by Alexis Hall
“I am always correct, Mr. Wyndham.” She rearranged herself languidly on the sofa. “The Contessa is feeling betrayed and thwarted. She is seeking to confront her ex-lover as much as to eliminate a rival.”
“Perhaps,” I said slowly, “I am being overly romantic, but I do not quite understand how the Contessa expects that murdering Miss Viola’s fiancée in front of her will be of assistance in winning back her affections.”
Ms. Haas shrugged. “Vampire.”
With that we both fell silent. Minutes passed, then hours, and my gaze kept returning to the small carriage clock that sat on the shelf next to the jackdaw. As its hands neared midnight I could not conceal my concerns any longer.
“Ms. Haas,” I whispered, “if the Contessa does not arrive soon, Granny Liesl’s potion will cease to be efficacious.”
“That is a distinct possibility, but shh. The Contessa is almost certainly on the train already, and vampires have excellent hearing.”
Despite what passed for my companion’s reassurances, my unease only intensified until, on the stroke of twelve, the cabin door opened.
The figure who entered was at once magnificent and revolting. She was clad in a high-collared black gown, against which the unnatural pallor of her skin seemed almost to gleam. Her head was utterly bald, her ears tapering to animalistic points, and behind her voluptuously red lips her teeth were a jigsaw of needle points and jagged edges.
The figure of Ms. Haas upon the sofa caught her attention at once and the Contessa advanced towards her, taloned, too-long fingers grasping covetously at the empty air. Her shadow skittered across the wall, its movements not quite matching those of its owner. I thought it strange at the time that she did not notice me, for, while I was wearing black in a dark room, a vampire’s night vision is as acute as its hearing. At the time I attributed her oversight to the passion of the moment but, on reflection, I suspect that the strange gifts of Granny Liesl played a part in the matter.
It took the vampiress only moments to realise that the lady she approached was neither Miss Beck nor Miss Viola, and she recoiled with a hiss. “What treachery is this?”
Ms. Haas propped herself up on her elbows and, even in the semidarkness, I could see the effort it required. I hoped fervently that the intruder was not so attuned to the nuances of my companion’s well-being as I. “It’s not treachery. It’s the oldest trick in the book. Now, are we going to talk like civilised people or do you wish to earn the ire of the sorceress Shaharazad Haas?”
“You are Shaharazad Haas? The woman who defeated the demon wyrm of Lakshmere? Who rescued the Princess Elisabet from Comte Korvin? Who burned Castle Zarovich to the ground?” The Contessa raised a heavy brow. “I thought you’d be taller.”
“Well, I am lying down.”
“A strange choice for one confronting a vampyr.”
Ms. Haas put a hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn. “I’m very confident and very lazy.”
“It is not”—the Contessa’s shadow put a claw to its chin—“that you have injured yourself in pursuit of me, and now find yourself unable to stand?”
“That is certainly a possibility.”
“Then what is stopping me from falling upon you right now and feasting on your heart’s blood?”
“Maybe nothing. Or maybe”—Ms. Haas indicated the empty wineglass on the table opposite—“I have consumed an alchemical concoction that has transmuted my blood into the living fire of the mad god that some superstitiously revere as the Creator. And, should you bite me, it will be the last thing you do before you perish in a brief but exquisite moment of terrifying agony. Now admit it, that does sound more like me.”
The Contessa paused for a moment. “You know, I think I’ll take the risk.”
“Oh, bother.”
At this juncture, several things occurred simultaneously. The Contessa lunged for Ms. Haas, but the jackdaw, which had hitherto shown no signs of aggression, swooped from its perch and made a vicious attack against the vampire’s eyes. This briefly arrested her attack, but in a matter of seconds she had slashed it from the air with a swipe of her talons. The poor creature tumbled to the ground, where it vanished in a billow of shadow and feathers. The distraction had been minor but afforded me just sufficient opportunity to snatch up my hip flask and empty its contents over the Contessa’s head.
