The Dracula Chronicles: Bound By Blood - Volume 2

by Shane KP O'Neill

  “I will prove her wrong right this moment,” he beamed. “Follow me. The rest of you can stop idling about here and get about your business.”

  The man followed Wolsey up several flights of stone steps. Wolsey continued on until he reached the courtyard at the very top of the castle. He stopped for a moment to catch his breath. Then he walked over to a gap between two turrets on the side that faced York. He ushered to the man to follow. “Stand beside me,” he ordered him.

  The man stepped up beside him.

  “Look,” Wolsey said, pointing north. “There is York. I have proved the old hag wrong. I can see York.”

  A voice from behind startled him. “She said you might see it, but that you will never set foot in it.”

  He turned around to see Suffolk standing there. Moments later D’Arcy and Percy emerged from the dark shadows behind him.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice trembling.

  None of them answered. It could mean only one thing. They had come to arrest him. Henry had finally given in to the Boleyn family. Through the lies and backbiting he had no doubts that they had concocted charges against him.

  “You have come for me?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Yes, Thomas,” Suffolk nodded. “You are under arrest for high treason.”

  Wolsey felt his knees sag. He barely had the strength to speak. “High treason?”

  “Yes. We are to escort you to London.”

  “If I had served my God as diligently as I did my King, He would not have given me over in my grey hairs.”

  Suffolk shrugged to show that it was not his concern. Wolsey’s words were lost on him.

  Wolsey knew it and sighed in resignation. “So, is it to the Tower?”

  Suffolk nodded again. “It is there you will await trial.”

  England. Leicester Abbey.

  November 1530.

  Wolsey came close to collapsing when he heard the news. Only the man at his side prevented him from doing so. D’Arcy and Percy escorted him back to his room. There they kept watch over him. They decided he could rest for one more night. Then they would begin the journey south.

  He could not sleep at all. Even without his demons he tossed and turned all night. The prophecy had come true. He would never reach York after all.

  They set out at dawn for London. It took them three weeks to arrive at Leicester Abbey. The bad weather made travel slow. The roads were flooded in parts and a swamp in others. As well as that Wolsey’s health had begun to fail him. Suffolk ordered them to take it easy for that reason alone. He could not risk the well being of his prisoner. For his own sake Wolsey had to reach London safely.

  The group did not receive a warm welcome at the abbey. The king was not popular with the clergy, nor his men. This changed when it was realised Wolsey was one of the guests. It did not matter that he was in disgrace with the king. His standing as a cardinal had not changed.

  Suffolk insisted on a guard outside the door to Wolsey’s room. The abbot was dead against this idea. He argued that he could not accept such a thing on his premises. It was clear to see Wolsey was going nowhere on his own. So they agreed to a compromise. Only one sentry would stay outside the door. And that was in case Wolsey should need anything.

  Dracula had tailed them for the last few days. Only when the group reached the abbey did he make his move. He waited long into the night and did not enter until all was quiet. The sentry was fast asleep in a chair. When he heard this he stole inside. His ears told him he would not be disturbed. He had a look around and then dragged the soldier into Wolsey’s room.

  The man awoke at once and the stir he made also woke Wolsey. Before either could react Dracula bit hard into the soldier’s neck. The man struggled, but the vampire held him firm. He clamped a hand across his mouth to keep him quiet.

  Soon Dracula had drunk enough for the man to fall unconscious. He sucked a little more of his blood. When he heard the last trace of a heartbeat he let the body fall to the floor. He did not want to empty the body of its entire supply. It had to be just enough for the soldier to die.

  Wolsey was too terrified to speak. He watched on in horror as the lifeless body of the soldier slumped to the floor. His eyes then moved to the demon that stood at the bottom of the bed. Blood dripped from its chin.

  Dracula laughed quietly at him. The soldier breathed his last. Wolsey trembled all over with fear, his chest tightening. He clutched at it with a hand and gasped for breath. As Dracula walked around to the side of the bed their eyes met for the first time. “You shall not die yet,” he grinned. “Not until I am good and ready.”

