A Coldness in the Blood (The Dracula Series)

by Fred Saberhagen

  After that followed a full minute of numbed silence. The spell was broken by Dolly’s half-dazed comment: “And I thought my gramp was a cool magician!”

  Maule nodded gently. “He was indeed a foremost practitioner in his field—as I am in mine. But the two are, as you must now realize, not at all the same.” He was staring at Dolly now, and without pause he went on: “You cannot sleep, can you? Tell me what it is that makes you dread to sleep.”

  “It’s dreams.” Dolly’s voice was suddenly a child’s. “They’re killing me.”

  “No, they shall not kill you. We must not let that happen. Allow me, please.”

  Bending forward, Maule briefly examined her throat. “Excellent, it seems you are unmarked by those who might have sought to drink your blood. Now, let your right hand rest here, in mine. Young Andrew, you may remain in the compartment. But grant us a minute or two of silence.”

  Andy watched, fascinated. Maule said nothing more, just looked at Dolly. At first, her eyes stayed locked on his. But in fifteen seconds, she was sound asleep in her comfortable chair, her head tilted just slightly on one side.

  A week ago Andy would have been certain there was some trickery, or that he himself had been somehow dosed with an hallucinatory drug. But that was a week ago, and he had changed, along with the world around him.

  Maule released the girl’s hand, which fell softly to her lap, and sat back in his chair. As if to himself, he murmured: “There is one much worse—much worse—than Lambert, who has also become your enemy. But it would be pointless now to worry you with that.”

  Switching his gaze to Andy, he said quietly: “Now we may talk again.”

  Suddenly remembering something, Andy said: “Back there in Old Town, I thought I saw Dickon just pry a boot off the wheel of his car. With his bare hands.”

  Uncle Matt gravely inclined his head. “It is quite possible, for a Homo dirus of his age and strength.” He looked keenly at Andy. “You must realize, he can be deadly dangerous in his fits of panic. He has them frequently.”

  “It’ll be fine with me if I never see him again.”

  “And with me also. Possibly neither of us ever will. But it would be foolish to count on that.”

  Presently Maule restored the upper berth to its proper position, then lifted Dolly’s sleeping figure gently into it, while Andy hastily scooped baggage out of the way.

  Having seen that she remained in restful sleep, Uncle Matt took his leave. “I shall not be far away. Cry out if you need help.”

  He left the compartment without opening the locked door. He simply stood in front of it, favored his hosts with a slight bow, and disappeared.

  Dolly slept on for some time, and Andy, stretching out in the lower berth, let himself sink into oblivion, secure in the knowledge that somewhere nearby, Uncle Matt was standing watch.

  —and then Andy was suddenly awake again. Maybe it had been some sharp lurch of the rolling car that roused him. Certainly the train was still in motion, speeding through deep darkness. Impulsively Andy reached for the window shade and twitched it aside an inch or two, gazing into empty blackness.

  Then for one shocking moment the blackness was no longer empty. A pale face loomed up, suspended in midair, close beside the window. The forehead was tilted toward the engine, as if the owner of the face might be swimming or flying, keeping up with the speeding train. It was certainly not the countenance of Uncle Matt. It was beardless and Andy thought it was a woman’s, and its eyes were looking at him. It was gone before he could capture any further details.

  The sight jerked Andy wide awake, but the shock left him uncertain—had he been dreaming, only a moment earlier?

  He let the shade fall back, and went to sleep again. There was nothing else he could do.

  In the morning his memory of the night’s apparition already seemed unreal, and he was more than half convinced that it had been a dream. Andy took his turn in the tiny shower, and when the train’s intercom announced that breakfast was served, he and Dolly headed promptly for the dining car.

  This time they were seated with a different couple, but perhaps word about the newlyweds had got around. No one seemed surprised that the youthful pair should look a trifle haggard when they showed up for breakfast. Andy did his best to respond to cheerful smiles.

  When their tablemates had finished early and departed, Dolly asked in a low voice: “Where’s Uncle Matt now?”

