“Second,” said Arminius Vámbéry.
“Well then,” said Ayesha. “Both motions are before the membership. Can you tell me, Professor Van Helsing, why such experiments should proceed without the prior approval of the society? Is the approval process so very onerous?”
There was something in her voice—a sharpness of tone. Suddenly, Mary thought, Ayesha is playing with him, the way a cat does with a mouse.
Van Helsing replied, looking around as though speaking to the room, making his case to the other members, “This procedure is cumbersome and unnecessary. We have not had a problem with biological transmutation since Dr. Jekyll’s unfortunate experience. Members of this society have carried out such experiments successfully and with great effectiveness. I myself have petitioned to conduct such experiments, and the paperwork involved—”
“Do you call Dr. Moreau’s research safe and effective, Professor? I authorized his experiments because they were limited in geographical scope, had clear experimental goals and methodologies. . . . And look what happened.”
“Moreau was scarcely responsible for a wild animal breaking out of its shackles and attacking him!” said Seward. “Madam President, the pursuit of science almost always involves unforeseen consequences. Should we pursue knowledge less zealously simply because it sometimes leads us into dangerous territory? You yourself have said—”
“Any statements I have made in the past, I am well aware of,” said Ayesha sharply. “Does anyone else in this room have a response to this particular proposal?”
This was the moment. Mary stood up. “I do, Madam President!” She had thought half the night about how to do this. Be rational. Be persuasive. Speak calmly, and in a clear voice. Do not let them see how nervous you are.
“And who might you be?” said Ayesha. “I do not recognize you as a member of this body.”
“I am not a member,” said Mary “But my father was. I have evidence that pertains to the question before you.”
There were murmurs among the membership. No doubt people were wondering who she was, why she was speaking.
“What evidence is that?” asked Ayesha.
“The evidence of Professor Van Helsing’s daughter, Lucinda!”
“Stand up,” Mary whispered to Lucinda, tugging at her wrist. “Stand up and pull back your veil!” Lucinda stood, reluctant, unsteady, reaching up with one hand to pull the veil away from her face. For a moment, Mary thought she might fall down, or even faint. Was she just frightened, or was she unwell? If she should fail in this . . .
“Indeed? Miss Van Helsing, could you please approach? If you have something to say, I would like to hear it.”
Lucinda was shaking like a leaf in a high wind, and she had knocked her hat askew so it was now at a perilous, if admittedly rakish, angle. She would never be able to walk up to that dais alone.
“Come on!” said Mary. She pulled Lucinda along with her down the row, with audience members looking at them curiously and moving their feet out of the way, and then up the central aisle.
It was strange and fascinating, walking past all those—well, those alchemists, like her father, regarding her with curiosity, incredulity, astonishment, except some who did not seem to speak English and were asking companions to translate for them and explain what was going on.
She continued to pull Lucinda until they stood before the dais, in front of the podium. Ayesha looked down at them, expressionless. She would have been imposing even without the height of the dais. Mary quailed just a little.
DIANA: She did not! She didn’t look like she was quailing at all.
MARY: Well, I was, and more than a little. Also, Lucinda was hurting my hand.
“And who might you be?” said Ayesha, looking at Mary.
“I am Mary Jekyll, the daughter of Dr. Jekyll.” She heard gasps from the audience. “Lucinda, tell them,” she whispered.
“I object,” said Van Helsing. “My daughter is mad, quite mad, diagnosed by an eminent specialist in Vienna. A week ago, she was kidnapped from the mental asylum where she was being treated. Now she has been brought here, displayed before you in this fashion. This is highly injurious to her mental health, to her progress—”
“Thank you, Professor Van Helsing,” said Ayesha. “Your objection is duly noted. Miss Van Helsing, what do you have to say for yourself?”
Mary squeezed Lucinda’s hand in what she hoped was an encouraging way.
