The Parliament of Blood

by Justin Richards

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I’ll be so much better at it than you.’ Liz stepped back.

  Marie gave a shout of anger and leaped at Liz. Her nails ripped through empty space. Her teeth closed on nothing. She landed and turned in one fluid movement. But the stage was empty. Liz had vanished.

  The volumes of Oldfield’s journal were spread out on a large table. Sir William was busily arranging and rearranging them. The metal box in which they had been stored was open at the end of the table.

  ‘The late Reverend Oldfield’s journals cover a lot of ground,’ Sir William said. He moved to the end of the table and, as if describing a picture, explained: ‘We have a history, an account of an event. If we had brought Hemming’s translation of the Book of the Undead with us, that would precede these journals as an account of far older events. Older, but connected.’

  ‘And what else?’ George asked. ‘We know about photographs and shadows and light.’

  ‘Which Oldfield’s journals also touch on.’ Sir William sighed and shook his head. ‘All of this we know, like the craving for contact with home soil and the need for rich oxygen. There must be more.’ He slammed the flat of his hand down on the top of the table in sudden frustration. ‘Somewhere here, there must be more.’

  Eddie was disappointed. ‘So, we’ve learned nothing new?’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t say that,’ Sir William admitted. ‘In fact, we have learned a great deal. None of it, however, good.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘We knew that there was a danger that a new invention – the development of photography – might force the vampires into the open, into taking action. I suspect that there is another reason why they have become more active now. A reason hinted at in Oldfield’s later writings.’

  ‘And what’s that?’ George asked.

  ‘Their own history. This is a time predicted by vampire lore. It is when, apparently, the ancient Lord of the Undead – known to the Egyptians as Orabis – will come again to lead his people. In this time of crisis, the greatest and most dangerous vampire of all is about to rise and claim his inheritance.’

  ‘But they didn’t know it would be a time of crisis, surely?’ George said.

  ‘Probably not. But it does coincide with the time when sleeping vampires will awaken, and trade places with those now awake. Some of those in positions of power and influence especially will be loath to give that up and go into hibernation for centuries. So this is the time when Orabis will decide.’

  ‘Decide what?’ Eddie wanted to know.

  ‘Whether they should continue as before – maintain the status quo, carry on living in secret and feeding clandestinely off human society, some sleeping and others waking … or whether they should emerge and take over.’

  ‘And which will they choose?’ George asked.

  ‘I wish I knew. For some vampires, this is the culmination of their life’s work, the moment they have been waiting for. But others fear the changes that Orabis may bring.’

  ‘And just who is this Orrible-iss?’ Eddie asked.

  ‘Orabis is the Lord of Death. Oldfield speculates he will have no qualms about declaring vampires lords of the Earth. His followers set up the Damnation Club – a so-called Parliament of Blood – many years ago to serve as a vampire government in waiting, ready to take over and rule the Empire.’

  ‘They want to rule?’ George exclaimed.

  Sir William nodded. ‘Already many of its members are in positions of power – in government, in the real parliament, in the police and the military and the scientific professions. Oldfield’s actions and discoveries frightened them, delayed the process. But with the arising of Orabis, the time of the vampires will come at last and nothing short of a miracle can stop it …’

  ‘So what do we do?’ George asked. ‘What can we do?’

  There was a printed piece of card still in the metal box, beside the two bats. ‘What’s this?’ Eddie asked, picking it up.

  ‘Irrelevant,’ Sir William said without looking. ‘Got into the box by mistake, I fancy.’

  ‘Really, Eddie, this is important.’ George took the card from Eddie and glanced at it before handing it back. ‘If you must know, it’s a theatre bill. For some play in Norwich in 1866.’

  ‘Just something that Liz’s father kept as a souvenir of a play he went to,’ Sir William agreed.

  Eddie stared at it. ‘That’s not right,’ he said slowly. ‘That can’t be right, can it?’ He wasn’t sure what the playbill was doing with the other papers, but he did know one thing. ‘Liz’s father hated the theatre. Thought it was the work of the devil, didn’t he? So, he’d never go to see a play.’

