Van Helsing turned to one of them. “Will you tell the abbot that I am most grateful for his assistance, and that I will be making a large donation shortly? It seems as though everything is going according to plan.” Or at least that was the best translation Justine could make of it. Spende—donation or payment. Vorhaben—project or plan. She thought that was right.
The monk bowed and mumbled something too low to hear—whereas the professor’s voice was calibrated to a lecture hall, he probably spent his days in quiet contemplation.
“Are we quite done here?” asked Seward in English—presumably he did not speak German.
“You are impatient, friend John,” said Van Helsing. “But it is important to thoroughly inculcate into our troops the proper ideas, so that when the time comes, they will act as we desire. Remember, in two days we will ask them to fight, and possibly die, for us.”
“Yes, yes,” said Seward. “I must say, though—as a man of science, I find this mumbo jumbo distasteful. Why can’t you just hire mercenaries? Why do you have to go to such lengths?”
“Any men we hire could be hired by another party to betray us. You do not know Ayesha as I do. She is ever vigilant, and unites the cunning of a woman with the objective, rational mind of the highest type of man. It is a fearsome combination. If men are to obey you without question, they must believe in the cause for which they are fighting. Our supporters in the Société des Alchimistes believe in the promise of science—that it can deliver heretofore unimaginable power and benefits to mankind. And so we have convinced them in that way. These creatures you find so distasteful believe in God and the eternal life He delivers. Even though their minds have been corrupted by disease, they continue to believe. That is what they will fight for, and they will not betray us. But come, let us not quarrel. We still have preparations to make before the start of the conference. Whatever happens at the general meeting, the rest of the conference will go on, and you are scheduled to deliver your paper. I shall look at it once more and let you know if I think any further revisions are necessary.” Van Helsing put his hand on Seward’s arm, and then the two of them walked along the nave to the back of the church. They went out through the large double doors.
Justine watched as the two monks spoke with each other in low tones. Then one took the chalice and left through a door that probably led to the vestry. The other folded the altar cloth, then followed him.
When they were gone, Carmilla said, “And he looks like such a nice man! A grandfather who would buy you the toy train or stuffed bear your parents cannot afford for your name day.” She shook her head. “I think we had better report back at once. Mina will want to hear what we are up against. But how to fight them—that is the difficulty. You are strong, as am I, as is my godfather. But we are only three. The others have their guns and knives—but what will those do against vampires? And the way Van Helsing controls them—that is the way my godfather used to control his vampiric soldiers, by implanting certain ideas in their heads. On the battlefield, they will do whatever he commands.”
They climbed down from the bell tower the same way they had come up: Justine on the rope, which Carmilla released after she had reached the ground, and Carmilla crawling on the tower itself, head-first. But as they approached the gate, Justine heard a shout.
One of the monks was rapidly approaching across the grass. He must have been working in the garden, because he was carrying a trowel. Justine had no idea what he was saying—it was a stream of Hungarian.
“Hallo! Hallo! Ist das der Biergarten?” said Carmilla. Her voice was thick, her words slurred. She grabbed Justine by the arm and leaned on her. “Wir suchen den Biergarten.”
The monk looked at her, startled. “Nein Biergarten. Nein Biergarten hier. Wie kommst du hier?” Evidently, his German was rudimentary. How was Justine going to answer his question? She could not explain that they had gotten in by bending iron bars. . . .
Propping up the evidently drunk Count Karnstein, Mr. Justin Frank said, “Das Tor ist kaputt. Sehen Sie?” To show that the gate really was broken, Justine pushed it hard with the palm of her hand. She hoped he would not hear the metal latch snap in two under the pressure.
“Geh! Geh!” he said, waving his hands at them as though shooing chickens. “Das ist nein Biergarten! Du bist hier nicht!”
Mr. Justin Frank and Count Karnstein left hastily through the broken gate, but not before the Count had made the angry monk a drunken bow.
JUSTINE: Carmilla also made what I think was a rude gesture, but I do not know enough about such gestures to understand what it meant.