  Wolsey did not respond. The look on his face let his visitor know he had recognised him. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak. The words would not come out. Dracula stood over him and waited until Wolsey had composed himself again.

  “You,” the old man said, pointing his finger. “It was always you.”

  Dracula grinned in triumph. “It is true, holy man. I have made it all happen.”

  “So I have you to thank for this?”

  His visitor nodded. “I want you gone. Tonight you shall be.”

  Tears filled Wolsey’s eyes. “Why? Why do you have a need to destroy me?”

  “It is the way of the world,” came a sour reply.

  “I do not understand. I have served the King well.”

  “I want him to split from Rome. You stand in the way of that.”

  “You are afraid he will have a change of heart, I know.”

  His evil glare hinted that was the case. “He is as fickle as the English weather. His mind changes like the wind. I will not let you return to London. This is where you will spend your last moments. That much I can promise you.”

  “What will you do with me?”

  He gazed at the dead soldier. “You will see soon enough.”

  Wolsey looked down at the bed and seemed resigned to his fate. “What will happen to Henry?” was all he could say.

  “Why would you care?”

  Wolsey looked up, his eyes red. “I love him.”

  “Then your love is wasted. Who could care about a man who lets his country suffer for a roll in a bed with a maid?”

  “That is why he needs someone such as I.”

  “You did little to dissuade him. Millions will die in time through his lust.”

  Dracula grinned to show that his prophecy was one that pleased him.

  Wolsey sighed. “I wager that is what you want.”

  “Oh I want much more than that, Thomas.”

  His heart skipped a beat. He looked down to see the dead soldier stir. Wolsey heard it too. But he did not know the source of the noise. Not at first.

  “I want you to go to your grave knowing this,” Dracula said. “Your beloved England will not be a Catholic nation after this day.”

  “Damn you to Hell!” Wolsey cursed him.

  “I am already damned, holy man. But that is my choice. You are damned too and it is I that chooses that fate for you.”

  His words confused Wolsey. But he soon had an idea of what was to come. He saw the hand of the soldier clutch at the blankets on the bed. It dragged them down as the soldier pulled himself up.

  Wolsey gasped with horror when he saw him. The man’s face had grown distorted. He no longer looked human. His skin was rough and blemished. His cheeks pulsated and throbbed. Two grotesque fangs curled down over his lower lip.

  Dracula found it hard to contain his excitement. It was an idea that had been with him a long time. Now he had realised it. In spite of what Mihnea had done with Iaxici, he had created the first true vampire drone.

  The drone glared at Wolsey. It hissed before turning to look at its creator. The hunger ate at it inside. But it waited until Dracula gave a nod for it to act.

  In a flash it leapt at the cardinal. The holy man fell back on the bed as the drone pinned him down. He tried to fight it off, but could not. Saliva dropped down from the monster’s mout
h onto his face. He pushed against it with both hands, but was fighting a losing battle.

  “Holy man, you too are damned for all eternity.”

  Dracula knew he could not bite Wolsey himself. To do so would mean instant death. Wolsey’s blood would be like acid in his veins. For that reason he needed to find another way. He knew he could do this if he drank enough of a mortal’s blood to kill him. This would leave the virus from his own blood in that of the mortal. The source of this came from Lucifer. It meant Dracula did not have to initiate the change. The dead mortal would come back to life on its own. Mihnea had done the very same thing. His son told him as much.

  He grinned, as he eyed the drone. Not enforcing the change had many effects. The drone had not drunk from him. That meant it had lost some of the functions it once had. Much of its brain had seized. Death had damaged it beyond repair. Only the blood of its creator could restore it. The power of speech was gone. At the time of death it did not disembowel. That left its internal organs intact. The result was the discolouring and bulging of the skin. It was a vampire, but a primitive version.

  The drone differed in other ways. It had not drunk from its maker. This would have one other drastic effect. It could never quench its first thirst. The blood of its maker was all that could do that. That meant it would always have an insatiable need for blood. Human blood and flesh could only ease it for a short time. Then it would need more. It would continue to satisfy its cravings until it finally rotted and died. Without the blood of its maker it could not enjoy immortality.

