Diaries Of The Family Dracul - Children Of The Vampire Part 11

Arkady's voice dropped so low, I could just make out his reply. "The head must be severed, and a stake plunged through the heart."

I recoiled as I realised, from his expression and demeanour, that he intended me to carry out such desecration. I turned and moved at once for the door, pausing there only long enough to say, "This is your crime; yours alone, and yours alone the consequences."

Resolute, I stepped out into the unlit corridor. He followed, silent, gliding, melting into the darkness, and whispered into my ear-as though he were beside me, which was impossible in that narrow s.p.a.ce: "You do not understand: I cannot do it myself, else I would not come to you. Realise what you are doing-creating another monster, one who will bring more grief to families such as yours."

Unmoved, unhearing, I hurried back to my berth and crawled inside. My tormentor, now invisible, followed.

"Van Helsing, help me! I am d.a.m.ned and cannot destroy another vampire-"

"Then be d.a.m.ned and go to h.e.l.l, sir," I whispered to the night, my voice trembling. "And cease tormenting us poor mortals."

After only a second's pause, he answered, with an audible flicker of pain, "I shall, Abraham.

I shall, as soon as it is possible. But that I cannot do either without your help."

I pulled the blankets over my face, and there remained-awake, perspiring-until dawn.

This morning when I went to the compartment, the corpse was gone, disappeared as though it had been nothing more than a bad dream.

I will go to Transylvania and find my son and brother, and return. But I will not be drawn into Arkady's evil world, will not be party to murder, will not execute grisly rituals or fill my head with his bizarre mental training. I will not. . . .

Chapter 11.

The Journal of Stefan Van Helsing 25 NOVEMBER.

We are getting closer to home now.

To Transylvania, I mean; I have heard the word home so often used in reference to that country that I have come to call it that myself, though I have never been.

The days and nights begin to blur together. The servant woman, Dunya, watches over me by day, Zsu-zsanna by night, but from time to time they overlap.

I was terrified of my situation at first, and fearful for my life; but Zsuzsanna has shown me only kindness. I want for nothing-our accommodations are sumptuous, and we have our own car-and dine on the finest food and wine. Vlad must be enormously wealthy to have made these arrangements; for I have yet to see a conductor or waiter. Food appears, and it magically disappears, and our quarters remain tidy. Either Zsuzsanna or her serving- woman are doing this unaided, or the details all are tended to while I sleep.

Until to-day, I thought we might have our own private train. Now I see that that would have inconvenienced Zsuzsanna too greatly, for reasons I shall soon explain.

My diurnal guardian, Dunya, is a small thin woman, with colouring similar to Zsuzsanna's, except for the reddish cast to her dark hair. Clearly they are from the same racial stock, but Dunya is of a different cla.s.s, sheltered, uneducated, a lowly servant of a sort not seen in Holland. Perhaps this accounts for her shyness; she speaks to me only in monosyllables, and at times her frightened dark eyes grow vacant (when Zsuzsanna or Vlad controls her, I have decided).

They are most often vacant when she brandishes the pistol in order to prevent my escape.

This morning, in fact, at dawn, the mental dullness and confusion that plague me when I am in Zsuzsanna's presence departed, and I had a moment of clarity when I sensed Arkady was following, and that he urged me to try to break free. (It seems to me these periods of lucidity come at sunrise, noon, and dusk; I shall have to keep a record to see if my perceptions are accurate.) I made up my mind to leap from the train-for I know Dunya will not kill me-Zsuzsanna swears that they intend me no harm, and I believe her.

The guards had changed; Dunya had taken her place, with weapon at the ready, in the compartment. And I rose, under pretense of stretching my legs and visiting the water closet.

Instead, I hurried to the rear of the car and tried to open the exit; but it was locked or jammed, and before I could do more than jiggle it, Dunya appeared, with the pistol levelled at my legs, ready to shoot.

What could I do except meekly follow her back to the private compartment? Perhaps she does not mean to kill me, but I cannot be certain of her aim . . .