  Andy swallowed coffee. He thought it was probably good coffee, but he couldn’t really tell. “God knows. I’m scared to try to think about it. On the train somewhere, I guess. I’ll bet we won’t see him unless he wants us to.”

  The couple passed Saturday morning almost entirely inside their compartment, now restored to its daytime mode—they had been warned.

  Lunch in the dining car began uneventfully—but a moment after they were seated, an attendant escorted Uncle Matt to their table, making a party of three.

  Andy wondered, but did not ask, if Maule had somehow been able to wangle his own compartment on the train. Their protector was on hand, and that was all that seemed to matter at the moment.

  Rolling wheels and chatter made the dining car noisy enough to allow them to converse in privacy. Uncle Matt ordered a sandwich, then gently explained to Dolly that he did so only for the sake of appearances. She should not be surprised when he ate nothing.

  Dolly responded with a feeble smile. “Uncle Matt, nothing about you is going to surprise me any more. But you’re all right?”

  “I am in excellent condition. And you—?”

  “Okay, I guess.”

  “As well as can be expected.” He paused. “In a way, it worries me that Sobek does not seem to be pursuing you.”

  “That he does not—? … but you say that Sobek is the one who sends me dreams.”

  Maule nodded. Now he had put on a pair of dark glasses, against the sun threatening to come in the window. “Oh, that he is not aboard the train and attempting to devour us is of course good in itself. What concerns me is the strong implication that he is content to wait, to send his dreams and bide his time … .” He paused, having been struck by a sudden thought. “I wonder, now, if he is even conscious of all the dreams his mind transmits to others?”

  That possibility sent Uncle Matt into a brief period of introspection. But presently he roused again. “Of course, a partial explanation may lie in the fact that the monster finds it comparatively difficult to move across country. It seems unlikely that he will find any magical false door in the right place to afford him a quick passage.”

  “What is he doing, then?”

  “He is seeking the same treasure that your grandfather wanted you to have, and that those creatures in Chicago would have killed you to possess. He is also sending you visions of great horror. Our enemy derives amusement from inflicting pain—and he may rely on these dreams to accomplish some more practical purpose too. Perhaps, in some sense, he fears you—or fears some knowledge that you have.”

  Andy cleared his throat. “Speaking of visions, I saw something funny last night. Later I thought I must have been dreaming, but I don’t know.”

  Maule listened with obvious concern as Andy described the apparition, then pressed him to give a better description of the face. But the young man could add nothing helpful.

  His face somber, the older man turned back to Dolly. “And now, I believe there is something of importance that you wish to tell me.”

  She nodded. “Amazing, how much more human I feel after a few hours of sleep.”

  She paused, sighed. “Uncle Matt, it’s like I said to Andy once, either you and I are in this together or we’re not. After what’s happened already, I have to believe we are. And if something, well, happens to Andy and me, maybe you can get some good out of it.”

  It seemed to Andy that some revelation was on the point of bursting out, yet again Dolly hesitated. “You know, I’m still not completely sure that Gramp just wasn’t a little crazy. It’s that damn list of
names and addresses again.”

  “Your last secret has something to do with the list?”

  The young woman nodded. “What it is, is that there’s one statue that the list doesn’t mention.”

  Andy got a sinking feeling in his gut, but he noted that Uncle Matt did not look terribly surprised at the revelation.

  Dolly was going on: “The last thing Gramp said to me, before he died, was that he had kept one statue for himself. He did it just on a hunch, before he really knew how important they were going to turn out to be.”

  “And where is this statue now?”

  “In Albuquerque, I guess. I hope. Still in our house there, probably, I don’t know where else Gramp could have hidden it. I’ve been meaning to go and look for it soon as I got off the train. Now I want both of you to come with me, if you’ll do that.”

  Having finally, as it seemed, unburdened herself of her last bit of secret knowledge, Dolly sank back in her chair looking relieved. A minute later she picked up the sandwich she had been toying with and took a healthy bite.