  It eyed Wolsey. The need to devour the holy man whole burned within. It did not know of the dangers. Even then its needs would still have driven it on. The virus would pass from it to Wolsey. If it perished before killing him, Dracula still got what he wanted. Wolsey too would become a drone. The virus inside him would then dissolve him to nothing when mixed with his consecrated blood. His blackened soul would make the quick journey to Hell. There it could never escape, not for all eternity.

  The drone drove its fangs deep into the softness of his neck. Wolsey cried out in agony as it ripped at his flesh. It tore the artery and other tissues. Wolsey was barely conscious when it dived at him a second time. It bit out a large chunk from beneath his ear and wolfed it down.

  Wolsey no longer put up a fight. His blood sprayed all over the bed as the drone continued to rip chunks out of his neck and throat. Dracula had to dive to one side. He did not want Wolsey’s blood anywhere near him, not even on his skin.

  It drove its long claws into Wolsey’s face. They raked his cheeks and the skin on his forehead. With its thumb it punctured one of his eyeballs. The orb popped out and hung against the side of his face. With amazing speed the drone lunged at it and gathered it in with its tongue, swallowing the orb whole. The soft jelly dissolved in its gullet. The drone then gasped, as the mush eased down into its belly.

  The drone suddenly cried out. The cry was that of a wounded and dying animal. It moved away from the bed. The dripping blood on its chin began to sizzle. The drone grabbed at it as it burned. Its lower lip came away in its clawed hand.

  It jumped from the bed in a panic. Crying even louder now it ripped clumps of hair from its head. Steam oozed from its ears and nose. Very soon that turned to smoke. The drone’s flesh pulsated and bulged. The smoke started to billow out of every pore.

  Its skin began to crack all over. Every vein in its body burned through. Wolsey’s blood had to find a way out and it broke through the drone’s flesh. As it did so it caused hundreds of tiny explosions.

  With each outlet the blood found it caught fire on the drone’s skin. The flames soon merged into one blazing mass. The heat was so intense that Dracula had to step away. The drone’s eyes popped like eggs falling against the ground. Blind now the drone staggered about the room. It clutched at its face, its hands melting almost at once into its head.

  Dracula sensed what was to come and put an arm up to shield his face. The drone erupted in one huge explosion. A million pieces sprayed the walls and ceiling. Even then the charred fragments still sizzled against the cold stone. Soon the bits of the drone smouldered away to ash. It left a sharp acrid odour in the air.

  Wolsey groaned from the bed. Dracula did not realise he was still alive. In the last few moments he seemed to have aged another ten years. His face looked deathly pale. Long red streaks covered it where the drone had clawed him. Sweat oozed out of his pores. It trickled into his one remaining eye, turning it red in parts.

  He tried to speak, but no words came out. Speech was beyond him. He reached out feebly, but his hand dropped again at his side. Soon he began to choke. He struggled for breath, as his lungs finally collapsed. He endured another thirty agonising seconds before his heart gave out and he died.

  Dracula had seen enough. He had no desire to hang around. Taking one last look at Wolsey he left the abbey. The night smelt good. He was glad to be out in the crisp air once again.

  The racket woke everyone inside. They had all heard the drone’s cries. The king’s men rushed to the room. They found the door ajar and no sign of the soldier.

  Suffolk was the last of the three to arrive on the scene. He found his friends stooped over and being sick. The images inside the room caused him to recoil in horror. He saw the remains of the soldier smouldering all over the walls. The smell was awful and forced him to put a hand to his nose.

  He walked over to where Wolsey lay on the bed. The cardinal showed no signs of life. He placed his fingers inside the gaping wound to make sure. The old bastard is dead he thought.

  Suffolk knew this was not good for him. He had to bring Wolsey back alive to stand trial. How could he ever explain this? He knew he might end up taking his place, despite his great favour with the king. The thought of losing his head filled him with dread. But that was the reality he faced.

