by G. P. Taylor
‘You have to get well. It’s the only way. It wouldn’t be right. It’s not the way life was intended to be,’ Jago said. ‘We have to get to London and find Cresco. I know he will help us.’
‘And then you’ll kill him like you did Draigorian?’ she asked.
It was a question Jago did not want to answer.
‘It is not right that a man can live without death,’ he said as he pulled her by the hand. ‘I can see the station. It’s a short walk. We can rest there.’
In the distance Bia could see the dark outline of the platform and the house and waiting room of Westcliffe Station. The roof was framed by white beams that shone blue in the bright moonlight. It reminded her of Christmas and taking the Boxing Day train down the coast with her mother. Bradick would stand on the platform as the train filled with people and wave his green flag as the steam whistle blew. Bia would grip the open window excitedly and breathe the cold air as the train crawled to Baytown.
The steps from the line to the platform had been recently washed. Damp patches and small puddles filled the crevices of the stone like the lakes of a small island beneath their feet. The station clock ticked silently as the hands drew towards the second hour beyond midnight. Several large wicker baskets were stacked by the entrance to the ticket office. An empty milk churn waited to be exchanged on the early-morning train. By the edge of the platform was a crate of chickens. Their white, feathered heads poked through the slats of the wooden box as they warily eyed Bia.
‘I’m hungry,’ she sighed, looking at the birds.
‘I’ll ask Bradick if he has anything for us to eat,’ Jago answered.
‘Shouldn’t we just wait until it’s light and then buy the ticket before the train arrives?’ Bia asked.
‘He said I could come back at any time,’ Jago answered as he knocked on the door. ‘He has the photograph of my mother – I want to know why he kept it.’
The opened instantly as if whoever was inside had been expecting them. Bradick stood in full uniform; even his stationmaster’s cap was in place.
‘Jago Harker,’ Bradick said excitedly. ‘I am so glad you have come back.’ The man looked beyond Jago and saw Bia standing in the moon shadow of the eaves. He tried not to sound anxious. ‘And look – a face I know well … Biatra Barnes, what a pleasure.’ Bradick smiled and then his face fell sullen and jowly. ‘The curfew – what are you doing out in the curfew?’
‘We want a train to London. I have the money,’ Jago said as he produced the crisp five-pound notes.
‘But you have only just arrived – why should you be going back?’ Bradick asked.
‘The photograph was of my mother with Mary Barnes. Bia and I are cousins. I have family,’ Jago answered. ‘If you give me the photograph we will buy a ticket and catch the train.’
‘And family can stay in Whitby,’ Bradick replied. His eyes flicked back and forth as he wondered what to do. ‘You both better come inside. It is a dark night and now that the comet has gone I am not sure if it is a safe place.’
They stepped into the room. Burning brightly in the black grate was a coal fire – it looked as though the same coals burnt on the fire as on the night Jago had arrived. In the middle of the room the neat wooden table still had the same bowl of flowers. In front of a chair were a knife and fork, plate and cup. It was as if Bradick was about to eat.
‘How much is the ticket?’ Bia asked expectantly.
‘I can give you a discounted rate,’ Bradick answered. ‘But there is likely to be much disruption. The line was bombed outside Kings Cross. You will have to walk the last five miles.’
‘Five miles?’ Jago asked.
‘At least,’ Bradick said. ‘It was a direct hit on the track. You are lucky there are any trains at all. I was told to limit passengers leaving for London.’
He appeared to be uneasy with his words. Jago thought he looked tired and flustered. Bradick looked at Bia as if she shouldn’t be there but he did not want to say. On the table by the typewriter and telephone was the picture of his mother.
‘You put it in a frame,’ Jago said as he reached across and picked up the photograph.
‘Yes.’ Bradick tried to laugh as if this was all quite normal. ‘I omitted that I knew her well. Didn’t really have time to tell you the other night. She was an old and very dear friend.’ His words were tinged with regret and obvious sadness. ‘She never seemed to notice me.’ Bradick’s mood changed as he again found his smile. ‘Perhaps I could cook you some breakfast? Was just about to eat myself.’
