Covenant With the Vampire (37 page)

My son. My tiny, angry, wailing son.

My wife fell at once asleep while her unexpected physician tended her. I sank
into a nearby chair and wept at the beauty and horror of the event.

When the stranger had finished and washed his hands in a basin, he turned towards
me, wiping his hands upon a towel, and said in a low voice, “The child is small,
but healthy. He is early, no?”

I nodded, and drew a shaking hand across my eyes.

“No doubt the mother has suffered some recent shock.”

I shot a dark glance at Dunya, who had finished bathing the child and now wrapped
him tightly in blankets, for I wished to be able to speak freely to this stranger,
but dared not in her presence. The doctor saw, and seemed to detect my reluctance,
though he smiled at Dunya as she handed the clean child over to him.

I nodded quickly, so that Dunya did not notice.

He tucked the child into my dozing wife's arm and said softly, “She is young
and strong, but she has lost a dangerous amount of blood. She will need a great
deal of care.

Mary stirred then, and found the baby in her arms; and the smile she graced
us both with at that moment shall remain my sweetest memory. “His name,” she
whispered to me. “What shall be his name?”

“Stefan,” I replied. “For my brother.”

“Stefan George.” She said it slowly, savouring the sound.

“A handsome name,” the doctor added, beaming. Mary started weakly at the sight
of a stranger; but I started at his words, for the three of us had just conversed
in my wife's native tongue.

“You speak English,” I said.

“Yes. There is something you wish to say that you do not want the girl to hear?”
Still smiling, he nodded at the child as if he had just paid the proud parents
a compliment.

I gazed down at my red, wrinkled, beautiful son. “She is in league with the
prince; he will know, now, that you are here. Your life is in great danger.
You must leave at once - ”

“And what of you and your family?” The stranger leaned over the child and proffered
a large thick finger, which little Stefan gripped fiercely. “It would be unwise
for your wife to travel. But this place… I have seen what horrors lie in the
room that leads here. You seem kindly people. Am I to abandon you here?”

I knew at that moment my prayer had been answered in the form of this man,
who had saved my wife and might now save my son.

I looked at him with hope. “Perhaps you can help.” I stood and walked towards
the doorway, leaving Mary with the child. I had no desire to dim her happiness
at that moment.

Kohl seemed to understand; he smiled at my wife, and said in German, “The boy
is no doubt hungry, madam. Let me allow you a few moments’ privacy to feed him.”

He followed me into the hallway and drew the door closed behind him.

I said in a low voice in English, “Why are you here?”

The stranger hesitated; his expression revealed that trust warred with suspicion.
“First: I must know why
you
are here. What leads a man to the home
of a murderer, even if he be kin?”

“We are his prisoners,” I said, with no attempt to hide my misery. “As you
will be, if you do not leave. He has threatened my wife and child, hoping I
will be broken and assist him in evil.” I raised a shaking hand to my eyes,
blotting out the sight of the stranger; wishing I could blot out the memory
of what I had just revealed.

The stranger sighed deeply and said, “My father visited this same castle twenty-five
years before.”

I lowered my hands and met his gaze. “And disappeared.”

Grief flickered in his eyes before he looked away. “Without a trace,” he said
grimly. “I was of course but a boy at the time. The last letter we received
from him was postmarked from Bistritz, the day before he was to visit your great-uncle.
For years, my family attempted to reconstruct what befell him - but we were thwarted
at every turn. No one would help us; neither the police in Bistritz, nor local
government. We spent an enormous amount of money on solicitors, even a private
detective, attempting to track him down. The lawyers were unsuccessful; and
the detective himself disappeared and was not heard from again.

“At last my poor mother surrendered, and gave up hope, for it was clear that
he had been the victim of foul play and that some sort of conspiracy surrounded
his disappearance. I, too, gave up searching - until dreams of my father pleading
for help so disturbed me I could no longer ignore them. I have vowed to avenge
him. And so, in desperation, I journeyed here, and have learned much from kind-hearted
locals. I have heard many, many stories, some quite fantastic; but all indicate
that your uncle is a murderer many times over. I have no doubt but that my poor
father was one of his victims.”

