The leering and shining-white face of a passing conductor interrupted my thoughts. “Beware ’a card sharps on this train,” he intoned.
What if they were on this train? What if the portly gentleman had been a decoy to keep us from seeing someone else who stepped upon the train farther down the platform? It was impossible to use my rail key to lock us in our compartment, for we were forced to share it with other people. I say other people, and yet I did not know. One was a woman furiously doing petit point, her hands moving like the spinnerets of a spider. The other was a gentleman sitting and reading a small religious tract. We sat down uneasily, I keeping my hands on the satchel containing the virus, and Dr. von Neefe keeping her eyes on our fellow passengers.
It was on the train that I began to entertain several troublesome thoughts. With all their superior knowledge and worldwide exchange of information, why did the vampire have to resort to stealing scientific discoveries? Was it that they lacked the human passion necessary to love investigation for its own sake and could not carry through with the boring mechanics of discovery itself? After all, des Esseintes was a great mind, but in the final analysis he was a dilettante. Or was it an even more basic component of their being? Just as they were incapable of producing their own blood, was it necessary for them to vampirize knowledge as well? The second thing that troubled me was the fact that they were bent upon destroying the human race. Didn’t they need us, not only to feed upon, but also, given their inability to reproduce, to ultimately replenish their ranks? One possibility was that they felt their household servants would fulfill all of their requirements. Even more sobering was the possibility that they intended to establish farms, domesticating us, as it were, to supply all of their culinary and reproductive needs.
At the first stop outside of London we waited until all of the disembarking passengers had gotten off the train before we stepped down. We saw, or at least recognized, no one. Every stranger’s glance filled us with dread. We changed for a train headed toward Portsmouth. It was out of our way, but we hoped that if we hadn’t been followed we might be somewhat safer taking a more indirect route. Every landmark outside the speeding train was portentous: The moonlit fields, the sleeping villages, every black town and glowing furnace underlined the fact that we were in their time. At long last the first faint amethyst traces of dawn enshrouded the horizon. When we reached the ferry the sun was shining in full. For a while we were safe.
Or were we? I could not help feeling that we had gotten away too easily, that somehow the vampire knew our every move and were just biding their time, knowing full well that when the moment came they would act swiftly. Did they have a group of human followers who were assisting them? Considering the unassuming and dull-witted human servants we had encountered thus far, I thought it unlikely. The vampire, like the English with their dogs, seemed to prefer stupid and obedient servitors. However,, I realized this notion was born of a desperate hope. If there was a human alliance after us as well, all was lost. There would be no hour of safety. The terrible truth was that we had to consider every contingency. I still could not dispel the awful feeling that through some unknown means they knew exactly where we were.
From the ferry we sent out a battery of wires. Several to Dr. Leberecht Weber elaborating upon the seriousness of what was transpiring and begging for some news of Ursula’s safety and whereabouts. I bitterly regretted that I had allowed Ursula to attempt such a thing, and was ripped apart with worry. We instructed Dr. Weber to wire his reply to the train station at Le Havre addressed to an assumed name. We sent other wires to various colleagues of Dr. Weber’s and Dr. von Neefe’s throughout Europe—all members of the network of vampire hunters.
As I have said, the network consisted largely of scholars and a few wealthy eccentrics. As such, they were little more than a network of correspondents. It would be exceedingly difficult to organize them into any effective body. To begin, most of them held the view that Dr. von Neefe had held, that the world of the vampire was a realm of enchantment. It would be a task in itself to awaken in them any awareness of the true dangers of the forces now amassing. Second, even if we did succeed in obtaining their support, there was little they could do. They were ardent in their studies, but their jurisdiction was largely academic. They had no real means of countering an enemy from within.
All of these obstacles weighed down heavily upon both our shoulders, but the weight was especially telling on Dr. von Neef. She had spent her life scrutinizing the vampire without recognizing what she must now understand to be their true nature. I suspected she felt extreme guilt over trying to inhibit our escape from des Esseintes’s, and she was now pouring all of her concentration into a desperate attempt to amend her past blindnesses. She was certain Dr. Weber would believe her, and with the aid of his academic stature he might convince some of their other colleagues. But most of her hope she put into a società based at the Museo Gregoriano in Rome. The società was a small organization of fanatics devoted to the opinion that since time immemorial the vampire had been conspiring to bring about the end of human civilization. Until now they had been generally disdained by the rest of the network as misguided zealots. Little was known of their activity, save that there hung about them the same aura that hung over many Italian secret societies, tales of assassinations and secret handshakes. Such gossip had been viewed as infamous and inconsequential until now. The change in opinion wore grievously in Dr. von Neefe’s countenance. The time of the società had come.
Throughout the morning we gave different porters a series of wires to send to the Museo Gregoriano. We entreated that all replies be wired to the Stazione Termini in Florence and left under a fraudulent name. If possible, it was our passionate hope that someone from the società might even meet us at the station and somehow assist us in our final attempt to find Camille. We offered a password that would enable both parties to identify each other with certainty.
