by G. P. Taylor
‘I set him free,’ Jago answered.
‘Remember me – when I step into your kingdom,’ Cresco muttered, looking up as if he stared at someone standing before him. Then he slumped forward, face down in the dirt.
‘No!’ Jago shouted as he saw Bia take the knife and pull it towards herself.
Jago grabbed her hands and struggled to free the dagger from her grasp.
‘Let me, Jago. It is the only way,’ she pleaded. ‘I need to die.’
‘Never! Not like this.’ Jago snatched the blade from her hands as the Gladlings gathered around him. Cresco groaned on the dirt floor, his fingers gripping the earth.
‘He’s alive,’ Laurence Gladling said as he tugged Jago. ‘Can we get out of here?’
Jago looked at Cresco. The man stared back, his eyes blood red. He was still breathing.
‘I’ll get you out of here. We’ll go to London. I know a way,’ Jago said as he lifted Bia to her feet.
‘What about the man?’ Boris Gladling asked. He prodded him with his toe to see if he moved.
‘Leave him,’ Jago answered as he picked up the lantern and held it above his head to light the cave.
‘I don’t want to go,’ Bia said. ‘It can’t go on.’
‘I know a pool that Sagacious said would heal you. I can take you there. Jack Henson knows the place – we have to find him,’ Jago replied as he dragged her towards the door.
‘Are you going to leave him?’ she asked as with a faint hand she pointed to Cresco.
‘He’ll be dead soon. The knife is like a poison to a Vampyre,’ Jago answered as the Gladlings followed on, holding each other’s hands in a frightened train. ‘It will not be long.’
‘You can’t leave him,’ Bia protested, struggling to get her hand free.
‘It’s the only way. I have to find Jack Henson and get us out of this house,’ he answered.
‘But what of the Lyrid of Saturn?’ she asked.
Jago thought her words were strange. With the keys that dangled from the lock he opened the door of the cell. He looked back at Cresco. The man looked as though he were dead, his body lying still without a sign of movement.
‘Which way is the sea?’ Jago asked Laurence Gladling, hoping he would be able to remember.
The boy looked back and forth along the narrow stone passageway that had been carved from the rock. ‘That way,’ Gladling said, jabbing the air with the point of his finger.
‘Then go – take your brothers and go. When you get to Whitby, find the cottage of Jack Henson and wait for me there,’ Jago urged as he pushed Laurence on.
‘But what will you do?’ Gladling asked quizzically.
‘I’ll find Henson. They must have him here somewhere. I’ll take Bia with me,’ Jago looked at the girl, who cowered by the open door like an owl. Gladling did not have to ask why. He too could see it in her face. The dark-rimmed eyes and blood-filled lips spoke of her hunger.
Boris Gladling stared up at Jago.
‘It will be fine, Boris. I will come and find you,’ Jago said.
The boy tried to smile, his lips trembling, his face etched with grief.
‘Promise?’ he asked, as if it was the only word he ever wanted to hear.
Jago touched his shoulder. ‘Promise,’ he answered, as he turned to where Bia was slumped by the door. ‘We go this way,’ he said to her, holding out his hand.
Bia gripped his fingers. They were warm and soft. She could feel the rapid pulse beat in the tip of each one. They spoke of a pounding heart and racing blood. She thought for a moment.
‘Let me go with the Gladlings, Jago,’ she said in a whisper.
‘I need you with me. The Lyrid of Saturn,’ Jago answered.
Bia opened her eyes wider. ‘Are you going to …?’ she asked expectantly.
‘Of course – what do you think? It has to be done, but my way,’ Jago said as he led her away.
Jago watched the Gladlings disappear from view. He heard their footsteps fade into the darkness of the tunnel and soon they were gone. Together, he and Bia walked up the steps and back to the hidden room. The rough wood of the panelled walls was lit by the tallow lamp that sooted the low ceiling above. Jago slid the catch, The door opened into the empty room.
He looked at the painting, expecting to see the face of Julius Cresco appear on the canvas. Bia pointed at the picture with her long bloodless finger as she shared the same thought.