And then there is the matter of Zsuzsanna.

When I am with her, most times I forget myself. Her eyes have an uncanny power to sway me, to make me do her bidding. I colour with pure shame to record that she has again appeared to me as Gerda, and again I took her in my arms in the travelling compartment and ravished her. . . .

Or was it she who ravished me? I am even more ashamed to report that when she let Gerda's image drop and appeared as her beautiful self to me, I did not stop myself, did not turn away in revulsion at what I had done. Worse: last night, she did not bother to change her appearance at all, and still I embraced her, knowing full well she was my father's sister, a coldblooded creature who had killed my brother's son.

We are lovers each night; and each morning I wake filled with remorse, determined to abstain the following eve. But her eyes, her eyes! I fight, but cannot resist them.

I have questioned her carefully about the blood ritual; she says little, but from what she does reveal, I think that the ritual that tied me to Arkady has kept me from being a complete automaton now. But the further I move away from his influence and the nearer to Transylvania, the more confused my thoughts become.

For at times, I know how Zsuzsanna is attempting to manipulate me; but in the evening, I come close to believing her when she says it is Arkady who seeks to betray me, and Vlad who is good.But to-night was distressing-as troubling as the first day, when I learned that Amsterdam was no longer to be my home.

Dunya held watch by day. After my early attempt at escape, I drowsed through most of it in a warm patch of sun beside the window. When night fell, I rose to stretch my legs and in the corridor encountered Zsuzsanna.

She was as provocatively lovely as ever, but to-night she was beaming with special brilliance. For holding both her hands and tottering in front of her was my little nephew, Jan.

Oh, he was radiant! a s.h.i.+ning cherub with golden curls and sapphire eyes, dimpling and cheerful as I have ever seen him-when only a few nights ago, he had lain pale, grey-lipped, unmoving, in Zsuzsanna's arms.

Weeping with joy, I dropped to one knee and spread my arms wide for him.

He cried out in delight as he let go her guiding hands and, with sudden remarkable agility and grace beyond his eighteen months, ran to me.

"No!" Zsuzsanna called after him, but we were far too caught up in our happy reunion to pay her any heed. "Be careful, Stefan, it is too soon-"

I grabbed him and rose, whirling him about; he has always loved to be lifted, and swung, and tossed into the air. But this time, he did not giggle with childish glee, or beg to "fly," as he calls it. Instead, he wrapped his chubby arms about my neck and looked solemnly at me with great blue eyes-eyes that were peculiarly magnetic and beautiful to gaze upon, but cold and soulless as an inanimate object: like the ocean, or a glittering jewel. And then he bent to kiss me.

"Jan," Zsuzsanna chided, and swiftly plucked him from my grasp. "Not Uncle, darling; not Uncle." She swept him away down the corridor while he wailed, his round little face peering over her shoulder at me, his little hands reaching out to me.

How could I not follow? They disappeared swiftly into the next car. I followed, of course, but found the exit again jammed or locked. Before I could scarcely react to this realisation, they returned.

Not alone; they were followed by a kind-faced matron who reached out, smiling and playful, to little Jan as he leaned over Zsuzsanna's shoulder and in turn peered shyly at his newfound friend. Each was clearly transfixed by the other.

They went into the private sitting compartment. I joined the trio at once, falling into that pleasant, dull pa.s.sivity Zsuzsanna's presence so often evoked, and completely forgot all desire to escape, forgot anything but my desire to remain in her company.

A pleasant round of introductions were made in German. This was Frau Buchner, travelling to her cousin's funeral in Bratislava and quite lonesome for her grandchildren. She was a sweet simple woman, soft and round, with sloping shoulders and the beginnings of a dowager's hump, and braided grey hair coiled round her head beneath a lace scarf.

Something about her reminded me of Mama: her gentleness, perhaps, or her clear blue eyes, or perhaps the sweet smell of ladies' talc.u.m. But she was older, paler-though her pallour may have been due to the severe effect of her mourning clothes, for she was dressed from head to toe in black. The only spot of colour rested upon her broad bosom: a large gold crucifix.