“All the stories are true,” I said grimly. “Even the most fantastic of them…”

Kohl released a startled laugh. “Certainly not! They say…” He lowered his voice.
“They say he is a vampire. A drinker of men's blood. You seem an educated, intelligent
man. Surely you do not - ”

“Her neck,” I told him. “Examine the girl's neck.”

“You are joking,” he said, with less conviction, and gave a smile that faded
slowly as he examined my face. “It is impossible.”

“Yes, impossible… and true.”

I said nothing more; merely stood in silence until, at last, Kohl turned and
knocked upon the door, waiting until Dunya called that it was safe for him to
enter.

I watched in the open doorway as he again examined my wife and child, speaking
cheerfully to both of them in German; his gaze fell upon the papers, covered
with my scrawl, which lay on the table beside my reclining wife. Perhaps he
saw something disturbing there, for his expression darkened briefly. And then
he smiled again, and turned to Dunya, saying: “Young miss, you seem very drawn!
Are you sure you are not ill?”

She blushed and stammered, “No, I am simply tired,” but he waved away her response
and insisted she open her mouth, that he might look at her throat, “For there
has been an outbreak of diphtheria in the region.” Deftly, he touched the glands
in her neck, managing to lower the collar enough to see the incriminating marks.

“Good, good,” he murmured, with a composed expression, but his spine stiffened
slightly in reaction.

I stepped into the doorway and said for Dunya's benefit, “Herr Kohl, let me
show you the guest quarters, and assist you with your luggage. No doubt you
will wish to rest.”

“Ah.” He turned, his pale eyes still bright with astonishment, and followed
me out into the corridor. When we were a far enough distance not to be heard,
he said, “It is not conclusive. The marks might have been made by an animal…”

I held my tongue and led him into the great outer chamber, past the throne.
He beheld it all with wide eyes, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I saw it before, when I followed you to your wife, though I scarce could believe
my eyes,” he whispered. “What sort of monster… ?” He pointed over at the unveiled
theatre of death. “And that is no doubt where - ”

He broke off, unable to continue. I put my hand upon his shoulder, understanding
too well his sense of horror and loss.

After a moment of silence I said, “Come.”

I led him into the inner sanctum where the coffins stood, their lids still
opened to reveal the imprints of bodies upon crimson silk. Beside them on the
floor lay the stake, mallet, and knife which I had dropped. Kohl looked on the
scene and the black altar with an expression of horrified wonder but did not
speak.

“He sleeps in the day, just as legend says,” I told him. “Normally here, but
he has hidden himself - somewhere on the castle grounds, I am sure.

“I intend to destroy him. Your call interrupted my search. Will you help?”

Kohl's gaze, of uncommon intensity, met mine at once. “Yes.”

I gave a joyless smile. “It matters not to my pride whether you believe that
my great-uncle is a vampire, or an entirely human monster; but I must insist
for your own safety that you take this and wear it. Your gun will provide you
no protection in this house.”

I handed him Ion's crucifix, which he hung round his neck without hesitation.
“And you?” he asked.

“I am currency to him,” I said. “He will not harm me.”

Kohl looked askance at this, but I did not explain. We equipped ourselves with
the stake, mallet, knife, and a lamp, and began the hunt.

For the next few hours, we went through the forty or fifty rooms - painstakingly,
slowly, looking beneath beds, in cupboards, pantries, closets, stables, wine
cellar, everywhere that might afford V. and Zsuzsa a resting-place.

Outside, the clouds blackened and thundered; at last the storm arrived, with
a gusting wind that pelted water furiously against the windows, a fitting backdrop
to our hunt. After a thorough search of the upper levels, we made our way down
to the cellar and discovered, beneath a layer of dust so thick we almost failed
to find it, a door which led to a staircase. These stairs in turn led to an
entire series of subterranean catacombs, dug out of damp earth and layered with
cobwebs. I half-expected to find the bones of martyred Christians, but the first
few chambers were empty, save for the rats that scurried at our approach, and
a thriving beetle population: the edges of the beam cast by my lamp seemed alive
with small, dark crawling creatures.

