Dead on my Feet - The Halflife Trilogy Book II

by Wm. Mark Simmons

  “Let me tell you a little story while we wait,” I said as the sequencer began the process of scanning and sorting the genome of New York’s vampire Doman.

  “Once upon a time—a little over four hundred years ago, in fact—there was a baby girl born into the house of Báthory. It wasn’t enough that she was produced by centuries of savage Darwinism laced with significant episodes of inbreeding, she had the additional advantage of growing up among relatives who practiced witchcraft, bestiality, torture, and twisted cruelties beyond the scope of most human imaginations.”

  Around the room the expressions ranged from “been there, done that” to “so?”

  “As a child of the nobility,” I continued, trying to keep them quiet and in their seats for just a couple more minutes, “she had wealth and privilege and essentially carte blanche permission to do as she pleased without fear of consequence or retribution. It was, in other words, the perfect greenhouse for cultivating a monster.”

  “You state the obvious!” my captive protested.

  “Yes,” I agreed, “yes, I do. Just as I would if I spent the next hour recounting the Blood Countess’ many cruelties, the torturous deaths visited upon the young women of her province. I could state the obvious in telling the old story of how Erzsébet Báthory, a vain and selfish woman, struck a servant girl one day and discovered that the girl’s blood made her skin appear more youthful where it had been splashed. Obvious, well-known—and, patently, untrue.”

  “What do you mean, untrue? It is true!” she cried. “That is how it started!”

  I shrugged but didn’t relax my hold on her. “Perhaps you’re right. I wasn’t there and you were so maybe that part of the story is true. Perhaps you planned it that way and staged it so the other servants would witness the event. The story certainly helped you when it all began to crumble and the tribunals were called.”

  “This serves no purpose!” she exclaimed.

  “Maybe not,” I concurred. “Maybe it’s just a little conversation to pass the time until the results come in.”

  >Cséjthe, she is trying to mind-bend the man operating the computing machine.<

  Well, block her, Old Dragon! If she interferes with the results, I’m dead and ninety-nine percent of the world will follow in short order.

  >You ask much!<

  For myself? Maybe. For the rest of the planet? Suck it up and try being useful for a change.

  >I will not forget your impertinence when this is over . . .<

  Oh, bite me! "Liz, baby, leave the poor lab tech alone and let him finish running the scans without interference.”

  “Someone’s blocking me!” she said through clenched teeth.

  “How about I cut just part way through your spinal cord now? It will certainly change the distraction level for you.” She shut up and seemed to strain a little less. “So, where was I? Oh, yeah. Over six hundred virgins drained of blood during a single decade. What a time that must have been! Imagine trying to find six virgins now, never mind six hundred. Makes you long for the good old days.”

  Kurt had moved to flank the lab tech by the computer monitors. “You,” he asked me, “have a point to make in all of this?”

  “Gee, I sure hope so,” I said. “Now help me out here because I’m still somewhat of an outsider on all the undead etiquette. I mean, if there’s a Miss Manners for monsters or Emily Post for the posthumous, I’ve missed the advice column. So, isn’t it customary when you become a vampire that you’re automatically a vassal to the one who made you?” I snorted. “I can’t believe I just used the word ‘vassal’ in a public discourse.”

  Throughout the gathered assemblage heads nodded and turned to see what might be the inclinations of their neighbors. No one had given any indication of wanting to rush me yet and I figured I had a decent chance of surviving a few more minutes as long as I kept them entertained. And, of course, the golden knife less than a centimeter away from my hostage’s spinal cord.

  Kurt cleared his throat. “Yes. You are obligated to your Sire or Dam and, by extension, to theirs, all the way up to the surviving head of that particular line.”

  “So,” I asked, “what’s with the oath? Isn’t it sort of ipso de facto that we’re all family, with the requisite pecking order? Why administer a formal oath?”

  “There are some crossovers upon occasion,” he answered. “Yourself, for example. Dracula was your Sire yet you are—or were—taking the oath to swear fealty to the House of Báthory.”