‘He’s not there,’ Bia said as she looked back at the door. ‘He’s not dead …’
Jago held the lamp higher and examined the painting more closely. It looked as though something had changed. It was only when he stepped back from the canvas that he saw the snake had vanished from near the woman.
‘Strackan is here,’ Jago said, as if something in the ether that surrounded them shuddered in his presence.
Bia gasped. ‘How do you know?’ she asked.
‘I can sense it – taste it,’ he answered as the sound of long steady footsteps echoed in the passageway below. ‘It’s Cresco, he’s following us.’ Jago said.
Opening the door that led to the hallway, they looked outside. The room was empty. The warm fire glowed brightly in the iron grate and lit the room with a soft glow. Jago realised it was now pitch black outside the house. He stepped across the room and hid in the shadows of the inglenook. He listened as the long case clock ticked the minutes.
‘Outside?’ Bia asked as she shut the door behind her, just as she heard the latch click behind the heavy curtains that shielded the entrance.
‘You?’ said Rathbone as he pushed aside the curtain and stared at Bia, who stood alone. ‘You were supposed to keep your eye on Harker. Where is he?’
Jago pressed himself against the warm stone that edged the large fireplace.
‘He’s gone, that’s what I’ve come to tell you,’ Bia said.
Then the panelled door to the secret room opened and Julius Cresco staggered out.
‘You bloodless dog,’ he said as he gripped her tightly by the arm and then threw her against the wall. ‘She tried to kill me – stabbed me with … with a silver dagger.’
‘Leave her, Cresco,’ Jago said as he stepped from his hiding place, dagger and lamp in hand.
‘This, Mr Rathbone, is what betrayal looks like,’ Cresco snarled as he stepped painfully towards Jago. ‘It is what inconsideration looks like, what ungratefulness looks like … To think, I nursed this lad on my knee. Lived in squalor so I could look after him and this is what thanks I get –’
‘You are a self-seeking liar,’ Jago answered as he stood his ground against both men. ‘I was just a chattel – something useful for the future – an investment.’
‘If only Strackan didn’t want you, I would drink your blood and live five score years on the taste of it,’ Cresco muttered. ‘Get him Rathbone. I do not want to soil my hands.’
Rathbone stepped forward. Jago looked at Bia. As the man made his move, Jago threw the oil lamp at Cresco. It smashed on the stone floor at his feet. There was a bright burning of exploding whale oil that quickly engulfed him.
‘No!’ Cresco screamed as he was overwhelmed in scorching flames like a tinder-dry human candle.
Rathbone didn’t move. He looked on as the Vampyre burnt like a corn-doll.
Cresco staggered towards Jago. He held out his burning fingers as he got closer and closer. ‘I loved you …’ he said, before everything he had been was subdued by the flames.
The blackened carcass slumped to the floor like a falling tree. Ash splintered over the stone flags as his body fragmented. He bones were broken, dry and charred.
‘Come to me, Bia,’ Jago said.
‘He’s not to be trusted,’ Rathbone answered as he held out his hand towards her. ‘We are your family. He is still human.’
Bia looked at Jago as he stood over the smouldering remains of Julius Cresco.
‘You’re a Vampyre?’ Jago asked.
‘Of course,’ Rathbone answered as he pulled a gu
n from his pocket and aimed it at Jago. ‘Who else would work all these hours for no pay?’
There was a sudden lurch from the shadows and a hand took hold of Jago by the collar. Jago reached in his pocket for the dagger. It was gone.
‘I see that you have managed to kill another of my friends,’ said Ezra Morgan as he squeezed Jago around the neck. ‘You are becoming quite troublesome, quite troublesome …’
[ 31 ]
Deus Tantum Iudicabit
THE PASSING CLOUDS squalled bitterly to the far horizon. In a quarter of an hour the sky had cleared and the stars of the night shone down. As Jago was dragged from Hawks Moor, he could see every part of the spiralling galaxy high above him. Where the comet had been there was a dark hole in space. Jago caught a glimpse of yet another rain of meteors – they broke the atmosphere in sparkling bursts of white and blue light, as the Lyrid of Saturn showered down. The shooting stars crossed the sky like hot knives cutting the velvet black heaven.