And this, she avowed with a nod at my nephew, in a voice that had just begun to quaver with age, was simply the prettiest child she had ever seen- "Who is lonesome for his grandmama," Zsuzsanna offered graciously, aglow with maternal pride. With Jan in her arms, she settled down beside the older woman whilst I sat across from them. Beside us, the unshuttered window opened onto deepening twilight and the distant black waters of the Danube, a diamond strand of lights draped along its curving banks.

"And what is our baby's name?" our visitor asked.

"Jan," Zsuzsanna answered proudly, as though she had christened him herself.

"Jan. A good name," she told the little boy. "Where I come from, we would call you Johann."

"Oma," Jan chirped, reaching a pudgy hand towards Frau Buchner; but when she smiled and reached back towards him, he withdrew at once to the safety of Zsuzsanna's embrace.

The nearer she came, the more he recoiled, determined not to let her touch even the wispy golden curls upon his head. Yet the whole while he stared over at her with those wide, crystalline-cold eyes-the eyes of a charmed cobra.

"Oma," he said again sweetly, and when I smiled despite myself, Frau Buchner turned to me for explanation.

"It is the Dutch word for 'grandmother,' " said I. "You remind him of her."

Her whole face brightened with pleasure at the compliment. "Ach, a pretty little Dutch boy.

Yes, darling, I am an oma, with grandchildren of my own." And she reached for him again, unsuccessfully.

I took advantage of her distraction to whisper softly to Zsuzsanna, "But how is it possible?

Only two days ago, I was sure he was dead." Writing these words, I realise that I knew, deep in my heart, what had happened. But in Zsuzsanna's presence, all that I had learnt from Arkady and Mama was forgotten; I lived in a pleasant, confused fantasy world where no evil was allowed to intrude, where little Jan and I were her happy, willing travelling companions.

"What is this?" Frau Buchner tilted her head, half-listening.

Zsuzsanna looked down at her charge and ran slender, long fingers fondly through his curls.

"Our little darling was very sick. But to-day he is all better."

Frau Buchner nodded her head, the picture of sagacious experience. "I tell you, that is the way it is with these little ones. One day, they have a fever so high you think they will never live. And the next day"-she snapped her fingers, which drew renewed interest from Jan- "Poof! They are ready to play again." She leaned forward towards the child again; the crucifix on her bosom dangled between them. "Isn't that right, my darling?"

She reached for his hair again, but Jan recoiled this time with a loud whimper, though his gaze remained fixed on her.

"So, are we the shy one now?" She smiled, but it was clear that she was desperate to win his affections, and that his rejection vexed her.

"I think your necklace frightens him," Zsuzsanna said, an abrupt coolness in her tone.

The woman looked down at it with puzzlement. "My necklace?" She fingered it, then gazed back up at the child. "Oh, my dear, what is there to be frightened of? That it is s.h.i.+ny?"Zsuzsanna watched her with the same intent, predatory stare that recalled a tigress with her cub. "Perhaps that's it."

"See, darling?" Frau Buchner lifted the chain with two fingers so that the pendant dangled in front of Jan's owlish eyes. He squealed and burrowed his face into Zsuzsanna's shoulder, while she struggled not to show her own discomfort. "It's just a golden pretty," the older woman cooed. "See it s.h.i.+ne? Just our Lord Jesus on the cross."

"Take it off," Zsuzsanna demanded, her voice harsh.

Frau Buchner blinked up at her in gentle surprise. "What?"

"Take it off."

The look Zsuzsanna gave the other woman was so intent, so piercing that I felt the hair on the back of my neck lift; Frau Buchner's expression went slack almost immediately. Slowly, she lifted the heavy gold chain and slipped it over her face, over the fat coil of grey braids on her crown, and held it out, at arm's length.

Zsuzsanna drew back from it in obvious disgust, s.h.i.+elding the child in her arms with her body, and turned to me, her eyes narrowed, her face a hard pale mask. For the first time, I saw beneath her beauty; saw a flash of something indescribably hideous. . . .