DIANA: I can teach you, if you want. I know lots of them!
MARY: Yes, you’re fluent, as we know.
DIANA: Look, here’s one! And here’s another one.
JUSTINE: Diana, do you really think it is necessary to express yourself in such a crude, unsophisticated way? Underneath that rough manner, you are a clever, affectionate girl.
DIANA: What’s your point?
By the time Justine and Carmilla reached the house on Múzeum utca, Mary and Catherine had returned from the Café New York and were sitting in the music room, both looking glum.
“Your plan did not work, I take it?” said Justine. She had already given her hat and gloves to a footman at the door.
“They wouldn’t even listen to us,” said Catherine. She was curled up on the sofa, with her feet on the cushions, while Mary sat more properly in one of the armchairs. “Leo Vincey—what an arrogant, idiotic—and he had stupid hair. All those little curls, as though he were trying to imitate some sort of Renaissance Cupid!”
“I think if Mr. Vincey hadn’t been there, Professor Holly might have listened to us,” said Mary. “He was insulting—but I got the sense that he is insulting to everyone. Meanwhile, Beatrice has spent the last couple of hours with Mina—they’re working on some sort of top secret project they won’t tell us about. And Diana’s off somewhere with that apprentice footman, who must be named after Attila the Hun. Which I suppose makes sense, this being Hungary! Lucinda is asleep—Laura and the Count are staying with her. I think Laura has been doing double duty—she seems to be staying with Lucinda twice as much as anyone else. And we’re—well, we don’t quite know what to do with ourselves. How can you plan when you don’t know what you’re planning for? But the two of you must have found out something. Justine—does this vampire army exist?”
“I am sorry to say it does.” Justine remembered those monks, drinking blood as though it were communion wine. “There are twenty-four men Carmilla identified as vampires. We observed them engaging in—well, it was the most ridiculous, and yet the most disquieting, ceremony. Carmilla believes Van Helsing is controlling them through the power of suggestion—a sort of mesmerism.”
“Yes, Laura is like that,” said Carmilla, shaking her head. “She nurses the servants when they are sick, and every wounded animal that comes near the schloss. I make the medicines, but she cares for them. I shall remind her not to overtax herself. There are many here who can share that duty with her.”
“Twenty-four doesn’t sound like much of an army,” said Catherine.
“And yet twenty-four vampires will destroy a company of ordinary soldiers, and throw a battalion into disarray,” said Carmilla, bringing her attention back to the present discussion. She sat down in the other armchair, while Justine perched on the harpsichord bench. “I saw it myself in the border wars, when the Count was still creating vampiric soldiers. He, too, would mesmerize them—to fight until they were incapable of continuing. Arminius Vámbéry would be familiar with the technique from his historical research.”
“It is a terrible practice,” said Mina. She was standing in the doorway. “I’m very glad to see you all safely home. So we were right, Van Helsing has vampire troops at his command. Well, that’s bad. On the other hand, I estimate he only has thirty to forty supporters in the Société des Alchimistes, which is fewer than I feared.”
“How do you know the numbe
r of his supporters?” asked Mary.
“This morning, as Mária Petrescu watched from across the street, a steady stream of men and women went into Arminius Vámbéry’s apartment building at approximately the same time. She counted them—there were thirty-six. Some may have been tenants, but most were clearly visiting Vámbéry, and by implication Van Helsing. Even from where she was sitting, she could see activity in Vámbéry’s apartment, and Van Helsing himself walked some of the guests to their carriages afterward. When those guests had departed, Van Helsing and Seward went out.”
“That must have been when they went to the abbey,” said Justine.
“Of course, those may not be all his supporters,” said Mina. “He may see more tonight, or perhaps tomorrow although it is the Sabbath. Nevertheless, I do not think he has a majority, which is why he’s counting on force to carry the day. Vlad tells me these annual conferences are attended by members from all over the world. He estimates there will be a hundred to a hundred and fifty members in attendance. Van Helsing’s faction will be no more than a third of that. However, I’m not sure it matters in terms of our plans. If Van Helsing wins, we will have to act. If he loses, we will still have to act. And to that end—there’s something Beatrice and I would like to show you. If you’ll come into the dining room, I think it’s time for a council of war.”