When we reached Le Havre we found a number of wires from Dr. Weber waiting for us. Expectedly, they were tormented and confused, but through the terse fragments of the mode of communication we pieced a coherent picture. Ursula had followed Niccolo to Florence, where he had hired a carriage and vanished into the night. He had headed west, toward the seacoast. She had inquired at the stables where the carriage had been hired and discovered its destination was the tiny village of Massa Marittima.
Massa Marittima. The meaning of that information did not have to be explained to us. Somewhere near the village was Lodovico’s villa, close enough to Florence that he could have trafficked with the Medici, but secluded enough within the rolling green hills of Tuscany that he could live out his centuries in privacy. It was from there that he was orchestrating everything. It was there that Niccolo had returned, and it was there that I knew we would find little Camille. In another wire Dr. Weber told us Ursula had proceeded to Massa Marittima and was making further investigations. Were there any wealthy padrones who were only seen at night? Had any of the major landowners acquired a reputation for being reclusive or eccentric?
In Dr. Weber’s last wire he advised us that we had one hope. He offered the grim and reluctant suggestion that Dr. von Neefe had already anticipated, that we contact the dread società in Rome and beg for their assistance. From Le Havre we sent off two more wires, one requesting that Dr. Weber make Ursula remain in Massa Marittima until we reached her, and the other a reiteration of our plea to the società at the Museo Gregoriano. Again we requested the replies to these be made at the Stazione Termini in Florence.
Once aboard the train we locked ourselves in our compartment and tried to get some sleep.
It was high in the Pennine Alps that the train stopped unexpectedly. At first we thought it was fallen snow upon the tracks, but the conductor soon put that hope to rest. It was politiques. Several black sleighs had appeared in the mountain pass and some mysterious gentlemen were talking with the engine driver. We were speechless. I looked out the window to try to determine what was happening. It
had been dark for several hours. A light snow was falling in the moonlight, and beyond, at the head of the black train, stood a number of dark figures speaking and gesturing with the engine driver. On our side of the train most of the passengers had opened their windows and were looking out. In the distance the figures turned and scanned the passenger cars. I did not have to be told what they were looking for. Could they spot our faces among the crowd? Did their inhuman senses reach out and discern which hearts had stopped?
I don’t know what they said and did. Perhaps they simply bribed the engine driver. Perhaps they had somehow procured the necessary papers to intimidate him, but somehow they gained access to the train. As we watched in horror three of them boarded and the train lurched forward once again.
We were trapped. We could not leap from the train in the middle of the frozen mountains. We had no choice but to sit and wait for them to come to us. How had they found us? I looked at the map and saw that there were three probable train routes we might have taken without going hundreds of miles out of our way. Was it possible that they had watched each pass and stopped each train as it went through?
We heard voices coming from the front of our car. They were here. In French I heard the conductor tell them they had no authority. A reply, insidiously calm, told him they had no intention of bothering the passengers, but were simply making a few observations. There was a rustling of papers, and by bribe or intimidation they quieted the conductor. He shuffled off.
“Pretend to be sleeping,” I whispered to Dr. von Neefe. The footsteps approached. She had no time to argue, but turned away from the door and pulled the traveling rug tightly around her. I dropped to the floor and inched toward the door, holding the canvas Batchel firmly at my side. From the scuffing of the carpet it was apparent they were at the compartment directly adjacent to us. I looked at the windows of our compartment directly above me. The door was locked and the curtains were drawn, but as is the way with trains they never quite covered the panes. A figure loomed at the crack.
I held my breath.
From my vantage I had only a fragmentary and distorted image of our pursuer In the dim light it was difficult to tell, but he seemed swarthy. Was it Hatim? One of the Punjabs? I could only see the black of his hair and the jet black of his Russian sable collar. Eyes inspected the room. Dr. von Neefe’s breathing continued relaxedly,as she pretended to be unaware of the intruder. From the shifting of his weight it seemed that he was about to continue on when something else piqued his senses. I felt a rush in my spine. Did he see the quiver? Was it disturbed, betraying my exact location in the room? He returned to the narrow crack between the curtains and the door frame. My lungs were about to burst. And then I realized. Even if he did not perceive the quiver he could sense my presence. Just as Niccolo had been able to hear the rabbit’s pulse within the glass cupola, so this vampire could hear the beating of two hearts within the compartment.
The porcelain handle turned slowly in its collar.
On discovering it was fastened he paused. What was he going to do? My temples pounded. He might be able to hear my heart, but the constant rocking and droning of the train might make it difficult for him to discern where in the compartment I was hiding. Suddenly, more voices appeared in the car. The conductor had apparently returned with two of the green-liveried porters. I heard him tell the intruders in French that the chef de train wanted to speak with them in the conductor’s car. The man standing before our compartment refused. The conductor grew annoyed and insisted.
I could stand it no longer. Uncontrollably, I expelled my breath. From the sudden silence beyond it was obvious every one had heard me gasp for air, including the vampire in the Russian sable. “Very well,” he told the conductor. Two of them would go with him to see the chef de train, but one of them would remain behind. He made some pompous excuse about securities investigators and stolen property, but the conductor would hear none of it. His authority had been challenged and he was livid. What happened next I am not sure. One of the porters cried out. There was the sound of a scuffle.