  The artery throbbed and expelled a small gush of blood. With a quick jolt he snatched his hand away. His friends glanced up when he cried out. He stared down at his hand as though his fingers were about to fall off. The others saw the blood. It led them to think too that Wolsey was dead.

  A hand grabbed him by the wrist. He tried to pull away, but it held him firm in its grasp. He looked down and realised the hand belonged to Wolsey. His heart leapt in his chest. As soon as his throat cleared he let out a terrified scream.

  D’Arcy and Percy got to their feet. They drew their swords and walked to the foot of the bed. Wolsey released his hold on Suffolk and sat up.

  They looked down at him in disbelief. Saliva drooled from the corners of his mouth. His thirst had already begun to build. He eyed the two men before him with real menace. Suffolk remained at his side, paralysed to the spot with fear. Wolsey parted his lips and hissed at Percy. All three of the men saw the fangs that extended down over his chin.

  Suffolk seized his chance to move away. In the same moment Wolsey rose into the air until he floated in an upright position a few inches over the bed. To all three of them he seemed to move with no effort. He grinned evilly at them. The speed of his actions prompted them all to step back. They stood and faced him with swords poised. Suffolk could not believe his eyes. It looked like Wolsey, but it was not he.

  Wolsey relished the power in his limbs. The smell of blood drove him crazy. He had to have it. All of it. He raised his arms into the air. His clawed fingers curled in a threatening pose.

  Suddenly he groaned, as his skin began to smoke. He looked down at his hands in horror. The consecrated blood in his veins had started to reject the virus in his body. The white of his remaining eye turned blood red. His veins ripped through his skin and rippled like the roots of a tree pulled out of the ground.

  He put his hands to his face in a vain hope that it might ease the pain. Instead his fingers melted into his flesh, the phalanges fused to his jawbone.

  Every man present made a dash for the door. Suffolk stopped there and turned around. He watched as Wolsey’s feet burst into flames. They ignited the bed at the same time. Th
e cardinal screamed in agony when the flames engulfed him. He dropped to his knees and clawed wildly at the air.

  His blood grew so hot his veins finally exploded. It flew like hot acid through the air. A monk had stood near to Suffolk to pray for the ailing cardinal. It hit him full in the face. He dropped his bible and screamed.

  Suffolk caught him in his arms when he fell back. The liquid had scalded him and his body trembled from the shock. Already the monk’s face glowed bright red and had begun to blister.

  Some of the other monks came to his aid. They picked him up and carried him away. Suffolk moved a little further out through the door. He stayed there with his eyes still trained on Wolsey.

  He heard the crunch as Wolsey’s bones dissolved to dust. As soon as they had gone the body imploded. The vacuum it created snuffed out the fire in an instant. A mess of charred flesh and hot ash remained. It burned a hole clean through the bed before falling in a pile on the floor.

  Suffolk looked on as the furniture in the room rocked and toppled over. The bible the monk had dropped rose into the air. It tore down the middle and shredded before his very eyes. The room fell silent once more. Only the foul stench in the air remained as evidence of what had just gone on in there.

  Percy broke the short silence. He bent over and retched on an empty stomach. Suffolk looked to the abbot, who remained outside the room. “What has happened here must die with us. No one is to ever know.”

  The abbot was still too shocked to speak. He managed to nod his head to indicate he would concur with the demand. Suffolk looked down at the remains of Wolsey on the floor. “This room must be cleaned and the remains buried. The King must think Wolsey died a natural death.”

  D’Arcy drove home the point. “If not we could all suffer the consequences.”

  The men set about the task at once. Amid the chaos Suffolk thought back to Mother Shipton. Her prophecy had rung true at last.

  England. The countryside near London.

  December 1532.

  Dracula knew there was little that could stand in his way now. Wolsey was dead. His was the only voice that could turn Henry against him. Thomas More had taken up the office of Lord Chancellor, but had been preoccupied mostly with resisting the growth of the Reformation. His opposition to Henry’s petition had seen him lose many friends and eventually he resigned his office.