  As soon as Marie hurled herself forward, Liz stepped backwards, and fell through the trap door that the lever at the side of the stage had opened. Ironically, it was a so-called ‘vampire trap’ named after the play in which it was first used in 1820 – The Vampire or The Bride of the Isles. In the play it was the vampire who vanished apparently into thin air. Now it was Liz.

  There was a long drop, and Liz just hoped it had been left set up. If not, she would land with a bone-shattering crash. Luckily, the trap was prepared, a thick blanket stretched out and suspended under the stage. Liz rolled off it, ready to run from the under stage area. Marie would soon realise where she had gone.

  Under the stage it was almost completely dark. Liz hurried in what she hoped was the right direction, and almost immediately knocked into something. It fell with a clatter and Liz stifled a gasp of surprise. But it was just a broom that had been leaned against one of the supporting struts holding up the stage.

  Liz hesitated. What if Marie was about to drop through the trap after her? Could she see in the dark? Liz picked up the fallen broom and jammed the wooden handle in the gap between the double upright supports. With strength born of desperation and fear, she heaved on the wooden handle, snapping it in two.

  Then, shaking with fear, she crawled under the blanket, and propped up the two broken staves. The weight of the material pressing down on them held them in place, the brush slipping before holding against the edge of a floorboard.

  Liz hurried as fast as she dared through the darkness and emerged, blinking in the dim light, at the top of a narrow wooden staircase. She was in the wings off to the side of the stage.

  A hand came down heavily on her shoulder.

  Liz leaped back with a cry, turning quickly.

  ‘I’m sorry. I must have startled you.’ It was Henry Malvern. ‘I realised you wouldn’t have got the message about the rehearsal. I came back to tell you.’

  Liz’s heart was pounding and she could scarcely speak. ‘Marie …’ she gasped.

  ‘I know. I’m so sorry. It was very sudden.’ Malvern turned away. ‘Let me escort you home.’

  ‘No, you don’t understand. She’s here. Marie is here.’

  He turned back quickly, his surprise evident. ‘What? What do you mean?’

  ‘She’s trying to kill me.’ Liz grabbed hold of Malvern’s arm, suddenly afraid he wouldn’t believe her. That he might leave. ‘She’s a vampire,’ Liz gasped.

  Malvern was shaking his head. ‘You’re in shock. You’ve had a fright. Marie’s death …’

  ‘No – truly. She’s here and trying to kill me. She’ll kill us both.’

  Malvern looked deep into Liz’s eyes, as if assessing how distressed she really was. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I didn’t see anyone else, but I’ll take a look round.’ He held his hand up to stop her protest. ‘I’ll be careful. You can wait in my dressing room. Lock the door. Let no one else in. No one at all. Once I’m sure it’s safe, I’ll come back for you. I have a carriage outside, we can be away from here in no time.’

  Liz hugged him tight, grateful for the reassuring pat on her shoulder in return. ‘Thank you. But please – be careful. She’s dangerous.’

  ‘Oh don’t worry. If I see a vampire, I’ll let you know.’

  He led her the short way to his dressing room, and
Liz closed and locked the door. The gas lamps were lit, but turned down low. She leaned against the door for a while, listening for any sound from outside. But all she could hear was the pounding of her blood in her ears and her ragged breath.

  As she began to feel calmer. Liz sat on the chair in front of the table where Malvern kept his make-up. There were pots of different colour face paints. Beside them, she saw with a tinge of amusement, was the jar of jam she had given him. It was unopened.

  Liz looked into the dusty mirror above the table and saw that her face was stained with tears. She wiped them away as best she could with her handkerchief. Behind her, reflected in the mirror she could see a rack of clothes.

  With nothing else to do, she went to look through the costumes hanging on the rail, trying to guess what parts they might be for. But before she had even begun, her foot connected with something in the shadows under the rail.

  But it was just a shoe. There were several pairs of shoes arranged under the rail of clothes. Liz lifted the shoe she had knocked to bring it back in line with the others. It felt surprisingly heavy. She tilted it slightly in her hand, and felt the weight shift.