But I sensed we neared the objects of our search; and so, I think, did Kohl,
for his expression grew ever more taut. Keeping the lamp lifted high, I strode
with him through chamber after chamber. The ground sloped slightly downward,
and I had the sense of going deeper and deeper into the earth, the air growing
danker with every step.

Then we entered a long, narrow corridor that stretched into endless darkness.
Suddenly, Kohl touched my shoulder and said, “Look!”

I followed the direction of his gaze, and saw, to my left at the edge of the
lamp's wavering light, cubicles each the size of a large closet, carved from
the earth. Within were rotting wool blankets, tin cups, bowls, chains, an occasional
wooden stool…

And each was sealed with iron bars and rusting padlocks.

Cubicle after cubicle, a dozen, perhaps, in all. A prison.

“
Gott im Himmel
,” Kohl whispered.

“Of course,” I murmured. “When the snows close the Borgo Pass, no more visitors
can come; but he still must feed…”

Was this, too, to have been my task - to fill his prison in autumn, that he might
sup at leisure over the winter?

We turned our faces from the horror and somehow managed to keep moving. The
cells at last ended, and the tunnel itself terminated in an abrupt earthen wall
laced with the dying roots of trees and nests of small animals. At the foot
of that wall was a large trap door of wood bound with thick bands of rusted
metal and studded with iron spikes.

I ran to it, set the lamp on the ground, and took hold of the large metal handle
with both hands. Kohl dropped our weapons and joined me, and together we pulled.

But the door was bolted fast from the inside, and the outside bound shut with
a thick chain attached to a long spike driven into the hard ground; no creature
could pass through that portal by any means less than supernatural.

I took the mallet and pounded the wood, but it was petrified, like pounding
rock. I could not so much as leave a dent. I tried smashing the chain, with
equal success, and then tried driving the stake between earth and wood as a
lever; this too failed. When I was spent, Kohl did his best to smash and then
pry the door open, but after a frustrating half hour, we surrendered and returned
the long, winding way we had come.

“He will rise at sunset,” I told my companion. “You must leave well before
then, or your life is forfeit.”

“You and your family must accompany me, then,” Kohl insisted. “It is dangerous
for your wife to travel, but it seems a far greater danger to leave her here.”

I agreed - simply to avoid argument, though I intended to stay and delay V. from
following for as long as possible. It was already late afternoon; I explained
that V. would rise at sunset, so that we would only be able to get a couple
hours’ head start. Swiftness was imperative.

“Then there is the matter of the chambermaid, Dunya,” I said. “Vlad knows all
that she knows; and if she is awake and unrestrained when we depart, he will
know through her when and in which direction we left. If there is some way to
render her unable to do so - ”

“Leave it to me,” Kohl responded firmly.

We returned to my wife's prison to find the baby still nestled in her arm,
and papers in her lap; Dunya sat attendance at bedside. My wife looked up, and
our gazes locked; I saw that she held back tears. As I neared, and stood at
her bedside opposite Dunya, I saw that the papers were covered with my handwriting - Mary
had read my diary entry about Zsuzsa's revelations.

I lowered my eyes from that stricken, knowing gaze, heartbroken to think I
had again caused my wife such misery. Neither of us said a word because of Dunya;
we did not have to. The tale was told by Mary's loving, horrified eyes.

Kohl stepped beside me and said cheerfully to Dunya, “Young miss, you seem
very tired and pale yourself. Go and sleep. I can watch your mistress.”

She lowered her eyes shyly, embarrassed at having been noticed, but her voice
was resolute as she answered, “No, sir. You are a guest of this house. It is
my duty to stay awake and help my mistress and the baby.”

Kohl considered this, then nodded indulgently. “Well, then, let me give you
a tonic to make you strong.”

For a moment she brightened, and seemed on the verge of glad acceptance; and
then her eyes dulled in the same horrid manner they had when she had seen V.,
and her expression shifted to one of suspicion. “Thank you, sir, but I am strong
enough.”