  Slightly more than a full day had passed since the couple had boarded their sleeping car in Chicago. Now the train had at last emerged from the winding mountain passes of northern New Mexico, had made a last preliminary stop at Lamy, and was pulling into Albuquerque practically on schedule. The window shade of their compartment had been up since early morning, and the afternoon outside looked fine and hot.

  From Albuquerque it would be only a short journey by car to Santa Fe, and Uncle Matthew, squinting out the window into the waiting ordeal of sunshine, vividly remembered a previous adventure in that old city.

  “At the time I was keenly interested in the whereabouts of a certain painting.” He sighed, and his current companions looked at him without understanding.

  Gritting his teeth—at the moment his upper canines felt like they were shrinking, as if in anticipation of the solar pain to come—Maule put on the dark glasses and broad-brimmed hat that these days made part of his essential luggage, along with a small plastic bag of his native earth.

  Having somehow retrieved his valise from its chosen hiding place, he disembarked in the teeth of the punishing, blazing sun, among American Indians who waited patiently to sell him rugs and pottery.

  ~ 17 ~

  Andy was only slightly surprised to see John Southerland, in blue jeans, hiking boots, and a checkered shirt, waiting for them on the open platform when their party descended from the train.

  He noted that his Uncle John, for some reason, was carrying some kind of unopened umbrella or parasol, and that his face wore a look of concern as he immediately approached Uncle Matt with this object in hand. But Maule thrust the umbrella aside with an impatient gesture before John could get it open. Then Uncle Matt, with the rest of the party trotting to keep up, made his way quickly down off the platform, through a gateway in a fence, and past a small gauntlet of sellers of artifacts, to a graveled parking lot beside the small and timeworn railroad station. In the parking lot a largesized SUV was waiting, and someone inside the vehicle opened a door for Uncle Matt as he approached.

  Moments later they were all inside, arranging themselves quickly, as if they might have rehearsed this boarding, in the three rows of seats. Dolly had never met John Southerland or Joe Keogh, who occupied the driver’s seat, and quick introductions were performed.

  Andy was not surprised at all to discover that it was his father who had opened the door from inside. Joe Keogh, established in the driver’s seat, was still wearing his sport coat, unbuttoned. He looked somewhat haggard, though he had shaved recently. Father and son exchanged a look meant to convey mutual reassurance.

  Dolly, at a word from Maule, now passed on to John and Joe the content of her grandfather’s last words—how old Nicolas claimed to have hidden one of the statues somewhere in or near his Albuquerque house.

  The news brought a sharp question from Joe Keogh. “If that’s true, why didn’t he tell you about it earlier, before he went to Chicago? Or when he phoned to ask you to come?”

  Her chin lifted. “I’ve wondered about that. Only reason I can think of is that maybe Gramp didn’t entirely trust me either. Then later when he knew he was dying … he just figured I was all he had.”

  In the silence that followed, Andy managed to get in a greeting to his father. “Glad to see you here, Dad. How’s it going?”

  “Could be worse. Just flew into Albuquerque about an hour ago.” Joe Keogh shifted his gaze to Maule. “I’ll fill in the details later, but there were two more statues in one shop in Carmel. I saw both of ’em smashed, and both were empty, except for little crocodile mummies.” He paused. “I also got a good look at your Crocodile, and it was kind of a near thing. I don’t see how he could have failed to see me. I suppose he just didn’t think I was worth noticing.”

  Uncle Matt nodded slowly. “Sobek.”

  “Couldn’t have been anyone—anything—else. Matched your description.”

  “To ignore you, or any other human, would be consistent with what I have seen of his behavior. Indeed, you must tell me the details, and soon.”

  Immediately on climbing into the front passenger seat of the cavernous vehicle, Maule had pulled shut his door, putting a barrier of steel and tinted glass between himself and the high desert sun. Relaxing with a sigh, he turned to find his left elbow in close proximity to the shaft of a familiar, long wooden spear. The full length of the weapon extended from between the two front seats to somewhere in the rear of the cabin. Gratefully he rested his hand on the hard wood, feeling its faded but still reassuring power.