Bia nodded.
‘Anything, quite starving, long night,’ she said eagerly as she thought of eggs and bread. ‘Could we eat a chicken? It doesn’t have to be cooked.’
‘Such a sense of humour,’ Bradick answered, wondering if she was serious.
Bia realised how her words had sounded.
‘Just a joke, toast would be fine,’ she said as she wondered what eating raw meat would be like.
Bradick pointed to the table with his stubby finger and then took off his jacket and put it on the back of the chair. He quickly undid his cufflinks and rolled back his sleeves until his arms could be seen.
‘Can’t be messing up the uniform,’ he said when he saw Jago staring at him. ‘Look smart – feel good. That should be on a war poster. Never mind Dig for Victory and Keep Calm, Carry On … I say that we should all dress well. Very proud of the North Riding Moors Railway. We may only have five trains a week, but they shall be the best five trains that ever cruise this line.’
Jago wanted to laugh. Bradick looked like a turkey ready for the oven. His neck bulged over the collar of his tight shirt, the braces dug into his skin and several layers of stomach hung over the rim of his trousers. ‘Eggs? Bacon? Sausage?’ he enquired. ‘I have had the great fortune that yesterday’s train ran over a pig at Boggle Hole.’
‘Yes!’ they said together as Bradick spun on his heels and disappeared into the kitchen.
Jago held out the photograph for Bia to see.
‘Proof,’ he said. ‘We are family.’
At any other time, she would have appreciated his words. But there, in the warmth and coziness of the Station Master’s house, they seemed empty and vague.
‘Family,’ she echoed, as from the next room she heard a dull but distinct click.
The fire crackled warmly in the hearth, but she could feel no heat. Inside was a damp coldness, as if her heart had been taken from her. Even the smell of cooking turned her stomach, and yet the insatiable hunger ate her insides.
‘You okay?’ Jago asked after she had stared into the flames for several minutes.
‘Fine,’ she whispered just as Bradick came back into the room with a large breakfast tray stacked with toast and fried eggs and rashers of crisp bacon.
‘What a blessing food is,’ he snorted as he set the tray on the table and placed three plates in front of them. ‘And when we have finished we shall have toast and tea.’ He put a large white handkerchief down the front of his shirt to absorb the dribbles of the runniest egg anyone had ever cooked.
Jago began to eat hungrily.
‘So how did you know Mary and Martha?’
‘Schoolfriends, always together,’ Bradick said. Bia heard other words. They were whispered in the same voice at the same time, as if two people spoke at once. ‘They’ll be here soon, just keep them talking – that’s all I have to do.’
She looked at Jago, surprised he said nothing.
‘Who’s coming?’ Bia asked.
‘No one, dear lady. The only thing to arrive here will be the five-to-five for York via Scarborough.’
‘But I thought you said …’
‘She must have heard me,’ the whisper said. ‘Five minutes, that’s what they said.’
‘Five minutes?’ Bia asked. ‘What about five minutes?’
‘What are you talking about, Bia?’ Jago asked as he took her hand to break her staring at Bradick.
‘He just said that they were coming
in five minutes and all he had to do was keep us talking.’
‘Ridiculous,’ Bradick snorted. ‘I can only speak with my tongue and then only one thing at a time.’
‘It wasn’t what you said. It was what you thought,’ Bia answered, suddenly realising what was happening. She looked inside his mind. She could see everything. ‘You work for Ezra Morgan – you called him by telephone. You rang Hagg House and Morgan answered. They had asked you to look out for us and keep us here. That’s why you were ready and dressed. You have permission to break the curfew. You’re the stationmaster.’
Jago looked at Bradick.
‘Is this true?’ he asked as he pulled the silver dagger from his pocket and held it towards him.
‘Don’t lie to me – don’t even think of it,’ Bia said as she snarled like a wolf.
‘You have the mark. You’re a Vampyre. I should have known, I have helped them for long enough.’ Bradick laughed scornfully.
‘And you tricked us?’ Jago asked.
‘They are coming for us, Jago. He has drugged the tea,’ Bia said.
