Dripp stood over Henry and gloated. “This is for killing Mr. Coal.” He slowly removed the dagger, causing Henry to writhe in pain. He brought it up to show Henry he was about to die.
Was there enough daylight left to weaken them and make it a fair fight? I pulled the ropes and the curtains rolled up and let in a bright, beautiful beam of sunlight, blinding the vampires.
Henry rolled away into the shadows and covered his eyes. Dripp fled from the light, first trying to leap into the balcony, but finding his strength gone he climbed back upon the stage and looked for a shadow in the wing.
Robert pummelled the ginger vampire, attacking him with great fury, pounding him deeper into the sunbeam. He is very strong for an older man; I was quite impressed with his use of fisticuffs.
Oscar dived for his cane, jumped to his feet and started beating his attacker across the head with it. The vampire grabbed it and tried to yank it from him, only to pull away the sheath and reveal the sword.
The bullies were not smiling now!
Oscar sliced his vampire across the neck, nearly cutting his head off. Black blood gushed like oil from a well. A second blow took the head clean off and he exploded into dust. He must have been older than he looked!
Oscar then went to the aid of Hesselius who, at his advanced years, was no match even for a weakened vampire. Leech had Hesselius around the neck from behind and was using him like a shield. “Back or I’ll snap ’is neck!” the monster cried.
Dripp came to the aid of his cohort and together they were winning against Robert.
Oscar turned sharply and stabbed the red-haired vampire in the back through his chest. The fiend exploded in a great gush, as if he were a boil being lanced. Robert now turned his fury on Dripp.
Dr. Hesselius let out a horrifying scream. Leech had broken his arm so severely that a sharp bone protruded from his wrist! Hesselius nearly fainted from the pain and Leech had to hold him up. “Stop or I will kill him!”
Robert and Oscar did as he commanded and stopped. Oscar tossed his sword away.
“You, drop the curtain,” he shouted at me. I complied. Once the sun was gone, their smiles returned.
Dripp took me hostage and gave a nod to Leech, who sank his teeth into Hesselius and drained him nearly to the point of death. Pausing for a moment, he asked, “Do you want to be my slave?”
Gasping, Hesselius said, “You will not require a slave in hell.” Then, mustering the last of his strength, he threw his ruined arm forward, plunging his broken bone deeply into the monster’s heart, screaming in agony at the effort. The vampire barely had a moment to look surprised, then burst to death. Bone, it seems, has the properties of wood as far as vampires are concerned. Hesselius collapsed to the floor.
Oscar and Robert turned to Dripp.
I retrieved Oscar’s sword.
Outnumbered, Dripp sped away at great speed and, leaping up onto the balcony, made his escape through a rear door.
Henry was too weak to give chase and I could see the frustration in his eyes.
We rushed over to Hesselius. I held his head in my lap. We could tell there was nothing we could do. He was so drained of life. Tears filling my eyes, I thanked him. “We would all be dead now if it weren’t for you,” I said. He smiled weakly.
“I only wish I could continue to fight by your side,” he said. “Destroy them at all costs.”
Then he was gone.
There was little time to cry over our friend’s death. We must now find a way to save Bram and Noel.
– Later –
Dear Lillie,
We have hatched a plan.
We are off to Amesbury, where Henry will get himself captured by the Black Bishop. Oscar and I will try to find where they are keeping Noel and Bram, and Robert will find reinforcements, and join us with what he calls his ‘secret weapon’. He is quite resourceful.
We leave in the morning and if you do not hear from me again, thank you for being my friend. Please tell my children I love them and wish I had been a better mother. If I survive this, perhaps I shall be. But for now, my duty lies in Amesbury.
All my love,
Ellen
From the Journal of Florence Stoker, 1st of May 1880
I am being driven mad with fear and guilt. I feel as though I have been torn in half by my grief. I am so ashamed when I think back on how I wished I had never become a mother; now all that I want in the world is to have my Noel returned to me, to hear him gurgle contentedly as I rock him in my arms, to kiss his precious little face.
It is God’s punishment, I know, for my lack of gratitude. I have been a terrible mother and wife, a spoiled child throwing tantrums because life hasn’t progressed as I wanted it to.
Lady Wilde is here – to keep me company, she says, but I know she’s really here to look after me. I pray Bram and Noel return safely, and when they do I vow to be all that they deserve.
I managed some fitful sleep last night and Lucy came to me in a dream. The Lucy I knew, not the foul creature she had become. She came to tell me she is happy in the afterlife. Is her visit meant to reassure me that Noel also will be safe and happy, in this life or the next? Or is it merely a reminder of another person I cared for who I failed to protect?
From the Journal of Bram Stoker, 2nd of May 1880
It is done. I am in the hands of the Black Bishop. I’ve been given pen and paper to write a farewell missive to Florence, an act of kindness that only demonstrates my captors’ true cruelty. I have written my letter and now write an account of my imprisonment. I shall hide the pages in my shoe; perhaps after my death, someone will find my body and these notes. Or will my captors burn or bury me so that I take these words to my grave?