Wet, angry, and perhaps a little perplexed, she spun to face me. If she was presently experiencing the excoriating power of the Creator’s wrath against her and all her benighted kind, she was doing a very good job of hiding it. “What the —— was that?”
I have removed an offending item from the Contessa’s vocabulary but could find no appropriate substitute. Before I could make reply, her fingers closed around my throat and I was lifted bodily from the ground. The pressure on my carotid arteries, coupled with the general sense of disorientation that came of being picked up like a child’s toy, limited my capacity to respond. I did, however, muster the wherewithal to discharge my pistol into the Contessa’s body. The silver bullets proved somewhat more efficacious than the flask of not-at-all-holy water I had been dutifully carrying since we had left Khelathra-Ven, although they were not so efficacious as to prevent my attacker from slamming me through the armchair I had just vacated.
When I had regained my senses sufficiently to be once more aware of what was happening around me, I saw Ms. Haas had, by some miracle, come to her feet and, swaying slightly, was once more chanting the private name of the Creator. Pale fire flickered in her eyes, but before she could complete the incantation the Contessa seized her by the hair and the waist and plunged her fangs into my companion’s exposed throat.
To my horror, Ms. Haas went limp, her head falling back in an attitude of uncharacteristic surrender. I reached for my gun but found it nowhere to hand, and between the rigours of our journey and the exertions of the current battle, I was unable to rise in time to intervene. Just as I was coming to the perturbing realisation that this was likely the end of us both, the cabin door opened, revealing a man in a guard’s uniform.
“Run,” I cried, seeing no reason that an innocent railway employee should sacrifice himself for our doomed escapade.
Whereupon his image shimmered and in his place appeared a slight figure in a dark suit and a pallid mask. They raised a pistol and fired three shots into the Contessa’s back. She crumpled to the floor, Ms. Haas doing likewise. I scrambled across the cabin to offer my companion what little protection I could and found her barely conscious, her dress dark with blood. Glancing up in the hope that our rescuer could offer further assistance, I realised they had vanished.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
The Vampiress
There was little more I could do to aid Ms. Haas and so I thought it best to retrieve my pistol, which I eventually located underneath the table. I reloaded it and kept it trained on the Contessa, lest she recover her faculties before my companion and offer us mischief. Happily, Ms. Haas came to first. Dragging herself shakily to the sofa, she was silent for a troubling duration.
“Good shooting, Captain,” she said at last.
“Thank you, but it was not my doing. We benefited from the unexpected apparition of a mysterious stranger.”
Ms. Haas frowned. “Intriguing, but a matter best addressed after we have resolved the immediate problem of the Contessa.”
It soon became apparent, however, that the Contessa was not our most immediate problem. The recent discharge of several rounds of shot, along with the rather extensive destruction of property, had attracted the attention of the actual guards, who appeared now in the doorway where the false guard had been only minutes earlier. To my surprise and relief, they were very understanding, accepting quite readily Ms. Haas’s explanation that the firearms had been used in self-defence against the vampire who still lay on the floor of the cabin and who would, if not neutralised, have continued to pose a threat to the passe
ngers of the train. Looking back I realise that, a railway guard being in no way qualified to do battle with either a mistress of the undead or a sorceress, they were likely more than happy to allow the one to take care of the other, any alternative course of action being, as the saying goes, more than their job’s worth.
“Quickly,” continued Ms. Haas when the attendants had departed, “pass me a piece of that wineglass.”
I did as I was asked and at once regretted it when Ms. Haas took the shard I offered her and immediately began carving a sequence of blasphemous symbols into her forearm. “Are you certain that’s quite necessary?”
“Not entirely. We could just cut her head off and burn the body.”
