“That we shall see.”
Ignoring his response, it looked around, and seemed to give a condescending sniff. “There is a fair amount of human magic here. Probably you came to this place seeking protection from one greater than yourself. That was a foolish hope. No human works of enchantment can save you from the displeasure of a god. Nor will you be able to resist my teaching.”
Maule looked around, as if seeking to discover some source of danger. He said: “So far I feel no need for protection.”
His adversary maintained its air of unruffled patience. “Strange vampire, I could easily destroy you now, mind and body both. I have eaten the flesh of your kind before, and found it tasty. But I am still convinced you will eventually be useful, so I will not kill you yet.”
“It might be helpful if I knew what sort of usefulness you have in mind?”
The creature looked at him in silence for a few moments before it answered. “For many centuries I have been curious about the object called by humans the Philosopher’s Stone. It does exist, you know.”
“There are those who say so. Tell me more.”
The monster made a curious gesture with one stubby arm. “My curiosity on the subject has grown, until now I have begun to search for this Stone in earnest. So in a little while it must be mine. But I am impatient of delay. Therefore I tell you this: bring me the Stone, or show me accurately where it is, and I will reward you with some limited degree of freedom when you have become my slave.”
Maule’s eyes were glittering. He made a mocking little bow. “Such generosity is overwhelming.”
Sobek accepted the tribute at face value, even with apparent grace. “It is a mark of my power.”
Now Maule’s dark eyes were glaring fiercely. What was in front of him had become undoubtedly a crocodile again, thought it still stood on two legs. Its eyes gazed back at him, the aim of their vertical, slit-shaped pupils not giving way before his stare, any more than two pieces of black rock might have done.
At last Maule said: “You must be aware that others besides Tamarack, others who are somewhat more human and less disgusting in their shape than you, are also intent on finding this famous Stone. If I am going to take part in this search, I must know all that you know regarding the location of the prize.”
The crocodile said to Maule: “You have already experienced a dream, whose content should have revealed much to a relatively intelligent human. Thousands of years ago, the Stone was concealed, by the thief who stole it. In a moment of desperation, fearing he was about to be caught, he seized one of the small statues that had just been molded, encasing sacred animals, and forced the treasure deep into the wet plaster, hiding it from sight.”
Maule’s strong right hand played with the heavy spear. In the blink of an eyelid, if he so chose, he could twitch it into horizontal position and flick it like a dart at his chosen target. “You know some amusing stories. Tell me more.”
It seemed that when the Crocodile chose to hear and understand him, it could do so with perfect ease. Now it was quite willing to provide its slave-to-be with useful information. “There were six such statues in the temple workshop. Six small dead reptiles, sacred to my name and worship, each sealed inside a plaster image of myself. On the right side of the dark room, three such statues were waiting on a shelf when the thief appeared. On the left side, three more stood on another shelf.”
“And what happened to these grotesque and abhorrent statues? Perhaps they were used for target practice?” Maule waited ten seconds or so before he prodded: “If not, where are they now, these abominable statues so pregnant with possibility?”
Sobek’s gaze jerked round at him. “That is what remains to be discovered. There exists, in the hands of one of those who dares to trifle with me, a list of names of humans who now possess the surviving statues. In one of those small figures—it is never given to the dreamer to see which—the thief sought to hide the perfect Stone, the matchless, supernatural treasure whose freezing cold burned at his mouth. The guards of my temple’s workshop were closing in on him, as well as his original pursuers. He must have hoped to claim that he was innocent, if the treasure was not found in his possession when he was caught.”
Sobek shook his ugly head, as if he might be marveling at the ancient robber’s daring, or stupidity, or both. “As I have said, he pressed the Stone into the side of one statue, burying it out of sight in the wet plaster, and ran on, to meet his death only a few minutes later.
“A great search for the missing treasure must soon have followed, but none of the humans were bright enough to look in the right place. Some laborer in the workshop must have noticed that the surface of one statue was now marred by an unevenness, and smoothed it out, with annoyance but no understanding of its cause.”
Maule could generate no sympathy for the thief whose dreams, through some quirk of magic, evidently kept getting projected forward several thousand years in time—a robber was, after all, one of the most detestable of humans, and in general those who took what was not theirs by right deserved whatever punishment fate might deal out to them.
“I begin to understand,” he said. “And the intended purpose of those six statues was—?”
“In the beginning, they were meant to furnish the tomb of a certain priest, one who had faithfully served … served the great god Sobek.” It was hard for Maule to read emotions on the inhuman face, but it seemed for a moment that the Crocodile had turned to introspection.
The thing talked on, disjointedly. It seemed that, down through the centuries, various people belonging to the brotherhood of alchemists—Maule caught hints that some of them had probably been vampires also—had searched intermittently for those little plastered mummies, even while trying to keep existence of the statues a well-guarded secret.
“One, who thought he was on the right track, was burned for witchcraft in Constantinople in 1353—but that has no present relevance.
“One statue I crushed in your apartment, and examined the debris. There was only one chance in six that it would hold the gem, and it did not. The remaining five are not so widely dispersed as you might think.”
“Then you do have some idea of where they are. The names, locations, on this list you mentioned.”
As their talk went on, the thing kept restlessly, slightly, changing shape—Maule got the impression that it could not really help itself, the alterations were to some degree involuntary. This was in addition to the occasional wave of near-transparency that seemed to suggest the presence of some inward fire. The vampire also noted that the direct light of the setting sun did not seem to bother his adversary at all, more evidence it was not nosferatu.
Now it was saying: “Have you any understanding, Vlad Tepes, of how much more valuable that jewel is than all other treasures that humans have ever pursued under the sun?”