“Through the window!” Dr. von Neefe cried as I leaped up from my hiding place.
There was the distinctive sound of a body crashing to the carpet. I recalled des Esseintes’s mentioning that he was well versed in many ancient arts and could render one unconscious with the most delicate application of pressure, but there was no time to confirm my assumption. She flung the window open and at the same instant we could hear footsteps crashing toward the door of the compartment. It is said that people in a blind panic have been known to perform feats of impossible strength and dexterity, that men have lifted huge blocks of 8tone off their fellow workers, and it must be true, for the adrenaline coursing through our bodies enabled us to act without regard to danger of human limitation. Incredibly, she climbed out into the frozen rush of air and grasped something above the sash. She pulled herself upward. I heard the door being kicked effortlessly to bits as I followed. I slipped the canvas satchel inside my jacket. When I was out I saw that Dr. von Neefe had somehow managed to clamber to the top of the speeding train. The wind tore at us. She reached down to assist me up and as I slowly reached the sash I saw the remains of the door come slamming down inside the compartment. I saw a flash of black coining for me as I continued to pull myself up, and a deathly white hand in black sable reached madly for my dangling leg. I made it to the top just beyond the creature’s reach.
It was a nightmare. They had to be desperate to be willing to act so boldly and without regard to the consequences of their insanity. The train sped on over a ledge of mountain with a steep gorge beneath us menacingly on our right. One of them was coming through the window after us. Snow ripped by us in the darkness as we heedfully made our way toward the back of the treacherously rocking train. We finally reached a smoking platform between two of the cars. I glanced back and saw two of them hunched over like cats and following in furious pursuit. They were less than a car’s length behind us. We dropped down to the smoking platform and burst through the door to the next car.
The contrast from clawing through the dark and cold and literally fighting for our lives to what we entered next was galvanizing. Inside was a splendid Italianate dining saloon. The tables were covered with fine linen and were scintillant with silver and crystal. The walls were richly paneled, and handsomely uniformed waiters scurried to and fro over the mock-Jacobean carpet. The dining car was crowded and all eyes were upon us as we raced through toward the next car. Before we had scarcely reached the exit we heard the sound of the door at the opposite end of the saloon being thrown open, and the people in the car gasped at the force employed by our pursuer. The third vampire had caught up with us.
Where was the chef de train? Surely word of the disturbance had reached him and he would be here soon. In desperation I pulled an opulently decked serving cart from one of the stunned waiters and shoved it in the vampire’s path behind us. Another gasp rose from the crowd as the diners nearest us knocked over tables and chairs to get out of the way. We fled to the next car.
By now the other two vampire had reached the dining saloon and were also right on our heels. We passed through a second-class car, and then another, causing a swarm of faces to gasp and turn. We ran in mindless fear until we neared the end of the train and passed through a luggage car. Where could we hide? No matter where we paused, as soon as our pursuers caught up with us their acute senses would be able to pinpoint our location.
Our commotion caused something else. Barking. Suddenly, the crowded luggage car was filled with the barking of many dogs. In the blue moonlight coming in from the icy landscape I saw cage after cage filled with sleek canine forms. Greyhounds. Racing greyhounds on their way to Rome.
“Behind the cages!” Dr. von Neefe exclaimed. We scampered over one of the cages and dropped to the floor. The door to the luggage car slid open violently.
I understood her reasoning at once. Amid so many conflicting smells and heartbeats the senses of the vampire might b
e confused. We held ourselves close to the floor, as still as rocks, as three sets of footsteps entered the room. The dogs continued to bark.
Through the mesh of the cage I saw the bottom of a Russian sable coat sweep by. Then all three figures stopped and stood silently. The clicking of the points gently resounded from the tracks below. I noticed some of the dogs had stopped barking, and in the moonlight I could see that the greyhound in the cage adjacent to us was flaring its nostrils. It was taking in the myriad of scents that filled the car... sifting them... reading them. I did not have to see their faces to know the vampire beyond were doing the same.
Our ruse seemed to be working, for one of the vampire took a step to continue.
“No, listen,” commanded the same voice.
A flickering of shadows passed quickly through the room. In the distance the whistle blew.
“There are two human heartbeats in this room,” said the voice. There was a pause of several moments and then the other two padded toward the opposite end of the luggage car. They began to search among the trunks. Each scraping, each heavy thud meant they were drawing closer to our hiding place. It was inevitable that they would find us. There was no place to run.
“Dr. Gladstone,” addressed the voice unexpectedly, “there is no escape. Why don’t you make it easier on yourself and just come out?”
I remained silent.
The other two figures pulled out one of the cages just a few feet down from us and shuffled around behind it. The greyhound snarled savagely.
“We will not harm you,” the voice murmured placidly.
They moved one of the trunks next to us. It grazed the bottom of my boot, but I dared not withdraw it. Dr. von Neefe looked at me with horror.
The Delicate Dependency: A Novel of the Vampire Life Page 38