Lucinda looked up at Ayesha. She opened her mouth . . . but nothing came out. She looked at Mary with terrified eyes. Lucinda wouldn’t be able to speak, would she? The girl was simply too frightened. Would they be dismissed? Disbelieved? And there was Van Helsing, looking so respectable, so very righteous! What in the world was Mary going to do?
She looked up at the president of the Alchemical Society and said, “Professor Van Helsing has been giving his daughter transfusions of vampiric blood in an effort to make her immortal and invulnerable. He also conducted similar experiments on her mother. When Mrs. Van Helsing began displaying symptoms of the madness that typically accompanies vampirism, he had her confined in the Maria-Theresa Krankenhaus in Vienna. Later, he confined Lucinda there as well. Her mother is now dead as a result of his experiments in biological transmutation. Lucinda almost died too. She would have, if we had not rescued her from the asylum.”
“And have you any proof of this accusation?” asked Ayesha.
Had she? Had they? It was Lucinda’s word against Van Helsing’s.
Lucinda looked at her and smiled—the first genuine smile Mary had seen on that pale face. It was a gentle, innocent smile. Then she crouched down and leaped—up to the dais, up on the table. Before Mary could react, she had lunged toward Arminius Vámbéry and bitten him on the neck! He shrieked—a surprisingly high shriek for such a large man. Lucinda raised her head and turned back to the audience. Her hat was completely to one side, and there was a long streak of blood down the front of her white dress. She looked at Ayesha, her mouth red with fresh blood, and snarled.
The room erupted into gasps and screams. Members looked at the dais and one another, trying to understand what was going on.
“This is nonsense!” shouted Van Helsing. “You have no proof it was I who did this to her! Those who have kidnapped her are in league with Count Dracula. It must be he who transformed her in this way!”
“Professor Van Helsing, you are in contempt of this body,” said Ayesha. “A procedure for your expulsion will immediately commence—”
Van Helsing stood on a chair. “I call for a vote of no confidence in the president!” he shouted. “Who is with me?”
There were hands raised—perhaps a third of the membership. Arminius Vámbéry’s was not among them, but he was using his hands to try to stop the bleeding from his neck. Professor Holly was pressing something, probably a handkerchief, to the wound. It was rapidly turning red. Most of the members seemed too astonished to respond.
“The society has become moribund!” shouted Van Helsing. “Why do we concern ourselves with trivialities when we could discover the secrets of life and death? Why do we undertake inconsequential research when we could advance human evolution through artificial selection, make humanity swifter, stronger, more intelligent? Why do we lurk in the shadows when we could become the new governors, the true legislators, of a better world, a world ruled by science and scientists? Man has ceased to evolve—the wisest and most honest of us admit it. If we, who understand the processes of nature better than other men, including the benighted fools who call themselves respectable scientists, will not save humanity from itself, if we will not extend our benevolent power over mankind and its institutions, men will surely degenerate and perish. Come, my brothers and sisters, who is with me?”
Among the audience, Mary could hear some calls of “That’s right! Listen to Van Helsing! It’s time for a new president!”
“You’re mad, Van Helsing,” shouted Leo Vincey, pounding on the table. “You’re not seeking some sort of be
nevolent rule, but personal power.”
“That’s right!” Mary heard from at least one corner. There were obviously arguments going on among the membership. Some were with Van Helsing, some with Ayesha—a great many seemed to simply not know what was going on.
“Professor Van Helsing had asked for a vote,” said Ayesha calmly. “By our rules and regulations, any member may make a motion of no confidence at any time. I assume that if I am voted out of power, Van Helsing will be nominated for the presidency by Dr. Seward. If he is elected, his proposals will prevail—a return to experiments in biological transmutation without oversight and restoration of the English branch, with Dr. Seward as its de facto if not titular head. Let us take a vote: right here, right now. Members of the society, if you would like Van Helsing to replace me as president, raise your hands.”
There were hands raised, but fewer than last time. Van Helsing’s words had had an effect, but not the one he intended.
“And who would prefer me to remain as your president?”
Those who had voted nay were overwhelmed by those who voted yea—Ayesha had well over a majority.