I have been selfish and arrogant, thinking I can use my cursed ability to confront evil. All my best intentions only served to corrupt me and drag me down to hell. And worst of all, I have brought this danger and despair home to my wife and child.
But for all my regrets, I cannot now change the course of events that led to this horrific day, and so I did as the ransom note instructed.
I was taken by train to Amesbury, to have my audience with the Black Bishop. Night was falling as we arrived, and a young woman approached me as I stepped off the train. She smiled, though there was little warmth in it, and extended her hand. “Mr. Stoker, I believe? I am Carolyn le Fey. I shall escort you to your appointment with the Bishop.”
I ignored her hand and she shrugged and led me from the station. A carriage waiting outside took us to the inn on the outskirts of town, the one on the way to Lord Wotton’s estate. We went directly to a room on the upper floor. A fire blazed in the fireplace and dinner was laid out on a table.
“Do make yourself comfortable,” Miss le Fey said, then exited. As comfort was not top of my mind, I paced the room, wondering what would happen next.
As I looked out the window, speculating about where they might be holding Noel, I heard the door open behind me and turned to face my nemesis. I felt certain there must be some mistake when he entered. Reverend Wilkins! Miss le Fey and a male vampire accompanied him and I thought he had also been captured until he said, “Leave us now. I am in no danger.” His minions obediently departed.
I was dumbstruck. His jovial nature and friendship had been nothing but a cover for his nefarious agenda! How he must have laughed at me all the time he was playing the good-natured ally. I have been an utter fool.
He greeted me warmly and said, “You must be famished after your long train ride. Please join me for dinner.”
Outrage helped me find my voice. “I will not sit and break bread with you as though we are friends,” I said. “You have already done that quite enough for the two of us. Now, where is my son?”
“Please, sit and eat something, Bram. You will need your strength if you are to rescue your boy. Let us discuss the terms of his release.”
And so I sat, and stated the obvious. “You are the Black Bishop. Not Lord Sundry as we were led to believe.”
“Correct. You see I staged that little picnic, including sending Mr. Roosevelt to rescue you. You were all so persistent, and I was not yet ready to perform the ritual. To get the full effect, it has to be done on Saint George’s Day – inconvenient, but there it is. Leading you to believe you had killed the Black Bishop was a stroke of genius, if I dare boast. Sundry was my most loyal follower; it grieved me to sacrifice him, but any good chess player would have done the same. It had to be someone who could credibly be in charge. You would have only kept searching otherwise, and what good would that have done any of us?” He smiled benevolently. “This way, your last days were spent in peace and happiness, not in a frenzied hunt for someone who was always several steps ahead of you. You should be grateful, really.”
He noticed the doctor’s bag I had brought with me on the floor next to the table.
“My men tell me you have jars of blood in there. Whatever for? Did you think you could bribe the vampires with it to release your son? I’m afraid they only like fresh blood.”
“It is my blood,” I said. “I have been collecting it for weeks and storing it in an icehouse. If it is my blood you need for your ritual, you may have it.”
He seemed genuinely surprised. “Very clever, Bram. You may have found a loophole that will keep you alive. Yes, I can see no harm in trying. However, I will still need you for the event. Should the jarred blood not work, I will need to slit your throat.” He told me all this while stuffing his fat face with greasy roast chicken and calmly munching away as if this were any ordinary supper.
“What will this madness bring to you?” I asked.
He grinned in genuine delight. “It brings me a dragon!”
I actually laughed. “Surely not,” I said. “Or do you mean that as a metaphor?”
He started babbling quite excitedly. “No, no, I am speaking literally. If your jarred blood works – and I do hope it does, Bram, please believe me – you will soon see an actual, flesh-and-blood dragon. An honest-to-goodness giant, winged lizard. It may or may not breathe fire, that part is not clear in the literature – I’m quite torn, actually, on which I would prefer, but it will be as it will be. The ritual lets me open the gates of hell, summon the creature, and – ” here he banged his hand upon the table, “ – shut the gates. You are a key, Bram, nothing more. Half man, half demon, that is what I need. I tried vampires, werewolves and all manner of man-monster combinations. I even imported a skinwalker from America. Nothing worked.
“I was getting desperate. The ritual opens a portal between worlds, you see, when done at the right time. Those times are rare enough, but when you’re looking to find a dragon on the other side, well, the opportunity comes around perhaps once in a lifetime, and it was approaching quickly. Then I was told of your remarkable powers by my friend Henry Irving. What luck! I took a sample of your blood a while back. Remember when you were attacked on the street and I saved you?”
He could see the recollection in my eyes.
“Yes, I see you do. Sorry about being so rough with you, but I had to be sure. You see, vampire blood has these little thingies swimming about in it. I took a look at your blood under a microscope and it has the same thingies, but only half as much. Voila! Half man, half monster. You have a foot in this world and a foot in theirs.”
No wonder it seems I belong nowhere. But I couldn’t brood on that. “What do you mean to do with this dragon?” I asked instead. I pictured a dragon flying above Parliament, Wilkins on its back declaring himself the new head of state.
“Excellent question,” he said. “It will help me create my new ruling class. Drinking the blood of the dragon makes one a vampire, you see, without any of that business of being sired. And with no sire, my new vampires will owe allegiance to nobody but me.”
