Powers of Darkness
Page 15
My mind raced as I hastened to the closet where my travel clothes were hanging; I hadn’t opened it for days.
Everything was gone—not so much as an umbrella had been left behind!
I stood thunderstruck. How had this happened, and for what purpose? The first thought that came to mind was to hurry to the Count, report the theft, and ask him to take immediate action in pursuit of the thief. But when I considered it further, I thought it wiser not to do so.
No one walks around these rooms without the Count’s knowledge and consent; not even the Tatars would dare commit such brazen theft right under the nose of the Master of the House. I don’t suspect the old blind woman;250 neither she nor the Tatars would bother to take my papers, so long as they’d had a chance to steal other things of greater value. My notecase contains expensive items made of precious silver and crystals; in my pocketbook, there is still a bunch of Austrian banknotes—a true find for greedy fingers—and an exquisite cigar case lies right next to the place where the now stolen papers had been. All of these items have been left undisturbed, and so it can be deduced that this was no ordinary thief wanting to steal from my suitcase, but someone who specifically wished to obtain my letters of recommendation and the other documents I’d had with me during my journey. Someone who didn’t care at all about money or valuables.
I decided to behave as if nothing had happened—but why have these things been stolen?
I doubt that anybody but the Count himself has done this. But it’s hard to understand what he should want with my passport or letters of recommendation, for even if he went to England, he could obtain both these things in his own name.
The purpose can only be to prevent me from getting back home or escaping this place.
Even if I manage to get out of the castle, it will be difficult for me to traverse across Europe in my everyday clothes, and without a passport. I will be considered a fugitive or a vagabond! – – –
6 JUNE
GOD ONLY KNOWS WHAT’S HAPPENING HERE. IN THIS part of the castle where I’m detained, a deathly hush always rules; never does one hear even the smallest of footsteps in the corridors, nor any voice resounding in the old vaults. But now the harsh, raw voices of the Tatars boom in from the courtyard, their fires burning into the night. I hear a clamor of shovels and iron picks, seemingly coming from the undercroft. I have asked the Count what’s going on, but he only replied with some absurd answer.
Among the group of Tatars I have noticed several men of a different stock—the same I saw in the temple vault: men who are more like apes than humans. But it seems as if the Tatars are on quite friendly terms with these men. The Tatars are rather good-looking;251 some of the women are even eye-catching. I’m inclined to believe that the Dracula clan can trace its origin to members of both these groups.
8 JUNE
THIS MORNING I WAS ROUSED FROM SLEEP AROUND nine o’clock252 by some raucous noise outside. I leapt to my feet and hurried into the dining room. Looking out of the window, I saw what was happening: four big transport wagons—like the ones used by the farmers in this region—had arrived in the courtyard.253 They were loaded with large boxes made from whole wooden planks. The Tatars unloaded them from the wagons and stacked them together in the courtyard. The crates appeared to be empty.
There were six strong-looking horses for each carriage, and the drivers were all dressed in the colorful national Slovak attire. They wore wide-brimmed felt hats, high shoes and sheepskin coats, and they held long staves in their hands.
The Slovaks stood a bit aside from the Tatars, and I could see from their faces that they greatly marvelled at the castle and its high towers.
I was glad for their arrival and thought Providence had sent them to me as one small favor. I ran down the stairs as fast as I could, convinced that the gate to the courtyard would be open, but it was locked as solidly as usual. I rushed back up to the window and saw that the Slovaks were still waiting in the courtyard; I signalled them to come closer, trying to convey that I wanted to speak to them. I wanted to give them a letter, which I would go write in the library without delay. At first they looked at me, took counsel, and then asked the Tatars something. The same man who had taken my other letters walked up to them and told them something, at which they all started to laugh. After that I couldn’t persuade them to speak to me. No matter how I called or beckoned them, they wouldn’t even listen, but merely turned away.
After the wagons had been emptied, I saw the very same man—who appeared to be the chief of the Tatars—give the Slovak farmers money, whereupon they took their horses and left. When I realized that it was a lost cause, I gave up any further attempts to make contact.
10 JUNE
MY STAY HERE IS BECOMING INCREASINGLY OMINOUS. This evening the Count and I sat together discussing political news from the outside world, which had come with the arrival of fresh newspapers during the day (although I haven’t yet received any letters). The Count has a sound grasp of all events relating to politics, but I struggle to guess which political party he follows. In some aspects he seems to be very liberal, like a downright revolutionary man—but in other points his views are so very outdated that he may well be far more conservative than most other reactionary people. He spends much time thinking about socialists and anarchists, and he often expresses his peculiar views on both of these political movements.
“They are good people; capable people,” he said when we recently spoke about an anarchist-organized riot, one condemned and repudiated by the entire educated world.254 He rubbed his palms together and fire seemed to burn from his eyes.
“I don’t see what you are driving at, Sir Count,” I said. “The power of the mob could never be something you’d be pleased with.”