  Her heart once again pounding, and her mouth suddenly dry, Liz brought it out into the light, angling it so she could look inside.

  So she could see the layer of dry earth lining the bottom of the shoe.

  ‘Let me see that,’ Sir William said, taking the playbill from Eddie.

  ‘Someone must have given it to him,’ George said. ‘Or it belongs to Liz.’

  ‘There’s writing on it,’ Eddie said. ‘What’s it say?’

  Sir William opened the playbill on the table so they could all see. There were line drawings of the principal cast. One of them – a man – was circled in a scratch of blue ink. Beneath it was written:

  ‘The one that got away,’ Sir William read aloud.

  George was staring at the picture, frowning. ‘But this is from 1866?’

  ‘I can read you know,’ Eddie told him. ‘Well, a bit.’

  ‘But, that’s twenty years ago,’ George said. ‘And that – surely that’s Henry Malvern?’

  ‘Harry Worcester, according to the text,’ Sir William said. ‘But if it is indeed the same man, unchanged after twenty years, and singled out by Oldfield …’

  ‘The vampire that escaped from him,’ Eddie realised. ‘The worst of the lot. He was an actor.’

  ‘He still is an actor,’ George said.

  ‘That’s why Oldfield was desperate to keep Liz from the theatre,’ Sir William realised. ‘He was desperate to make sure she never came into contact with this creature if he ever reappeared. But because he would have nothing to do with the theatre himself, he didn’t realise the man had already reappeared. If he had he would have exposed him – trapped him in some way.’

  ‘And we’ve sent her straight there,’ George said.

  ‘At least she won’t be alone. It’s a rehearsal.’

  ‘As if that’ll stop him,’ Eddie said. ‘What we going to do?’

  ‘There is only one thing we can do,’ Sir William decided. ‘Pray we are not too late.’

  ‘And?’ George prompted. ‘I mean, that can’t be all.’

  ‘George, you must get to the theatre. Don’t let Malvern know we suspect the truth unless you have to. But get Liz away from there safely.’

  ‘I’ll go with him,’ Eddie said.

  ‘No, Eddie. I need you to come with me.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘To see the one man who I hope has the power to act, before it’s too late. The one man who can overrule the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police and the other powerful members of the Damnation Club. Just so long as he is not himself a member already.’

  ‘Who’s that, then?’ Eddie asked.

  ‘The First Lord of the Treasury. Sometimes referred to as the Prime Minister.’

  There was no sign of Malvern in the corridor, so Liz quietly closed the dressing room door behind her. There was no clue as to where Malvern had gone. The quickest way out of the theatre was to cut across the stage to get through to the backstage door. She went as quickly as she could without making too much noise. The stage was still in semi-darkness, and Liz was careful to give the almost-invisible open vampire trap a wide berth.

  She was almost across the stage when Malvern called out to her: ‘I sent Marie away. There’s nothing to worry about.’

  Liz froze, then slowly turned. Malvern was standing at the back of the stage. Perhaps he had been waiting for her there – watching her creep across in front of him. She turned away, ready to run.

  ‘Come here.’ His voice was commanding and confident. More than that – there was something compelling about it too. She struggled to resist, but felt herself turning, walking slowly back across the stage despite her intentions and efforts.

  Malvern came slowly down to meet her. His voice was dark, silky and persuasive. ‘I need you, Liz. You know that. Soon you will assume the greatest role of your career. Of your life. I had intended to offer up Marie. She seemed perfect. But then I met you. And how could I resist? That’s why I brought you here. That’s why poor little Beryl had to die – so you could take her role as the maid and I could keep you close.’

  He held up his hand, and Liz stopped. Malvern was three paces away, his head tilted as he regarded her with interest.

  ‘What do you want?’ Liz demanded, her voice stronger than she felt. Inside she was trembling and felt faint.

  ‘Only one mortal ever got the better of me, you know. Only one man. He destroyed everything I had planned. Set back the time of the awakening simply by knowing too much. With the Coachman’s own sister trapped in her sleep, he became cautious and the others became wary and slow to act. That man was weak and stupid but he defeated me. And I swore that one day I would be revenged on him.’