“Come on,” said Mina, gripping Mary’s arm. “We need to get Lucinda out of here. This is when all hell breaks loose.” How had she gotten to the front of the room? But Mary had not been paying attention to anything but the drama between Ayesha and Van Helsing.
“Aanvallen!” shouted Van Helsing.
That was the code for the attack. In the audience, men rose—how many? Mary could not count them all. They hissed and snarled, then began attacking the members seated around them. One of them bit down on a man’s throat—suddenly, there was blood and screaming. Some members at the front of the room craned their necks to get a better look. Some began moving toward the doors, first out of caution and then in a panic, not yet certain of what was going on, but sensing that something was. Mary noticed a few sneaking out along the side aisles—had they been informed beforehand of what would happen? Van Helsing had probably warned his supporters.
A vampire jumped up on the dais and shrieked, head thrown back, fangs bared. And then, as though a pot had suddenly boiled, the entire room erupted into chaos. Most of the members were rising, shouting to one another, running toward the doors . . .
She had expected a dramatic battle, like their showdown in the warehouse with Adam Frankenstein. But this was less a battle than a melee. This was screams and shouts, and not knowing what was going on, being unable to see over the heads and shoulders of the crowd. She wondered how Beatrice and Laura were doing up in balcony. And somewhere in this crowd were Carmilla, Catherine, and Justine. She hoped they were all right. But she could not help them now—she and Mina had to get Lucinda out of this mess.
In the balcony, Beatrice had stood in the back, behind the seats, until Van Helsing had begun speaking. Then, as quietly as she could, she had positioned herself behind one of the men Count Dracula had pointed out as vampires. There were six of them, sitting among perfectly ordinary audience members whom she must protect from harm. When Mary had begun to speak, she had clamped a piece of cloth soaked with chloroform over his mouth. Almost immediately, he had slumped over, unconscious. Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it? But when she looked around, she realized that she had been lucky. The man Laura was attempting to chloroform had torn the cloth out of her hands and turned around to attack. Laura was backing away from him, toward the balcony door. The other spectators in the balcony had realized something was wrong. Some of them were heading toward the door, but a few were trapped in a corner. The Count seemed to be occupied fighting two of the vampires at once, and she could not see Diana at all. In her pocket, she had the paprika spray. She pulled it out, ran to the vampire attacking Laura, and sprayed it into his eyes. He clawed at his face, backed away, and kept backing until he was against the edge of the balcony. For a moment, he swayed, hands over his eyes as though playing a grotesque game of hide and seek—and then, suddenly, he fell backward over the baluster. Laura was doing better now, spraying another of the vampires—two down, and Dracula was still fighting one. The other had sprung up onto the baluster and crouched there like a monkey. Diana streaked past her—she had a knife in one hand. Before Beatrice could say “Diana, don’t!” Diana’s weight had carried both her and the man she had just stabbed over the edge, down to the crowd below. Beatrice looked around. Laura’s vampire was now sitting on the floor, hands bound with the cables—there were another two beside him. Dracula must have been busy. That left one still to capture.
Where was Diana? Beatrice looked frantically over the baluster, but could not see her. Why did Diana always have to do the opposite of what she was told? Beatrice hoped she was safe, somewhere down below. Then, she heard her name called. She turned to see a short, squat, powerfully built man with a thick beard. He said, “Miss Rappaccini? I’m Horace Holly. We’ll take it from here, thank you. Ayesha requests your presence and that of your friends, including Count Dracula”—he uttered the name as contemptuously as possible—“in the library. If you will restrain that creature in the corner—I assume he too is one of Van Helsing’s minions—we will take it from here. Would you follow me, please?”
On the floor below, Justine looked up just in time to see Diana and the man she was clinging to fall over the edge of the balcony and land on a knot of people trying to flee through the back door of the meeting hall.
CATHERINE: Diana, when I call you Monkey Girl, you should take it as a compliment. I don’t know why men like Moreau and Van Helsing think evolution is so great. Human beings have lost a lot in their evolutionary trajectory. You have no idea how much better off you would be with tails!
