Part 11 (1/2)
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.