  ‘My father,’ Liz realised.

  Malvern nodded. ‘They wouldn’t let me take him. Not then. In case it drew attention to us. Though the Coachman made him pay a high price for the loss of his sister. But how could I resist the chance to meet his daughter? To destroy her? More than that – to make her one of us. One of the greatest of us.’ He drew a deep rasping breath. ‘Oh, you will be so honoured.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ She couldn’t keep the tremor from her voice this time.

  ‘Clarissa is waiting for you in my carriage outside. Together, you have a visit to pay. An important person to see. And after that, at the whole assembly, in front of the risen dead and our Lord …’

  He took a step towards Liz, and she found she was unable to move. His lips drew back in a smile, revealing his sharp gleaming teeth.

  Then he told her what was going to happen, who she would become, and Liz felt sick and more afraid than ever in her life. As Malvern drew her to him, and pressed his icy lips to her warm neck.

  CHAPTER 25

  The secretary was flustered but adamant. ‘You cannot see the Prime Minister this evening. It is, I’m afraid, quite impossible.’

  Eddie had listened to Sir William insisting his way through several offices and past various officials to get to this point. Now here they were in a small room adjoining the Prime Minister’s own office at Number 10 Downing Street.

  ‘I cannot stress enough how vital this is,’ Sir William said. He was almost shaking with anger now. ‘And if you knew the sort of incompetence and obfuscation we have had to sweep aside to get this far …’

  ‘Believe me, I can sympathise.’ The secretary did not look sympathetic. He was a portly man in his thirties with receding black hair. ‘But I can assure you I am being neither incompetent nor misleading. You cannot see the Prime Minister because the Prime Minister is not here.’

  ‘We’ll wait,’ Sir William said. ‘When do you expect him?’

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘But that will be too late!’

  ‘It is the best that I can offer, Sir William. But the Prime Minister is at this moment making his way to a special session o
f Parliament. It is, for me as well as for you, most inconvenient, in addition to being rather unexpected and at short notice.’

  Eddie had spent the time they were talking walking round the room. It was similar to the other offices where he had listened to Sir William asking, begging, and cajoling his way up through the political hierarchy. There was a framed photograph on the panelled wall showing a group of people. One of them he recognised as the Prime Minister – which was a relief. He didn’t know who any of the others were, but he guessed they were important.

  The photograph was on the wall close to the door to the Prime Minister’s office, and as he examined it, Eddie could hear movement from behind the door.

  ‘Here – if the Prime Minister’s gone to Parliament, who’s in his office, then?’

  ‘Who indeed?’ Sir William demanded. He glared at the secretary and strode across to the door.

  ‘You can’t go in there!’ the secretary insisted. ‘I told you …’

  But Sir William had already opened the door.

  There was a man standing on the other side of the large desk that dominated the room. But it was not the Prime Minister.

  It was a small, dapper man wearing a smart suit. His neat, dark beard gave him an authority that belied his size. He looked up in surprise at the interruption.

  ‘That is Anthony Barford,’ the secretary hissed. ‘He is the Prime Minister Mr Gladstone’s personal adviser. Now will you kindly leave!’

  Barford was watching with interest. ‘Wait a moment, Haskins,’ he said. ‘It’s Sir William Protheroe, isn’t it?’

  ‘At your service,’ Sir William said quietly.

  ‘I confess I was actually waiting for someone else. Then I have to leave for the House of Commons in a few minutes, but if there is anything I can do to help?’ Barford gestured for Sir William to come in. ‘I am well aware of your department, Sir William, and of the work you do.’

  ‘I have to get a message to the Prime Minister,’ Sir William told him. ‘Forgive my bluntness.’

  ‘Oh, be as blunt as you feel necessary. I think you’d better tell me what’s going on. I shall be seeing the Prime Minister before the emergency debate in a few minutes. I shall be more than happy to pass on your message, assuming you can convince me of the urgency.’