A council of war! Justine did not like the sound of those words. When had war ever led to benefits for mankind? Indeed, it sometimes seemed to her that history itself was simply a long account of bloodshed, to little purpose and for little gain. And yet, men such as Van Helsing had to be stopped—she knew that as certainly as she knew there was good in the universe, and it must combat evil. If it chose to do so through her, she would not refuse the battle.
MARY: Isn’t that a bit melodramatic? I mean, I know you’re describing Justine’s thoughts, but still . . .
CATHERINE: Justine and I were in the circus together for years. That is exactly how she thinks. Imagine if Joan of Arc had read a lot of obscure German philosophy and were over six feet tall. That’s Justine all over.
JUSTINE: Catherine, you give me too much credit. I am neither as good, nor as eloquent, as you make me out to be.
CATHERINE: See? What did I tell you?
In the dining room, Beatrice was standing by the table, on which were arranged an assortment of weapons—pistols and knives, as well as what looked like lengths of cable. Behind them was a collection of glass bottles, some of which were filled with a bright red liquid. Were those weapons of some sort as well? Mary could not imagine how.
“I’m very glad to see you back!” said Beatrice to Justine and Carmilla. “And I hope your errand was more successful than Mary’s and Catherine’s. They have been complaining that their journey was useless.”
Justine approached the table and looked down at that strange assortment. “I believe so. We discovered that Van Helsing has twenty-four vampire followers—although they more closely resemble acolytes. Unless they were not all present at his unholy mass . . .”
“He would have wanted them all there, to reinforce his power over them,” said Carmilla. “He has placed them in some sort of religious trance, induced by mesmerism.”
“That sounds like something out of Catherine’s stories,” said Mary. “How in the world are we going to fight a bunch of mesmerized vampires?” How would they fight a bunch of vampires, whether mesmerized or not? She had no idea.
“Even I would not have come up with that,” said Catherine. “Spider gods, yes. Mummy curses, certainly. Mesmerized vampires? I doubt it.”
“What about crosses? Or garlic?” Diana was standing in the doorway, with Hóvirág by her side. What in the world had happened to the wolfdog? It was almost completely black with soot. Diana was mostly clean, although she had a long black streak down one of her cheeks and the side of her neck. “Attila is locked in the coal room. You might want to get him out. He’s been pounding on the door for a while.”
“And why would Attila be locked in the coal room, exactly?” asked Mina, who was still standing by the door.
“He said no girl was more clever than a boy. She could be as clever, but she could not be more clever. So I told him we should each allow ourselves to be locked in the coal room, and whoever got out fastest would be the most clever. I went first and got out, easy peasy. He’s probably been in there long enough. I thought if I let him out too soon, he might want to say that boys are more clever again. And then I would have to do something else to convince him.”
“And I take it that is coal dust all over Hóvirág?” said Mina.
“What? Oh, yes. What’s the Hungarian word for coal-flower? I think we should call her that now. She loved rolling around in it.”
Hóvirág let out a plaintive bark.
“Come on, you,” said Mina to the wolfdog. “Let’s get you bathed before you roll on one of the carpets, although I doubt it would hurt any of them much. Diana, you have managed to be a bad influence even on one of the Count’s farkaskutyák. I’ll be back as soon as I get Attila out. Beatrice, could you continue without me?”
“Of course,” said Beatrice. As Mina led the sooty wolfdog out of the room by her collar, Beatrice explained, in a voice we have since come to identify as Beatrice Lecture Voice, “The difficulty in fighting those who have been infected with vampirism is that they are extraordinarily strong and can heal from almost any injury. Knife and bullets wounds can slow them down, but will not kill them. The only ways to truly stop them are decapitation, dismemberment, and burning.”
