantia, I could see, was no more moved by the victim’s anguished effort to escape than she would have been by the squawking of some barnyard fowl.

  But I, Vlad Dracula, regarded the event quite differently. The longer I lived, the less it seemed to me that human children and chickens ought to be considered on the same level—regarding human adults I am not always so sure—and I felt constrained to honor such an appeal. Even if considerations of honor could have been set aside, the innocent but ardent contact awakened in me something that had been sleeping, perhaps for centuries. No doubt it may surprise some of my hearers now, to reflect that there had been a time when Prince Dracula’s own offspring had embraced him so.

  The others, except for Constantia and Radu himself, both of whom had known me for centuries, were much surprised to observe my reaction.

  Listening to Radu talk, one might assume that he had never been a father. Of course I knew that, in a biological sense at least, that was not true.

  Besides, though I would not have chosen this time to force a confrontation with Radu, I was not going to retreat from one. And it crossed my mind that, even leaving aside all considerations of honor, to postpone indefinitely the devouring of this particular little girl would be quite certain to irritate my brother immensely. So much for attempting to reach an accommodation.

  With this in mind, I lifted the desperate child gently into my arms. Her hands clutched at my black robe briefly, but as her head came down upon my shoulder I could feel the small body express, in a long shudder, the end of its capacity to struggle. In the next moment its muscles all relaxed, in a total surrender of consciousness to exhaustion. Small mind and childish body had done all that they could do, to achieve their own survival.

  My peers—if that is not too generous a term for them—watched this act in silence.

  Meeting one curious set of eyes after another, I remarked: “I see now that all the talk about a truce was foolishness, and I do not intend to remain here long. Is there any business under discussion here that might affect my future welfare? If so, it would be courteous of you to let me hear it.”

  The members of the group exchanged looks among themselves. But as a group they could not agree upon an answer; and as individuals they were silent.

  Now I concentrated my gaze upon Radu. “No doubt my brother will let me know if any important decisions on such matters are taken after my departure. His welfare and my own are very closely bound together.”

  Receiving no better reply from Radu than from the others, I turned to leave.

  At that point another vampire, one of the younger men who did not know me very well even by reputation—in fact the one who had originally challenged me—moved to block my way.

  I turned an inquiring gaze upon this human obstacle, and I have no doubt that my dark eyes expressed a keen and compassionate interest in his welfare.

  The youth—my interlocutor’s age was certainly under a century—was not easily deterred. “Where do you think you’re going with our snack? If you are hungry, there are rats in plenty to be caught.” Of course the implication that I fed on rats—which I would not dispute; I strive for a balanced diet— was meant to be insulting.

  “No doubt you are mistaken, m’sieu. Your snack is probably scuttling around in the cellar at this moment, on six legs. But it is not an insect that I carry here, nor even a chicken or a rat. It is a human child. Perhaps you remember the existence of such a species. The girl, as you saw, desired to place herself under my protection. I have accepted the responsibility.”

  The stripling who confronted me looked over his shoulder as if inviting some comment on my speech. But none of the others, including Radu, had moved or had any comment to make. They were watching prudently to see how he might fare.

  At last he faced me again, his limited intellect laboring to find a suitable rejoinder. Eventually he came up with: “What is that to me?”

  I shrugged. I was cradling the girl in my left arm, and my free right hand dangled loosely. “It need not mean very much to you at all. But as to that, the choice lies in your hands.”

  He shook his head. Honor and logic and responsibility were all alien concepts to this man. It was as if I had been addressing him in Arabic or Swahili; all he could gather from my speech was the elementary fact that I opposed him.

  He raised his voice a little. “I say the morsel you have there is ours. What do we care about what responsibility you accept or—?” and, even as he spoke, he began to reach out an incautious hand.

  Since my words had not sufficed to obtain passage, I judged this a good opportunity to test how efficiently I could administer a minute dose of one of the less subtle Borgia potions, and what its effect would be upon the nerves and bones and bloodstream of one of the lesser nosferatu, such as he who stood in my way.

  The nail of my right forefinger was suddenly an inch longer than it had been an instant earlier. Its sturdy thickness, and the sharpness of its point, were quite sufficient to let it stab through garments and through flesh, to scrape bone, and probe toward a certain nerve.

  * * *

  The fact was that before coming to the meeting, I had prudently equipped myself with a few vials of the dear Lucrezia’s favorite chemicals (almost three hundred years in storage had rather mellowed them, but hardly decreased their potency), thinking they might come in handy the next time Radu and I should meet.

  I had wanted to make sure, also, before using them on my brother, that those venerable toxins were unlikely to kill a vampire. No use trying to test it on an animal—no animal had the mental and spiritual power to attain the nosferatu state.

  * * *

  My knowledge of anatomy was precise. The one w
ho had found the concept of responsibility so utterly alien managed a shrill cry for help as he went staggering and slumping back, knocking over an item or two of the room’s sparse furniture in his uncontrolled passage. He drew a shuddering breath, as if preparing to cry out again, and then he fell down heavily. He was kicking and writhing aimlessly, but I thought he probably would not die.

  No one was rushing to his defense.

  Critically I regarded his twitching form; for more than a decade I had been endeavoring to find a suitable opportunity to test the stuff, and I was well satisfied with the result. He would survive—I thought. It is not so easy as all that to stop the nosferatu heart.

  Then I swung my gaze back to the others. I like to think that there was an engaging twinkle in my eye. “Does anyone else have anything to discuss with me?”

  But all my remaining hearers had drawn back a step or two, and all were silent.

  Radu, standing in their midst, began an urgent, almost inaudible muttering, trying to excite them into taking some group action to stop me. But his efforts were unavailing. After the demonstration they had just seen, they were too cautious—as was, of course, Radu himself.

  * * *

  My small companion and I remained unmolested as I climbed aboard my horse. We had proceeded on our way for a hundred moonlit yards or so, and I was sure that no one had yet followed us, before I whispered to her: “It seems that you had fallen in with some folk there who were no better than they should be.”

  Of course I really expected no response, and there came none, save for a tighter clutching of the arms. The girl still slept. Swift, light breath puffed against my cheek. Her tiny maiden’s heart had slowed, its rhythm re-entering the normal range for a breather of her age and size. Now moonlight showed me the presence of a pulse just at the deep curve of her throat, under skin unbroken as yet by any fang-marks. I examined her minutely to make sure. There had been as yet no sampling of this treat.