“The mob—those dull-witted common people—will never gain any power,” he said, “and will never be more than an instrument in the hands of the strong, who rule with the masses and over the masses. But only a very few understand the wisdom that lies in this truth. Oh, you Englishmen are so proud of your political freedom255 and progress—as you call it—but there are only two or three men among you who fully understand what progress is, and that this freedom for the masses is its worst enemy!”− − −
I have often heard him talk like this, and it has triggered quite a few thoughts in me; yet I have not been able to understand what the gist of the matter is, as whenever I’ve attempted to delve further into the question, he has always been evasive, giving me answers that make no sense, thus leaving me no wiser than before.
We sat together for a long time, and as he left he wished me a good night. I had a very difficult time sleeping and got up at the crack of dawn, opened the window, and started reading, hoping I would doze off.
The mornings are nebulous here in the mountains, obscuring my view into the valley below. Atop the castle the sun now reddened the towers, yet the fog lay like a thin veil on the walls underneath, becoming denser towards the bottom. I began to observe this phenomenon, when suddenly I saw the same scene I had witnessed the night the young girl must have been slain. But because of the brume, I could hardly discern this monstrous fellow, nor could I clearly see the ledge of the wall on which he was moving.
Soon I saw another person moving along the ledge. He was much smaller, and as he came closer I saw that he was finding his way along the ridge by gradually inching forward—with the gaping abyss right next to him.
I stepped back from the window, trying to watch him more carefully.
The man was wearing my travel clothes! He seemed so similar to me in size and height, and in all other aspects, that it was as if I was looking at my own ghost.256 Because he was looking downward I couldn’t clearly distinguish his face, but I could see he was young and dark-complected;257 I could tell that he was determined and possessed nerves of steel from the very fact that he traversed this narrow and dangerous path.
I watched him until he climbed through a window at the west tower of the castle.258
I n
ow realized that whoever had stolen my clothes must have a specific purpose for them, and I wondered what that could be. It’s obvious they have been taken to prevent my escape, but surely there must be more behind it. This man, dressed in my suit, is probably going to appear in my place—or I in his place—in order to create the impression I was somewhere that I wasn’t at this or that time. The ridge—which is hardly two feet wide—must lead to an outside staircase, allowing one to descend the castle wall. That way, one could get in and out of the castle from the rear, even when all the doors are closed and the drawbridge is up.
Now I understand why the Count doesn’t wish the windows to be open after sundown. He doesn’t want to risk me detecting the truth about his goings-on. Had I listened to him, I wouldn’t have had the faintest idea about any of this.
What I have discovered thus far appears rather sinister—I don’t know what misdeed I may be accused of should someone have impersonated me.
If the Count suddenly decides to get rid of me—and I suspect that I have seen and heard far too much for him to let me out of here alive—then he already has a plan at hand to protect himself against any suspicion and prosecution.
Suppose that Hawkins or Wilma convinced the Foreign Office and the Ambassador in Vienna to look into the matter—and suppose that officials were sent here to investigate—what would be the outcome?
They would learn that a young Englishman, about six feet tall, of dark appearance and dressed in a greyish travelling suit, had been on a trip to Transylvania during the first days of May, and then took a carriage to the Borgo Pass, where the Count had sent a driver to pick him up. Letters sent by Thomas Harker would have arrived later, saying that he had reached the castle and had been welcomed there in a most friendly manner. The Count would confirm this, and some time later, Harker would have written that he’d decided to depart on a particular day. Finally he would write from Bistritz, saying he is on his way—and then nothing more will have been heard from him. The Count won’t know anything. Enquiries into the castle’s surrounding countryside will reveal that Harker had been spotted, but other than that, no one has a clue …
The only solution is for me to escape, but it’s unlikely I will manage it. – – –
Fjallkonan #49 | 12 December 1900
13 JUNE
I SAW HIM AGAIN LAST NIGHT, JUST BEFORE SUNRISE. HE went the same way as before, yet I still couldn’t see where he came from. Once I find out where he exits I shall try to examine the tower—even though I loathe the idea of wandering through the many corridors of this castle again.
16 JUNE
AT LAST I HAVE SEEN HIM BOTH LEAVING AND RETURNING. I’d decided to stay awake all night if need be, and so I told the Count that I was unusually tired, as I had worked more than normal that day. He had no objections, so we parted after I finished my dinner and I went to my room.259 There I extinguished the light and sat by the window, which I had opened completely—it was a bright, moonlit night.
I didn’t have to wait long. Soon after eleven o’clock I heard a rustling sound, and when I looked carefully out the window I saw a man creeping on the stone ledge outside the castle walls, apparently coming from the western tower and disappearing near the tower to the east. I then wrapped a blanket around me—and bided my time.
I waited for a long time and eventually fell asleep right where I sat. When I woke up at the break of dawn I thought the night had been wasted. It was nearly five o’clock and had become daylight; he must have returned a long time ago. But just as I thought this I noticed something moving down below, so I grabbed my spyglass. Yes, there he was! But even with the help of the lenses, I couldn’t see how he managed to climb up the steep wall. There had to be some footholds, slits carved into the walls—but it would also require strong nerves and a calm mind to be able to clamber in such a way. Yes! There are indeed footholds carved into the wall! This means I have now found a way to escape from here—and that is the most important thing. He suddenly disappeared at the eastern tower.