“What about crosses—,” said Diana again.
“These particular vampires love crosses,” said Carmilla. “And while I personally do not like garlic—I can always taste it in the blood of a regular garlic-eater—it will not harm a vampire.”
“Diana’s suggestion is not as silly as it sounds,” said Beatrice. “As you said, you can taste garlic even in the blood. While I was sitting with Lucinda, I noticed that she had particular sensitivities—to light, and sound, and odors. All these senses are heightened in vampires, and can make them more vulnerable. They are stronger and can heal more quickly, but they are also easier to wound in the places they are most sensitive.”
“See, I was right,” said Diana. “Beatrice says I was right.”
“For example,” continued Beatrice, “Mary, will you help me demonstrate?”
Mary stepped over to where Beatrice was standing. What in the world was she helping to demonstrate? She had no idea. Beatrice picked something up off the table—a metal cylinder that had been hidden behind one of the pistols. She held it to her lips and blew into it. Suddenly, Mary could hear howls from the courtyard. Were those the Count’s wolfdogs?
“What in the world?” she said. What were the wolfdogs responding to?
“That. Was. Awful.” Catherine was holding her hands over her ears.
Justine looked at her as though wondering what had just happened, and Diana said, “What was that all about?” But Carmilla was doubled over, with her hands on her ears as well.
“Forgive me!” said Beatrice with contrition. “I had no idea it would produce such a powerful effect. Carmilla, are you all right—”
“It’s brilliant,” said Carmilla, standing up once more. She took her hands away from her ears. There was blood on her fingers. “Painful, terribly painful—but also brilliant.”
“But what is it?” asked Mary. What were Catherine and Carmilla talking about?
“It is a common dog whistle,” said Beatrice. “I borrowed it from the Count’s groom, who uses it to signal the wolfdogs. They were first invented by Sir Francis Galton to determine the range of hearing in human beings and animals. Human ears cannot hear it—as the rest of you saw, Mary was not affected at all. But those of a dog can—or a cat, or a vampire. A cat can hear sounds higher than a dog, and a vampire, I conjecture, can hear even higher. We can use it to distract and disable Van Helsing’s troops. But those of you with particularly acute hearing w
ill have to carry India-rubber earplugs to protect yourself from its sound.”
“And what are those glass bottles?” asked Justine. “Are they, too, weapons of some sort?”
Beatrice held up one of the bottles, which had an atomizer attached. “These are filled with paprika, the spice commonly used in Hungarian cooking, distilled in alcohol. If you spray it into their eyes, it will burn—and they will be blinded, at least temporarily. When I told Mina what I intended to make, she found these bottles in a perfume store. They will dispense the paprika spray evenly and effectively.”
Carmilla looked at her with respect and a little trepidation. “That is fiendishly clever!”
“And the bottles that do not spray?” said Justine. “They seem to be filled with a clear liquid.”
“That is chloroform,” said Beatrice. “It will also burn on contact, but its primary use is as an inhalant. If you place a handkerchief soaked in it over the nose and mouth, it will render the victim unconscious. The Count allowed me to test a little on him to make certain it would work. As I suspected, vampires are susceptible to its effects, just as they can be shot or stabbed. However, they recover more quickly—you must secure them before they are able to revive.”
“How in the world were you able to make that?” asked Mary. Beatrice had indeed been busy while they were away.
“Mina bought one of the ingredients at a pharmacy. The other is a simple cleaning agent—the butler was able to supply a large bottle. But you must be careful with both of these things—they will harm ordinary human beings as well as those infected with vampirism.”
“I can carry a pistol, right?” said Diana.
“You’ve never even shot one,” said Mary. “Once you’ve learned how to use a pistol safely, then you can carry it into a fight.” The last thing any fight needed was Diana with a firearm! She was as likely to shoot one of them as one of their enemies.
European Travel for the Monstrous Gentlewoman (The Extraordinary Adventures of the Athena Club Book 2) Page 57