This put me in something of a quandary. On the one hand, it was an obscure but axiomatic tenet of my faith that vampires were irredeemable abominations in the sight of the Creator. Further, I knew for a fact that the Contessa had murdered at least one person, probably several more, to say nothing of her choice of husbands, which I considered extremely tawdry. On the other hand, there seemed to be something fundamentally wrong in decapitating a defenceless woman, even if her defencelessness was worryingly temporary.
“What exactly are you doing?” I enquired.
“I wasn’t entirely bluffing when I told the Contessa that biting me would be a bad idea. You’d think at her age she’d know better than to form an intimate connection with a powerful sorceress.” She slid off the sofa and knelt by the Contessa’s side, tracing in blood on the vampire’s brow marks that mirrored the ones she had previously inscribed on her arm. “It won’t give me very much control over her, but it will be enough to stop her coming after me or snapping your neck like a twig in an act of petty vengeance.”
“Thank you. I’m most grateful.”
“And at the very least, I should be able to compel her to hear us out on the subject of our dear Eirene.” She sat back on her heels. “You know, even riddled with silver bullets I would have expected her to be stirring by now.”
In the light of Ms. Haas’s assurances, I lowered my weapon. “Is that not to our advantage?”
“It is never to our advantage for matters to run contrary to my expectations.”
With that, Ms. Haas began a rather more intimate inspection of the Contessa’s body, at which point I looked away so that I might not transgress the bounds of decency. What followed involved some inauspiciously fleshly sounds, on whose cause I did not, in the moment, like to speculate.
“Now, this is interesting,” remarked my companion.
“What,” came the Contessa’s voice wearily, “is interesting?”
I turned around to see Ms. Haas, bloody to the wrists, holding a number of bullets in the palm of her hand, and the Contessa lying on the floor with her eyes open, wearing an expression of considerable displeasure.
Ms. Haas closed her fingers over the bullets and returned to the sofa. “None of your business. Let’s talk about Eirene.”
“That is none of your business.” The Contessa folded her arms across her chest and, her body entirely rigid, swept up into a standing position. “I am a daughter of the immortal nobility of Mircalla and I will reclaim what is mine.”
“I suppose you could, but why would you want to?”
An expression of bewilderment passed fleetingly over the Contessa’s face. “What do you mean? Is this some kind of trickery?”
“No trickery. It’s just that Eirene is a disaster who ruins everything she touches. Fabulous in bed, of course, but so high maintenance.”
“What is this . . . high maintenance?”
Ms. Haas plucked one of the complimentary chocolates that had fallen to the floor during the kerfuffle and popped it into her mouth. “Well, let’s put it like this. We stumbled across your little murder plan because we were working our way down a list of people who might be looking for revenge against Eirene for all the ways she’s stitched them up, set them up, screwed them over, or otherwise wrecked their lives.”
“She has spirit,” returned the Contessa. “I like a woman with spirit.”
“Then get another one. I’m sure the world is full of independent-minded maidens who would love to be swept off their feet by a brooding aristocrat like you.”
“My love for Eirene transcends eternity.” The Contessa spread a clawed hand, then closed it acquisitively. “We are bound forever in blood and passion.”
Ms. Haas uttered a long groan. “Oh, just stop it. You and I both know you’re only interested in her now because you’ve suddenly realised you can’t have her. You’ve had years to hunt her down and make her your immortal bride.”
“I cannot allow her to defy me.”
“You’ve met Eirene. Do you really think turning her into a vampire is going to stop her defying you?”
After a moment of thought, the Contessa hung her head and slumped onto the sofa next to Ms. Haas. “You know, this was so much easier eight hundred years ago. You’d just go down to the village and they’d tie a pretty girl to a stake for you.”
“There are still places where they’ll do that, many of them for a very reasonable fee.”