‘Like a bombardment,’ Ezra Morgan said as he dragged Jago towards the centre of the labyrith, his rough hands gripping Jago’s leather coat. ‘I remember the night I first saw them. It is hard to believe what has gone on in my life since that time. Eight hundred years – think of it, Jago. And tonight is the start of your life.’
Jago looked back. Rathbone held Bia by her arm. It was as if he would never let her go. She seemed not to care, her eyes staring straight ahead.
‘What will you do with me?’ Jago asked.
‘If I had my way, Jago, I would kill you here and now. Sadly, Strackan is insistent. You have to be alive and from now on you will live at Hawks Moor.’
Morgan gripped his coat harder and pulled him along the gravel path that twisted right and left through the verdant high hedges of the maze. Jago could feel a lump grow in his throat. His chest burnt and hands trembled as he held back the tears.
‘Where is Hugh and Jack Henson?’ Jago asked.
‘Locked away in the tower room, where they can’t do any harm,’ Morgan answered with sharp words. ‘Neither is to be trusted. When your fate is sealed, what is left of the Quartet will decide their future.’
‘They did nothing,’ Jago insisted.
‘Nothing? My own son was planning to have me killed – he confessed, after a little persuasion,’ Morgan snapped. ‘In league with Henson – to do away with the Quartet. He would rather die than follow Strackan. That, I cannot understand.’
Ezra Morgan had one thought in his mind. It was unwelcome and transitory. In a twinkling of an eye, all he could think of was the day he had first seen his son. The memory struck him like a lightning bolt. There, lodged in his mind, was the image of his Hugh, wrapped in a pure white blanket. In that one moment, Ezra Morgan began to doubt what he now did. As he gripped Jago harder, a voice repeated the words: flesh and blood …
‘Answer me one thing,’ Jago asked as they neared the centre of the labyrinth and the bright light of flaming torches. ‘Why wouldn’t you let Hugh be with my mother?’
Morgan hesitated and faltered in his step. It was as if the words had caught him off guard and bitten through his steely armour.
‘She was not worthy,’ he said slowly as he looked to the shower of meteors that crashed above him. ‘No woman on this earth would ever be.’
‘It’s time,’ Rathbone intervened. He pushed Bia against the thick hedge and quickly bound her hands with a ribbon of holly leaves. ‘Can’t be having you hurting anyone.’
‘Leave her, Rathbone. When I get free I will kill you,’ Jago shouted as he struggled to break the grip of Morgan’s hand.
‘Holly takes away the hunger. Anyway, you will soon be one of us and all such thoughts will leave your mind. When Strackan bites, all thoughts of the old life fade. You will be a new creation,’ Morgan answered eagerly as they turned a corner and the centre of the maze came into view.
Before them, like a wall of flame, were several tallow lamps. They stood on the tips of thick oak staffs high above the ground. Lumps of burning rag dropped to the shingle path that Jago could see was made up of millions of tiny shells. At the centre of the maze was a single wooden chair. Everything else had been cleared away, all except a long flat stone that lay in the earth several feet away like the covering of a tomb.
All around, Jago could see the shadowy figures of people in the lee of the high hedges. They were gathered in small coteries of twos and threes, their faces hidden by ornate animal masks. It was as if he were in some play, a pageant of Vampyres, waiting for what was to happen. He had expected there to be only Ezra Morgan and Sibilia, but coming from every passageway were more and more people. They were all dressed the same. Long cloaks hid everyday clothes. Some were finely dressed, others not. Each of them wore a mask.
They crowded under the light of the tallow lamps and circled the old oak chair with winged arms that took pride of place in the centre of the maze.
‘I thought it was just four Vampyres – a Quartet?’ Jago asked.
‘We are more each day, some for the season of a moon and others for eternity, just like you,’ Morgan said as he entered the centre of the maze and looked about at the bowing heads of all that gathered there.
As Bia pressed closer to Jago, Morgan puffed up his chest, straightened his tweed coat and began to speak. ‘Such a fine gathering … A time that we thought would never happen. Within our land, we are people who defy time. Rulers may come and go – wars start and then cease – but the Vampyre will always be in the world … And, tonight, beneath the stars that break through the glass of heaven, this boy – my true-blood descendant – will become one of us. The stars demand a sacrifice – a life that will bring life – blood that shall change blood. Lord Strackan, prince of our world, shall stand amongst us and we give him our worship.’