  I gave my captive a little shake. “Do I look like someone who was willing to take an oath of fealty? How about you and your buddies, Kurt? You and the rest of the old guard here have mentioned your oath. Was it taken willingly? How about the rest of the European aristobats? And why an oath? If she made you, why did she have to bind your loyalty in a blood-oath?”

  His face was like stone. “The countess did not grant us the Dark Gift. Each of us was the head of our own line before we took the oath and swore fealty to the Bátor clan.”

  “So . . . your only allegiance to this woman is through the oath you’ve sworn to the Báthory line. Which might sort of include me by genetic disposition.”

  He nodded, well, curtly. “Except she is eldest and head. And she is noble born, a countess.”

  I nodded. “You Old World guys really do have a major hard-on when it comes to the aristocracy. I always thought the undead pecking order was based along the lines of oldest and strongest or something like that.”

  Kurt’s smile was humorless. “You are young. And, like the young, you want to believe that the universe is fair, that justice will always prevail. It takes age and wisdom to see things as they really are. Even your country is young, its history no more than a child’s compared to the rest of the world. America likes to pretend that ‘all men are created equal’ when it clearly knows better and operates otherwise.”

  I sighed. “Okay. So, I guess you’re pretty firm in your dedication to the nobility.”

  “Nobility and its bloodlines,” Kurt affirmed. “Even if she did not grant the Dark Gift directly, she is still noblest and eldest among us.”

  I nodded in agreement. “Blood will out.”

  The computer beeped.

  “Sounds like the results are in,” I said.

  My prisoner made one last desperate attempt to squirm out of my grasp. I could use a little help here! She suddenly slumped in my grasp and I almost dropped her. Jeez, Drac, I thought you were on the run all of these years because you were overmatched.

  >I had some help this time. Can you get out now?<

  I didn’t have time to answer as Kurt was moving toward me. “What did you do?” he demanded.

  “Easy, Captain Kurt, she’s just unconscious,” I said. “See, she’s still—well, not breathing, of course—but she’s still, um, corporate.”

  He slowed his advance. “The countess is all right then?”

  I shook my head slowly from side to side. “No, Kurt,” I said carefully, “the countess is dead.”

  “What? But you said—”

  “Erzsébet Báthory,” I elaborated, “died some four centuries ago in her tower in Cséjthe Castle. The woman who’s been giving you orders for the last three hundred years is an imposter.” I looked over at the lab tech who was staring at the monitors and probably programming an additional run of tests into the sequencer. “Isn’t she, man?”

  He hesitated, then nodded. “She’s not even a close match to either of the Báthory of Nádasdy lines.”

  “Then who—?”

  “I can’t prove it,” I said, measuring the distance between the door and yours truly, “but I believe the real Witch of Cachtice was a woman named Katarina Beneczky, one of Countess Báthory’s maids.”

  “What? How? I thought they were all put to death.”

  “Not Beneczky. She was the only one on the countess’ personal staff that was found innocent. She was set free by the same tribunal that sealed Erzsébet in her tower and executed the others.”

>   I looked around at my audience. Gee, this was like those old-fashioned, locked-room mysteries where all the suspects sit in the parlor while the inspector explains the case to everyone. I continued, hoping I wouldn’t pull a “Clouseau.”

  “While Erzsébet developed her sadistic proclivities early, I believe it was Katarina who turned that private obsession into crimes of monstrous proportions. She used the dark arts to bind the countess and the others to her will. Using an aristocrat was the perfect tool and the perfect cover for carrying out her nefarious schemes.” I shook my head. “I can’t believe I just used the word ‘nefarious’ in a public forum.”

  The entire room appeared to be shocked by this turn of events but Kurt seemed utterly thunderstruck. “Then that means . . . that we . . . that I . . .”

  “Yep,” I said, “you swore a blood-oath of fealty to a commoner, a peasant.”