“It’s not the same. The people nowadays. They have all these crazy ideas. When I was a girl, peasants were happy to be peasants.” The Contessa propped her cheek glumly against her hand. “To tell you the truth, the only reason I came back to Khelathra-Ven was because things weren’t working out back home. One evening I say to my seneschal, ‘Go out and get a baby and put it in a sack and bring it back to me so I can sate the hunger of my vile progeny.’ And he says, ‘Oh, mistress, we can’t do that anymore. The burgomasters, they get very angry when we put the babies in the sacks. There’ll be another revolution, mistress. Remember what happened in Pesh, mistress.’” She sighed. “What is the world coming to when you can’t devour the children of your serfs?”
“Tell me about it,” drawled Ms. Haas. “It’s socioeconomic reform gone mad.”
The conversation continued in this vein on and off the rest of the way to Liohtberg, Ms. Haas and the Contessa exchanging anecdotes about the iniquities of the modern world and the personal shortcomings of Eirene Viola. On this latter subject, their observations became increasingly intimate to the point that I felt compelled to leave the cabin. It was not, you understand, that I begrudged my companion the satisfaction she found in the society of the Contessa, but I fear that the ladies brought out the worst in each other, which was perhaps to be expected since one was a black-hearted creature of the night without compassion or remorse, and the other vampire. I make this observation with comical intent, my editor having expressed concerns that readers may consider me, in his words, stuffy. Besides, I believe Ms. Haas would have appreciated the comment and been gratified to know that at least some part of her sense of humour appears to have rubbed off on me.
In any case, the most immediate consequence of the two ladies’ newfound (and mildly inappropriate) bonhomie was that I had cause to spend a lot of my time in the lounge car, since they grew increasingly comfortable in each other’s company and chose to act upon that comfort in ways best transacted privately.
For my own part I was not unhappy with this outcome since the lavish appointments of the Austral Express afforded me an opportunity for relaxation such as I had not experienced in years. I made the acquaintance of several interesting travellers, played several stimulating games of chess, and read a variety of newspapers from across the Hundred Kingdoms and beyond. Thus, in our various ways, my companion and I passed an eminently satisfactory journey and arrived in Liohtberg.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Aurwald Mail Flight 121
The remarkable luxury of the Austral Express threw into sharp relief the inconvenience we experienced when expediency and economy demanded that we return to Khelathra-Ven by mail coach. My companion complained bitterly of the necessity not only of sitting alongside commercial travellers but also, as she
put it, being bundled into a box with the tedious correspondence of strangers. The carriage itself was miserably uncomfortable, although there was no denying the majesty of the four winged horses that drew it. Somewhat less majestic were the two other travellers with whom we were forced to share our three-day, four-stage journey. One was a large man from Hansea, a trader of sorts in exotic fauna who insisted upon bringing with him a box filled with live snakes. The other was a well-dressed lady who spoke with a slight Kendish accent and evinced the enviable capacity to sleep through literally anything, including a minor incident in which one of the snakes slithered free of its confines and was unceremoniously hurled out of the window by Ms. Haas, who declared herself quite out of patience with the whole situation.
Despite the utter lack of anything resembling privacy, Ms. Haas seemed entirely at ease discussing the latest points of information and evidence that had arisen as a consequence of our most recent adventure.
“These bullets,” she said, ignoring the snoring Kendish woman and the ill-concealed interest of the merchant, “which I extracted from the Contessa’s spine would seem to imply something very specific about the nature of your mysterious stranger. The peculiar metal of which they’re cast, combined with the strange sigils on the casing, marks them out as Carcosan in origin. And when taken in conjunction with your description of our rescuer’s attire and, indeed, with the broader fact that this whole affair hinges on the matter of blackmail, there is a very good chance that we’re dealing with the Repairers of Reputations.”
I leaned in and lowered my voice, in at least a token effort to avoid being overheard by the other passengers. “Forgive my ignorance, but I have little familiarity with the organisation in question.”
“They are spies, Mr. Wyndham,” announced my companion cheerfully. “Once the loyal enforcers of the crowned heads of Carcosa, they now serve the party with suspiciously similar fervour. And given that one of the names on Eirene’s list happens to be a high-ranking member of the new order it seems we may at last have our man.”