The long slab of stone that lay before them began to move slowly. It juddered in the earth and trembled the shell path all around it. Jago looked at those near him. He could recognise Griffin and Staxley. Even though they wore wolf masks, the long cloaks that trailed on the ground and twice-turned khaki trousers gave them away. He could see them staring at him through the slits in their masks with envious eyes.
As the stone moved, the gathered crowd backed away. Rathbone left Bia standing near to Jago and went to pull the slab from the ground. It opened like an old casket with a sudden rush of air.
A gasp echoed through the high hedges as, slowly and meticulously, Strackan walked up a long flight of stone steps.
‘Morgan. I see you have the boy,’ Strackan said, his face hidden by the brim of his black fedora.
‘He is ready,’ Morgan answered as the crowded gently applauded his capture.
‘Then he must be in his place,’ Strackan replied as he pulled back the sleeves of his fine striped suit, clicked the heels of his pointed shoes and took a long stride from the grave.
Morgan pushed Jago into the chair.
‘Don’t struggle and do what is asked. It will be over quickly. I know,’ he said.
Jago felt Bia standing close to him. The crowd of Vampyres gathered around until all he could see was Strackan surrounded by a sea of mask-clad faces.
‘You have cost me a great deal,’ Strackan said as he took off the fedora and revealed his bark-like skin that was stretched across ancient bones. ‘Two of the Quartet are dead – by your hand. It is as if you relish what you do.’
‘I don’t want to be a Vampyre,’ Jago shouted belligerently.
The crowded muttered and moaned in corporate discontent as they stepped even closer to Jago.
‘It is not what you want that matters,’ Strackan said. He looked to the sky just as a large meteor burned brightly above him. ‘This is a moment I have waited hundreds of years to enjoy.’
Jago felt something cold being pressed secretly into his palm. Bia squeezed his shoulder. He heard her whisper something but could not understand the words.
Strackan stared at him. Bloodshot eyes glared from dark wrinkled skin that could hardly move o
r show expression. As his lips formed to speak flakes of skin fell to the ground.
‘You’re dying,’ Jago shouted. ‘That’s why you need me.’
The gathered crowd was hushed in silence. The night breeze rustled the autumn leaves under the hedges. The masked faces stared at Jago in disbelief.
‘Need is not a word I would choose to use – not in front of all my friends,’ Strackan said patiently as he reached out and touched Jago on the cheek. ‘Certain blood, the blood taken from the descendant of a Vampyre, is like an old wine. What you carry in your veins is enough to refresh these weary bones and bring me youth.’
‘Tell me one thing. Who were you before all this?’ Jago demanded.
Strackan stepped back and looked at those around him. Each eye was upon him. They stared in silent admiration as if they looked on a god.
‘I am who I am,’ Strackan answered with a short breath. ‘My mind cannot remember so far into the past. All I know is that this is my fate and you are my future.’
‘ENOUGH!’ Sibilia Trevellas shouted as she ripped off her mask and pushed Griffin out of her way. ‘Take his blood, kill him! We don’t need the likes of Jago Harker.’ Her voice betrayed her knowledge that he was a threat.
‘Patience, Sibilia,’ Strackan answered as he held out a hand to stop her coming closer. ‘I am waiting for the night to burn brightly. Fear brings a rush of the blood and I sense the boy is far more terrified than he would have us know.’
Jago slipped his right hand behind his back and leant against the chair. He looked up at Ezra Morgan who in turn glared at Sibilia, his eyes betraying the jealousy of his heart. Morgan shook his head and sighed.
Sibilia Trevellas rustled angrily in her long, purple crinoline dress and leather knee-boots. ‘He tried to kill me,’ she shouted as she held out her hand. ‘He can never be one of us. Take this boy,’ she said as she pushed Staxley towards him.
‘It has to be Jago. That is why we have waited. It is him alone.’ Strackan groaned.
‘But you took his blood?’ Sibilia said, hoping to persuade Strackan to give in to her whim.