  The other vamps in the room turned to Báthory-turned-Beneczky’s majordomo, their expressions asking the same questions: what have we done; what do we do?

  “Except,” I continued, “you really didn’t.” They all looked back at me. “If I understand the situation correctly, you all swore in word and in your hearts, to serve the Countess Erzsébet Báthory and her House. Not . . .” I paused for effect, “ . . . some servant girl passing herself off as the countess. So, you’re free.”

  Now came the part where I explained to everyone about what terrible things the counterfeit countess had plotted and how important it was for us to join forces to keep these terrible plots from going forward.

  Before I could launch into that part of my vague plan, some guy in the fourth row of chairs stood up. “Do you know what this means?” he asked, smoothing back his hair. He had three horns, curved close to his skull and peeking through his pompadour like the stripes of a skunk.

  Maybe this was my opening.

  “It means,” he continued, “that you no longer have a viable hostage!”

  And then again, maybe not. “Hey,” I said, “I’ve got an idea. Let’s do ‘The Time Warp,’ again . . .”

  Several audience members, rising from their seats, hesitated. “What?” a couple of them asked.

  “It’s just a jump to the left!” I said, hurling Beneczky toward them and running for the door.

  It would have been a clean break except for the two vamps guarding the exit.

  Each one possessed speed, strength, and reflexes that were inhumanly superior to mine: between the two of them, I didn’t stand a chance. Anticipating my charge, they went into side-by-side crouches, each dropping one knee to the floor to brace themselves and then—

  Inclined their heads?

  Instead of attacking they were kneeling and assuming a position of obeisance!

  I looked back over my shoulder and saw that most of the other vamps were facing me and doing the same. Everybody else just looked confused. Myself included, I suppose.

  Kurt raised his head and addressed me: “Sire.”

  “Sire?” I felt a little stupid as most of my brain was still working out the problem of my escape. “How can I be your ‘Sire’ when you’re older than me?”

  “Master, then,” he conceded. “We have sworn our oaths to the House of Báthory and, as of now, you are our Blood-liege by default.”

  I looked around at all of the kneeling vampires. “Just like that?”

  He nodded.

  “Don’t you want to run a few more tests? Make sure she isn’t the real Countess Báthory?”

  “No, Master. We have had our doubts for over two hundred years. It is like a fulfillment of prophecy: the true Báthory heir has come to free us from centuries of false servitude.”

  “Yeah, well—”

  “Under your reign, the Eastern Demesnes will become a great empire, ruling the night for a thousand years!”

  “Um,” I said.

  >Cséjthe? Can you get away, yet? What is happening?<

  Well, I’m not sure. But I think I’ve just been offered your old job.

  >What?<

  =You need to get out here!=

  Deirdre?

  =A bunch of trucks and vans just came through the front gate and have pulled around to the loading docks at the rear of the buildings. There must be a hundred guys running around in fatigues and Ninja-casual, waving automatic weapons and preparing some sort of loading operation.=

  They’re loading their weapons?

  >No, Cséjthe, they are loading the trucks. I certainly hope that I did not absorb your genetic proclivity for obtuseness from the transfusion of your blood.<

  Tough toothies, Vlad; beggars can’t be choosers. I turned back to Kurt. “Beneczky has set a plan in motion that will destroy most of the world’s population. We’ve got to stop it!”

  “Will it affect vampires?” Skippy wanted to know.

  “Does it matter?” Kurt growled. “If our supply of food becomes extinct then we are harmed, as well. Besides, our Master commands—that, alone, should be enough!”

  The presumed Katarina Beneczky began to stir and was promptly hoisted to her feet by two large vamps. Correction: her feet now hung a few inches above the floor. They carried her over to where we could speak to each other without yelling but maybe she was oblivious to that fact: the ersatz Erzsébet began yelling anyway. And her choice of words was anything but aristocratic.

  I reached out and pinched her mouth shut. “I don’t have time for niceties,” I said, forcing as much menace into my subvocals as my human throat could manage. “I want this whole operation called off right now! Do it and I might let you live. Refuse and I’ll kill you right here and now!”