  “Better get buckled in, Uncle Matt?” John made it practically a question.

  “Yes, to be sure.” More buckles were snapping in the capacious rear of the cabin, as Andy and Dolly settled themselves in.

  Maule looked to his left and added: “My compliments to you, Joseph, as a master of logistics.”

  “You’re welcome.” The vehicle was already in motion, making a preliminary turning movement. “Would you rather wait until dark to do this?”

  Maule shook his head. “The thought is tempting, but we had better not delay.”

  The SUV had been waiting with the coolers on, so the interior was already comfortable. Now the radio had come on too, and a calm voice informed them that the current temperature in Albuquerque was ninety-five degrees, humidity fourteen percent.

  Joe Keogh turned his head to the rear seat. “Where to, Ms. Flamel?”

  “My friends call me Dolly. Head north to Central—that’s just a few blocks—then take us west. I’ll give you directions as we go. We’ll turn north before we cross the river. Gramp’s place is in the north valley.”

  “Close to the river?” Maule asked thoughtfully.

  “Yes, maybe a quarter of a mile. Why?”

  Uncle Matt just shook his head uncertainly.

  Joe Keogh had finished giving Maule a more detailed report of the events in California, which the vampire received in brooding silence. The others, who had overheard, were digesting the grim facts without comment. Now Joe was studying the world around him as he drove.

  He understood that belting on a gun was still generally legal in New Mexico, but so far Joe hadn’t actually seen anyone availing themselves of the opportunity. He thought his own concealed weapon was very probably against the law, but he would have to take his chances. After what had happened in Carmel he was not going to go unarmed.

  Soon they had turned north, leaving the modestly congested downtown area behind, moving in four lanes of busy traffic. Thunderheads were massing in the west, and a shapeless cloud had draped itself across the crest of the mile-high mountains just to the east.

  The north valley turned out to be a picturesque place, viewed from a winding highway now diminished to two lanes. By this time they were well clear of anything that could be called a city. Both sides of the road displayed a full variety of housing, from handyman special shacks to substantial country estates; horses observed the passi
ng traffic from behind pasture fences, some of the fences solid and decorative, others falling down. Signs promised vineyards, apple orchards, and tribal casinos.

  When a few more miles had gone by, Dolly was leaning forward in her seat. “We’re almost at our turnoff. Take this lane coming up on the left.”

  The lane was unpaved and narrow, running almost straight for a quarter of a mile, between banks of burgeoning summer vegetation. A narrow bridge carried the drive over a venerable irrigation ditch.

  There was a slight turn near the end, and a house came into view, a one-story frame dwelling, considerably in need of paint. There were no vehicles parked anywhere nearby. “Here we are. Oh, oh. Something’s happened.”

  One of the windows in the old building’s modest front was broken, providing a view into dim emptiness.

  Conveniently for Maule, tall cottonwoods screened most of the afternoon sun from the immediate vicinity of the house. Joe Keogh pulled up in the shade.

  Dolly murmured: “I guess it’s not too surprising. The place has been standing vacant for weeks, ever since I drove off to Chicago.”

  Maule was first out of the vehicle, then carefully maneuvered his spear out through its rear hatch. The other four arranged themselves carefully behind him, and approached the building warily.

  Maule gave his spear a little shake. “Dolly, you must grant me permission to enter. Then you will please allow me to go in first.”

  “Well, yeah. Sure, of course. Go ahead.” After a moment she murmured to herself: “I’m bringing in my shotgun.”

  Stepping quickly up to the front door, Maule listened and then pulled it open with his left hand, spear ready in his right. The thought crossed the mind of Andy, watching, that the long shaft would be unhandy in a tight space. Moving forward with the others, he joined a single file that followed Uncle Matt inside.

  The interior might almost have been that of any small house on the verge of poverty, anywhere in the United States, except that the walls tended to display old stage posters rather than sports or religious art.