DIANA: I wouldn’t mind a tail! Do you think you could sew one on me? One that works, I mean. I bet Dr. Moreau could have!
MARY: Oh Lord, that’s the last thing you need.
That moment of distraction had cost Justine. The very large vampire she had just hit over the head with a chair rose again and drove the splintered leg of the chair halfway into her side. She lurched back from the impact, then reached down and drew the chair leg out. She examined her side where it had entered, under the rib, dispassionately. She could feel the pain, but intellectually she knew that such a wound could not harm her, so she must ignore it for now. Where was that vampire?
Catherine had jumped on his back and bitten his shoulder. He roared and tried to grab her, turning this way and that, like a dog chasing its own tail.
Justine raised the chair leg and looked for a place to stab him without also stabbing Catherine. Perhaps in the chest? If only he would stop turning around and around!
“I’m all right!” shouted Catherine. “Take care of Carmilla! Behind you—”
Justine turned. There was Carmilla, surrounded by three of them, trying to protect a woman who had been part of the Japanese delegation and seemed to be putting up a good fight herself, ducking and weaving out of the way of a surly-looking fellow who had his fangs bared, ready to bite. The Japanese woman kicked him in the stomach as he lunged at her.
Mina had been right—pistols would have been worse than useless in this crowd, although it was thinner now. So many of the members had gotten out, or were trying to get out, through the two sets of doors. There were shouts, cries, the sound of chairs banging against one another, and among it all, noises as of wild animals. In that echoing chamber, she could barely hear herself think. How many of the vampires were left? One of those who had attacked the Japanese woman was within her reach. Justine stabbed him with the chair leg, but it scarcely seemed to affect him—he kept coming despite the piece of wood sticking out of his stomach. She grabbed him around the throat. If she could hold on long enough, squeeze hard enough, she could cut off his air so he would pass out. That might stop him for a while. She saw his face go purple. Slowly but surely, he slumped in her hands.
Just then, Carmilla cried out—she had been stabbed in the chest! Justine could see a red streak running down the front of her shirt. The vampire who had stab
bed Carmilla was holding a large, wicked-looking knife with what was now a bright red handle. Justine stepped in front of her.
“Now you will have to deal with both of us,” she told him.
She was fairly sure he could not understand her—his eyes had that film of delirium and incomprehension she remembered from the fight in Vienna, and anyway he probably didn’t speak English—but he grinned and raised his knife, as though looking forward to using it again. She pulled the bottle of paprika spray out of her pocket and sprayed it in his eyes. Ah, that had done the trick! He was writhing on the floor. How many of them could she spray? How many were in her vicinity? One more coming at her, but another three behind him. She pulled out the strongest weapon in her arsenal—the small metal cylinder that made such a piercing noise, for those who could hear it. When she had told Beatrice that she would not carry a weapon, neither pistol nor knife, Beatrice had said, “Then you should be the one to carry this.” But first, she must warn Catherine and Carmilla so they could protect themselves from the sound.
“Carmilla!” she shouted. “I’m going to use the whistle!” But where was Catherine? A moment ago, she had been battling one of the vampires. . . .
But Catherine was no longer there. The fight had carried her to the other side of the room, close to the dais. The vampire she had bitten was down, but there was another lunging for her. She bared her fangs and growled. She would rip the meat off his bones! And then she would drag his body up a tree, and feast on it for days.
“Get away from her!”
Who had yelled that? She turned, snarling. There was Edward Prendick, standing by the dais, shouting at the vampire she had bitten. Damn, she thought that vampire was down, but no—although his arm was limp and bloody, he was crouched, ready to spring at her. Well, let him come. She would tear him limb from limb. She grinned, and motioned to him—come on, I dare you.
The vampire sprang, and she braced herself for the impact, but at the last moment Prendick stepped between them. What was he doing?
He took the full impact of the spring, falling back onto the floor. The vampire crouched over him, slavering. Then, it bared its fangs and bit down.
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