I hesitated, unwilling, instinctively knowing what would happen next without knowing how I knew. For a moment, the golden chain with its heavy gleaming burden dangled in the air between us.

"Take it," Zsuzsanna growled, her lower lip curling to display a row of teeth, each one white and hard and culminating in a fine sharp point, a deadly row of razor-keen stakes. It was the mouth I had seen the terrible night she had killed little Jan: a monster's rictus.

I looked swiftly away, closed my eyes.

A faint metallic cascade. I looked back to see Frau Buchner, her eyes distant, unfocussed, her fist open. The chain had slipped from her grasp to the floor in front of my feet.

"Otna!" Jan crowed happily, and she came to herself again for an instant, laughing as the boy bounded suddenly from Zsuzsanna's arms to hers. "Oma!"

"Oof! Careful now, little one," she said, smiling indulgently as the child carelessly flung his arms around her neck and buried his face there. She laughed again as she patted his back and turned to say something to Zsuzsanna-then grimaced with pain and let go a startled little scream.

"Aah!" She caught his hands and moved to pull him away-but abruptly her arms dropped.

Her eyes grew vacant once more, and she grew quite still, mouth open, lips pursed in a surprised "O."

Zsuzsanna nestled back against the cus.h.i.+on and watched, her eyelids half-lowered in sensual approval- while I sat, frozen with horror and confusion. The compartment grew silent save for the rumble of the train and the child's loud, unselfconscious sucking, while his little fists waved about like a nursing infant's and clenched and unclenched the black silk of Frau Buchner's dress.

After a time, the matron's eyes closed, and her veiled head leaned back against the seat. Not long after, Jan lifted his face-cheeks and lips and chin smeared with bright blood-and sought Zsuzsanna's arms."That's my good boy," she said, producing a handkerchief and proceeding to wipe him clean; when that was done to her satisfaction, she cradled him in one arm. "Sleep now, little one."

And with the other, she reached for Frau Buchner.

It was not easily accomplished, but in the end, the older woman slid sideways in the seat so that one cheek rested upon the dozing child's belly and the other turned up towards Zsuzsanna, who leaned down to drink.

Only a moment; and when she was done, Zsuzsanna gently pushed her upright, then leaned over to pat the poor woman's hand: "Frau Buchner."

The woman woke with a start and lifted a dazed hand to her forehead. "What is it? Did I fall asleep?"

"Yes, dear. Are you tired? Perhaps you should go to your berdi."

Buchner's eyes were vacant, troubled, the eyes of a soul who wants badly to remember and cannot. "Yes. Yes. Perhaps I should. Excuse me, dear."

Her face was ashen, her balance uncertain. I rose at once to take her arm and helped her to the other car.

When I returned, Zsuzsanna was rocking Jan in her arms and singing the strange lullaby I heard the first night on the train; she interrupted her song to gaze up at me and order, "Pick it up and dispose of it, please."

I knew she spoke of the crucifix, which still lay atop the coiled chain on the floor. Even now, I cannot explain why her request seemed logical, why I did not question it. I picked Frau Buchner's necklace from the floor, pulled down the window-sash, and tossed it out towards the darkly glittering banks of the Danube.

It is shortly after dawn. My mind is returned to me once more, and I have just made another unsuccessful attempt to escape, by wriggling through an open window. Now Dunya sits, tight-lipped, watching over me hawkishly with the gun. I can do nothing but reflect on last night's events again with horror.

If I am so swayed now by the vampire's glamour . . . what shall become of me when I arrive in Transylvania and fall prey to Vlad?

Chapter 12.

The Diary of Abraham Van Helsing 26 NOVEMBER.

And ever darker still . . .

I am in a different world. Holland seems in retrospect so modem, airy, light: all white- washed brick, clean streets, and wide flat expanses of land and sea and sky. When we came to Buda-Pesth, I knew the civilised West was far behind us. The city's air was distinctly ancient and corrupt: a dark place, with narrow cobbled streets and crumbling Roman ruins.