17 JUNE
YESTERDAY THE COUNT TOLD ME THAT HE WOULD BE away from home all day, and I used the opportunity to explore the eastern tower.260
As all the other routes were barred, I had to go up to the portrait gallery. Physically, I haven’t been up there since I received that kiss in the flash of lightning, but in my thoughts and fantasies I’ve visited that floor often, which is why, with all my might, I’ve avoided actually going up there.261 I’d concluded that this was her home and that she would be able to overpower me in it.
Still, I’ve only seen her at dusk or at night. During the daytime I’ve never met her, nor have I felt the desires that attract me to her.
So I was not afraid to go up to the top floor now.
The sun shone through the dusty window panes, bathing the paintings in the gallery in daylight. But I didn’t dare look at them, for at the same moment as I opened the door, I felt as if the lady in the large portrait on the other side of the room were rising up, spreading her arms out towards me. I hurried through the hall and another series of rooms, all decorated and furnished in a style common during the days of Napoleon I. Finally I reached a winged door that I guessed would lead to the tower. It wasn’t fastened, but the lock was stiff with rust.
Upon entering I saw a circular room with a bed in the center. It was a large, colorful bed with a canopy over its headboard. Looking up to the baldachin, one could see a portrait of Amor with his bow. The room’s ceiling was painted in clouds—like the sky in spring—with playful Cupids peeking out from behind the woolpacks. It was as if I were in the bedroom of the goddess Venus herself.
Wanting to see whether anyone had slept in it recently, I moved towards the bed, but I immediately saw that a thick layer of dust had settled on the silk duvet and that cobwebs262 covered the headboard. A full lifetime or more must have passed since anyone had slept in this bed. On the yellow pillow was a dark stain that once must have been as red as blood. Surely someone had lost their life here when that blood flowed from the pillow onto the floor—where a black blotch bears witness to a crime committed a long time ago.
I have no doubt that this was where the jealous husband took his cruel vengeance on his beautiful wife, who was completely in his power. “No one saw or heard anything; nobody dared to ask anything. She was lying dead in her bed and that was all that people knew. She was dressed in the clothes she had worn in her portrait, and then placed in her coffin. She rests in the chapel, where most members of the House of Dracula rest, but as you see, my friend, she will always remain beautiful as ever”—the Count once told me.
I thought I could hear the Count’s voice saying this, and memories of the things I had experienced since came to mind. – – –
I hurried to a window and opened it. It was hundreds of feet up from here to the ground—and this was probably the window from which the Countess’s lover had jumped.
Beneath this window lay a gorge with a foaming waterfall. I tried to calm myself and went to the window on the other side of the room, located next to the rear facade of the castle.263 From there I could clearly see which way the man had taken to the other night.
I had my spyglass with me, and when I leaned out I saw footholds—barely visible to the naked eye—carved into the wall. I also discovered iron hooks, which were obviously intended to be held on to. By following this route, one could apparently reach the ledge on the wall where I had seen the man make his way. Now I just have to find out how to get to this ledge from the rooms I occupy, and I hope—with God’s help—that I will succeed.
19 JUNE
ONLY GOD KNOWS WHETHER I’LL EVER MANAGE TO GET out of here alive. I can’t even put down in writing which of my suspicions is most urgent,264 but it seems to me that in these past few weeks I’ve seen the danger that looms over humanity—to which most people are utterly unaware. But this menace is of such nature that all people of goodwill must begin the fight against it, regardless of which creed or country they belong to.
I EMBARKED ON A NEW EXPEDITION YESTERDAY. LAST NIGHT when the Count told me that he would have to be away from home again all day, he asked me to sort a number of documents and books he wanted to take with him to London, and to make a directory of all these items. Upon entering the library I found that a large box had been left there for me, and the books that I had to sort and register lay on the couch. Even after everything I’d seen, it seemed very strange to me, because who would imagine Satan with a suitcase and a railway ticket in hand? Seeing the Count’s travel things, however, I can’t help but to envision such a scene.265 These Tatars (also called Gypsies)266 who have spent the last few days here are helping the Count prepare for his departure. I’ve seen them come and go with the boxes the Slovaks brought here; they seem very heavy to handle. The number of empty boxes is gradually decreasing, as the Count has engaged three or four men of truly gigantic stature, whom I remember having seen in the vault on that memorable evening. They are strong as trolls267 and handle huge loads as if they are light as feathers.
Today, nobody was in the courtyard and none of the boxes had been moved.
There was absolute stillness in the castle now. I lit a cigar and walked out of the dining room, intending to stroll along the floor for a moment before I started dealing with the Count’s documents and books. The old woman had cleared the table long ago, disappearing as quietly as she always did, and I knew from experience that she wouldn’t return for several hours. It occurred to me that I would never have a better opportunity to study the secret stairs and find out whether or not it would be possible to discover a way out.