“How can you be so sure they will follow you? What’s to stop them from simply disposing of you and ‘ruling’ on their own?”
“Most people like to be told what to do, I find,” he mused. “At least I certainly observed so in my role as a pastor. Besides, I have a secret weapon. It’s served me well so far.”
I had to concede that was true. He was no vampire himself, certainly, and yet they followed him.
“I like you, Bram,” he continued. “In fact, if this collected blood of yours does the job, I don’t see any reason I could not let you live. I will have to turn you into a vampire, of course, but I think you would make a valuable member of our order.”
“I would rather die than become one of those vile creatures!” I exclaimed hotly.
His smile turned colder. “It is not entirely up to you. However, I can be benevolent, and if all goes well may be inclined to leave it as you wish,” he said. “Now, eat your last meal and I will let you write to your wife and tell her Noel is coming home. After all, there is no need to make her worry any more than she has to. Don’t bother writing to your whore, Ellen.”
“How dare you call her that!” It was all I could do to not grab a knife from the table and stab him in the heart.
“She chose to live the way she does, tempting married men and conceiving bastards. All that will end under my reign, I can assure you.”
A big smile spread across his fat face. “You needn’t worry about her sullying your good name, even posthumously. I have despatched my vampires to deal with her and the rest of your gang. They have been a thorn in my side for too long. I will leave you alone with your thoughts and send some stationery and a pen so you may set your affairs in order. Now thank me.”
As I sat silently, the smile left his face; all sanity left his eyes. “Thank me!” he bellowed.
“Thank you,” I said, seething with anger.
From the Diary of Oscar Wilde, 3rd of May 1880
Dear yours truly,
Our clandestine operation to rescue Stoker has begun!
Ellen and I are incognito. Our disguises, designed by myself and brought to life by the Lyceum’s fine makeup artists, are quite good. My own mother failed to recognise me (although her eyesight isn’t what it used to be).
I am posing as a peddler, wearing moth-eaten clothes and donning a grey wig and a face full of wrinkles and warts. I pull a cart full of my wares and have even managed to make a sale or two. Ellen is posing as my wife, also artistically aged and embodying the part with the verisimilitude I have come to expect from her performances. And now I can say I’ve acted alongside one of the greatest talents of the London stage!
We move about Amesbury unnoticed in a crowd of all sorts of poor and nefarious people.
We have found lodging at a boarding house, which is surprisingly clean and comfortable. We have sent word to Mr. Roosevelt of our whereabouts. He is procuring armaments as well as additional troops. We fear to confide in the constabulary or military as they may have been infiltrated by the vampires – and if not would quite possibly lock us away as lunatics. However, Roosevelt is seeking mercenaries to help us free Bram and Noel.
I shall keep you informed, dear diary, as we progress.
Dear yours truly,
We have already gathered some important – and troublesome – information!
Irving was making enquiries at a local tavern while Ellen and I sold our wares just outside.
He was inside for only a moment when he was hauled out by three men. He struggled, but in the daytime he has only the strength of an ordinary man and was greatly overpowered. This is all part of our plan, of course, but it was disturbing to see him hauled off nonetheless.
They stuffed him into a hansom cab and he was whisked away. It was all I could do to hold Ellen back from running after him.
“You cannot catch them on foot, and besides, this is precisely what we wished to happen. We must stay on our mission,” I said. “We have to find out where the Black B
ishop is holding Bram, as that is where I suspect they are also taking Irving.”
“You are so wise in these matters,” she said, or something to that effect. “Whatever should be our next move?”
“Reconnaissance,” I said. “We shall seek information among the lower classes, as they often know what the upper class is up to.”
We moved about the marketplace, among the other cart vendors. The hushed talk on the street was that there was money to be had in selling to lords and ladies who had recently arrived in town for a festival of sorts. No one knew what this festival was about, but it was bringing people with money to town like never before.
“I sold fifteen kerosene lamps,” one vendor told me. “I thought I’d never unload those things. They make a bright light, but the kerosene is too expensive for folks around here.”
I enquired who he had sold them to, and he told us it was to Lord Wotton’s estate. I could barely contain my revulsion at the memory of that horrid place.
We made our way to the estate to find many merchants had set up camp around the property in hopes of selling goods to the new arrivals.
The place was bustling with aristocracy and bore little resemblance to the abandoned property Robert, Stoker and I had visited earlier. A seemingly endless stream of carriages was arriving at the estate.
Then, to my confusion, a carriage arrived and was greeted with much pomp and circumstance. It was a humble carriage and seemed to not warrant such attention. Footmen lined up, a carpet was rolled out; this must truly be an important person, I thought.
I was astounded when out stepped Reverend Wilkins! He was carrying an old spear as if it were a sceptre. The vampires milling about bowed down before him as if he were the king. Following out of the carriage was Prince Edward, the grandson of the Queen. (I recognised him from when he posed for one of Frank’s portraits.) They paid him no mind at all, still fawning all over Wilkins.
“I don’t believe it,” Ellen whispered. “Wilkins must be the Black Bishop!”
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