‘And you would have drank it and slept and all this would have been over and the Lyrid of Saturn completed,’ Bradick said. ‘Give yourself up, Jago. It is your destiny.’
‘But you were so friendly, kind. I felt you were my friend,’ Jago said.
‘This is Whitby, Jago. The laws of the world matter little in this place,’ Bradick said as he ran to the door and turned the key. ‘Now you are going nowhere.’
‘There’s another door and it’s not locked – through the kitchen and into the ticket office. That’s the way he has arranged for them to come,’ Bia said as Bradick thought the words.
‘I will stop you leaving, Jago. You have to stay.’ Bradick lunged for Jago and grabbed his wrist and tried to twist the knife from his grip.
‘NO!’ Bia screamed as rage boiled her blood.
She leapt to her feet and grabbed Bradick by the throat and, with the strength of many men, she threw him to the floor.
‘Bia – how?’ Jago said as he watched the stationmaster try to get to his feet.
‘Run, Jago!’ she said as she picked the man up by his wrist and swung him against the wall like a rag doll.
‘Bia – no! Leave him,’ Jago shouted as he tried to pull her away.
‘We have two minutes. I can hear their thoughts, they are close by.’
Bradick struggled to break free from her grip. ‘Kill her, Jago – use the knife. It’s the only thing that will stop her. Please,’ Bradick pleaded as Bia pushed him higher up the wall until his feet dangled like those of a hanged man.
‘LEAVE!’ she growled as she opened her mouth and sunk two sharp white fangs into Bradick’s arm.
The man screamed. Jago ran through the kitchen and out of the ticket office door just as the Daimler turned the corner and sped towards the station. From inside the house, Jago could hear Bradick screaming as he was crashed about the room. The balm had been of little use. Biatra was transformed into a Vampyre in search of blood.
He hesitated, wondering if he should go back for her. Bradick screamed in terror. He could hear Bia laugh as she picked him from the floor again. She smashed him against the platform door and, when it gave way, threw him onto the track.
‘Jago,’ she said as she saw his eyes stare in disbelief. ‘It is me – Biatra …’
Bia wiped the blood from her mouth with the sleeve of her coat. Her red hair hung loosely across her shoulders. She looked like another woman.
‘Bia,’ was all he could say as he heard the door of the Daimler slam shut.
‘Go! I will stop them from coming after you. Quickly!’
She watched as he ran off into the night, following the track to the south of the town and the bridge over the estuary.
‘Biatra,’ said Ezra Morgan as he stepped into the room from the front entrance of the ticket office. ‘What have you been doing?’
‘Stay back. I’ll do the same to you,’ she said as she tensed every muscle in her body.
‘It’ll do you no good. I too am just like you – even more so,’ Morgan said. He walked towards her, followed by Rathbone. ‘What have you done to Bradick?’
‘He’s outside,’ she growled.
‘I can still remember my first taste of blood. It is something you will never forget.’ Morgan laughed. ‘I did expect something more … romantic from you. I thought your first victim would have been Jago or Griffin or even Staxley. Not some fat old man.’
‘You won’t stop him. He’ll track you down and kill you,’ Bia snarled.
‘Just like he did to my old friend, Draigorian?’ Morgan asked. He wiped his hand on the lapel of his tweed suit and brushed back the long strand of hair that had fallen across his face.
‘He asked him to kill him – said it would be a release,’ Bia said.
‘I can imagine he did. That is where Pippen and I differ. I quite like eternal life. It means I can delay facing the Creator and having to answer for everything I have ever done wrong.’ Morgan gloated.
‘Shall we go after the boy?’ Rathbone asked.
‘He has nowhere to go,’ Morgan said as he stepped by Bia and looked outside at the body of Bradick that lay sprawled on the track. ‘Bring me the spirit keeper from the Daimler. I know of another way of finding him.’
‘Jago will come back and kill you,’ Bia said as she stepped back away from Morgan.
‘Here,’ he said as he cast her a pair of woven bracelets. ‘Wear these. They will control your urges. They are made of holly and willow wands. Take them off when you desire to eat.’