  She glared at me but she stopped struggling and, when I removed my hand, she spoke more civilly. “I can’t. It’s out of my hands now. In fact, it has always been out of my hands.”

  I was afraid of this. I was about to suggest locking her up in something airtight when Kurt walked up behind her and twisted her head off. There was a soggy “pop” and our dusting was not unlike that of an ancient vacuum cleaner exploding.

  So much for one of my theories: Katarina Beneczky was a vampire, after all.

  “So ends the treachery and falsehood of four centuries,” my new majordomo announced. “What would you have us do, now, my lord?”

  “Um,” I said again. “Follow me.” I was going to have to have a talk with him later about taking me literally.

  As I exited Gen/GEN and started down the hallway, my eyes were drawn to a trail of blood that stippled the carpet and led toward the stairs. Looking back I could see that the trail emerged from the office where I had left Chalice Delacroix’s body less than a half hour before. “No!” I ran and slammed the door open.

  The back trail of blood led to a now-empty desk.

  I whirled.

  >Cséjthe? Are you coming?<

  Not now, Pops, I’m busy!

  >What could be more important than saving the world?<

  I’m following the path of the Grail. I was back out in the corridor and running toward the stairs. “Kurt, take all the vamps you can down to the loading docks and stop those trucks from leaving!”

  I winced as he said: “Yes, Master.”

  “Call me Chris.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “You’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you?’

  “Yes, Master.”

  A phalanx of undead glided by, speeding toward the elevators. “Aren’t you going with them?”

  “No. My place is with you, now. They know what to do.”

  We started down the stairs. “Kurt, do I really strike you as a likely candidate for aristocracy?”

  “Let me put it this way,” he said as we flew down two flights of stairs in the space of a double heartbeat. “You are as likely a candidate for nobility as we are likely to find among this sorry generation.”

  “Gee, Kurt, that’s almost kind of sweet.”

  “Everyone is entitled to their opinion, my lord, but I would hate to have to kill you for expressing it publicly.�
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  Another frenzied half-circle at the next landing and down another flight. “When you put it that way,” I said, “it gives me hope that this relationship might actually work out.”

  Exiting out of the stairwell and into the first-floor corridor, I reversed direction and continued to follow the scarlet spoor toward the back of the building.

  “You’re headed for the voodoo altar, aren’t you?” my undead shadow asked.

  “I think someone is.” I rounded the corner and found the remains of Chalice’s black party dress, shredded and abandoned next to the trail of bloody droplets. It was no longer salvageable in any sense of the word so I tossed it aside. Blood from the dress clung to the palms of my hands and I had to resist the compulsion to lick them clean.

  “You know what bothers me?” I asked as I wiped my hands off on the wall.

  “It would be hard to guess,” he answered. “Compared to my former Doman, so much seems to bother you.”

  “It’s the vast amounts of blood involved in the Báthory legend.” I started down the corridor again. “I mean, even if the countess and her inner circle were all vampires—which history has pretty well disproved—they couldn’t consume more than a fraction of the blood produced in any given month. So what was the deal?”

  “According to legend, the countess bathed—”

  “But if she was being manipulated by the real Witch of Cachtice,” I interrupted, “the motivation for spilling such vast quantities of blood might have been Beneczky’s alone. What purpose was served through so much pain, death, and exsanguination?” The subbasement stairs were coming up and the bloody trail left little doubt that someone or something had taken Chalice Delacroix’s body to the djevo underneath the building.

  “Blood magic,” suggested Kurt, “though I do not know what sort of necromancy would require such a volume of life essence.” We plunged down the stairs. “Perhaps it was all meant as a sacrifice of some kind?”

  “But to who? Or what?” The secret door at the bottom of the stairs was open but I slowed down as I needed time to adjust my eyes to the darkness beyond. “Too bad I can’t ask Katarina Beneczky.”

  “I doubt that she would have answered the question—at least not truthfully.”