‘Why?’ Bia asked.
‘You are now part of a family – there are thousands of us living secretly across the world. Some of the greatest people in history have belonged to our creed. I will ensure that you too will become one with us. And when we have Jago, you will be together again.’
‘You would promise me that if I help you?’ Bia asked. The thought of eternal life raced in her mind.
‘Would you rather grow old and lose your beauty or stay just as you are now? It will soon be the Lyrid of Saturn. Be one with us, Biatra … You have such a beautiful name for a Vampyre.’
Bia thought for a moment and then slipped the wand bracelets onto her wrists. She shuddered as the venom instantly subsided.
‘It’s gone,’ she said.
‘And so it will,’ Morgan answered slowly. ‘Only until you take them from your wrist. Now, tell me one thing. Are you with us?’
He stared at Bia through eyes that had seen every dawn of the last eight hundred years. He looked neither worn nor weary. His chiselled face was tanned and weathered.
‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘I am one with you. I know it is all I can be.’
‘Very wise, very wise,’ Morgan answered.
‘Will Bradick become a Vampyre?’ she asked.
‘When you bite someone you have the choice to poison them or kill them. Looks like Bradick is dead to me,’ Rathbone said as he came into the room carrying the pot jug with cork stopper that Bia had last seen at Hagg House.
‘That’s the poltergeist,’ Bia said.
‘Correct,’ Morgan replied with an earnest look. ‘When I release it from the spirit keeper, the poltergeist will find Jago and tell us where he is. As long as he carries the Book of Krakanu then we shall find him.’
Morgan slowly pulled the cork stopper from the jug until it popped open. There was a gluttonous rumbling and a foul stench filled the room as dark vapours spewed from within.
Bia looked on as a small sylph-like creature crawled from within. It fell to the table like a wingless dragonfly. For the whole of a minute it trembled and shook as it looked around the room with its grotesque, gigantic eyes.
‘Find the book,’ Morgan ordered the creature, which suddenly exploded into minute orbs of light that blasted through the open door and into the dark of night. ‘Find the book …’
[ 23 ]
The Grave of Tobias Grayling
> IN THE HALF-LIGHT of the setting red moon Jago ran as fast as he could along the railway line to the viaduct that crossed the estuary. He could see the red-brick walls loom out of the darkness and the silver lines of the steel track snake their way across the water. He slowed to a walk as he got closer. Sweat trickled down his back as he kept turning to see if he was being followed. There was a nagging ache in his mind that he should not have left Bia at the station. Jago wanted to be with her, by her side, whatever the consequences. Now he knew she was captured, taken, and at the will of Ezra Morgan. For the first time he had no one to turn to, and he realised the penury and privation of his short life.
Jago turned and crossed the fields, keeping to the shadow of the hedges and making his way back to the town. All he could think of was finding Jack Henson and giving himself and the Cup of Garbova to Ezra Morgan in exchange for Bia’s life. As he walked through the long autumn grass, Jago could hear a procession of military trucks heading towards the factory on the far side of the river.
He was soon at the junction of the main road into the town. The street was empty, the curfew keeping all but a few to their beds. Jago knew that Morgan could travel when he desired; Draigorian must have seen to that. He began to wonder if there were other Vampyres in other towns. The idea came to him that they could have invaded every echelon of society. People were always going missing, especially in London. Nameless people who walked the streets with their belongings in old suitcases and slept under sacks in rat-filled doorways. No one cared if they disappeared.
He held the thought as he ran across the road to a small copse of trees next to a park. The long iron railings stretched around the corner and down the hill. Inside was what looked like a museum with a slanted lead roof and brick walls edged in white stone.
Without thinking, he climbed the fence and jumped into the undergrowth. Jago ignored the sign that said in bold red letters: Whitby Literary and Philosophical Society – Keep Out.
He wondered why a museum wouldn’t want visitors. As he walked up the steps that ran under the trees he could hear voices by the large wooden doors under a stone portico. In the darkness he could see the red tip of a cigarette and make out the shape of two men guarding the door.