“My understanding of this business of alchemy might surprise you.” At various times, down through the centuries, a broadly representative assortment of adepts and inepts had discussed the Great Work with him, or in his hearing. Usually their voices had been filled with a sort of holy longing. Extravagant promises regarding the Stone were of the very essence of their business. Converting lead to gold was said to be the least of its powers.
“But,” Maule assured the monster now, “I never believe all that I hear, regarding the magnitude of any treasure—evidently you are less skeptical.
“A little while ago I was almost sure that you were nosferatu, but now I see that is not correct. Vampirism, if you enjoyed its benefits, would be the least of your differences from Homo sapiens sapiens. Oh, it is only too obvious that you are not really human—or not entirely so. You simply must learn to deal with the fact that the difference is not at all in your favor.”
The precise moment of local sunset had arrived at last. Without even turning to look, Vlad Drakulya knew to the fraction of a second when the great shoulder of the spinning Earth cut off the last direct rays from the spot where he and Sobek were standing.
Maule gave no outward sign of his great psychic effort, or how discouraging he found its total failure.
He only said: “I hope, oh great and mighty and obscene reptile, that you will tell me—before anything happens to you that might render you unable to communicate—tell me just how did you get into my apartment? And what unfortunate impulse made you kill the one called Tamarack? He was no friend of mine, but he had become my guest, so your mistake was fatal. And now, before we have our test of combat, and while you still retain the power of speech, I would be interested in hearing from your own leprous lips just how you dared to do these things?”
His rage was building now, near to bursting out.
Sobek was grinning a crocodilian grin at him—as a man might find diversion in a snarling puppy. “The life or death of the one I killed is meaningless to you.”
“Not when it happened in my home.”
Sobek’s amusement seemed to be gradually building, in step with the anger of the man before him. The monster spoke as one who tolerated an entertaining child. It was so amusing to see how the child refused to understand the obvious. “I owe you no explanations. I kill whom I choose, when and where I please.”
Having remained utterly motionless for a minute, Maule made a sudden, catlike move, a sidestep that brought him no closer to Sobek and took him no farther away. He wanted to test the other’s reaction.
“My very touch is death,” the figure warned Maule, sounding only a little less amused. Its eyes had followed Maule as he moved, but that was all. Its large hands hung at its sides, holding no weapon but their own claws.
“Some would tell you that I am already dead!”
In the next instant Sobek made a sudden thrusting motion of his head and shoulders, intended to precipitate a victim into flight. Maule’s own experience in the role of predator had taught him that an attacker was likely to have an easier conquest while dragging down his victim from behind than in a head-on confrontation.
But Maule showed no inclination to retreat. Having his spear in hand, he feigned a stabbing lunge toward the center of the monster’s torso—not quite at the full speed he could command.
In response to the lunge, Sobek only moved back one step, magisterially. This time Maule was ready for the mesmeric surge that came as a riposte, and managed to fight it off. But it was disturbingly strong.
Now the self-proclaimed god of crocodiles repeated what he evidently considered a most generous offer: he, Dracula, might remain alive and even retain some measure of freedom, if he would cooperate from now on with Sobek in his ruthless quest for the Stone.
“I am certain that you would enjoy the rewards of power I sometimes grant to the most loyal of my servitors. You may have other humans, even nosferatu, below you, and utterly at your mercy.”
Maule thought that not worthy of a response. After a moment of silence Sobek went on. “But there are, as you will see, yet others who oppose me. Most irritating are certain blood-drinkers of your own type, who are attempting now to find my statues, and the treasure that is in one of them. Should you bring me the heads of some of those human vermin, I will reward you, for they are an irritation, like sharp stones under my feet.”
Maule’s reply was very soft. “Perhaps those others, the blood-drinking human vermin as you call them, would give me a greater reward than you will. Supposing I brought them your ugly head, impaled on a sharp stick. Very probably on this.” And very slightly he shook his spear.
It seemed impossible to ruffle the other’s reptilian calm. For all that Maule could tell, Sobek was as fearless as Maule himself. He seemed the very archetype of a tolerant god, so high that no insult could reach him, willing to be patient in the face of human stupidity. “I am Sobek,” he repeated now, “and many kneel to me as their god.”
“Many?” Vlad Drakulya laughed, and it was not a pleasant sound. “No, I think no more than a few could be so foolish. A very few, and all of them deluded in their fear.”
After considering him in silence for a time, at last it said: “I see that many humans fear you, Vlad Tepes, but that is nothing to me.” That the smiling mouth should have so many teeth seemed to Maule particularly offensive, when even Homo dirus could be content with the usual human number.
The staccato voice barked on. “Remember that to me you are only an amusement, and cannot be a danger. Remember, Vlad Tepes, sooner or later, alive or dead, you will find yourself prostrate before me.”
“Never! Not before any god as small as you, or with so many teeth.” Maule roared a battle cry.
Then he swayed and groaned, as the surge of psychic power that he had been expecting struck at him, silent and invisible, and even faster and stronger than before.
Again he managed to fight off the enemy’s psychic attack. But to his chagrin he was unable to do any serious damage thrusting with his spear. His enemy adroitly dodged, showing more speed than his looks suggested, and the spear-point only gouged out a few scales from Sobek’s shoulder.
As far as Maule could tell, the disappearance of direct daylight had made little difference to Sobek, one way or another.
Again Sobek’s image wavered, again taking on momentarily the aspect of a photographic negative, as if some powerful radiant core at the center of his being could be projecting an image that was his physical form.
And then, abruptly, the thing was gone.
Maule was left alone, staggering and stumbling in the dusk. To his amazement, it seemed that the struggle was over, for the time being at least. Certainly the monster had gone away.
What the outcome might have been if today’s trial had been prolonged was more than Maule could say; but he had seen, heard, or felt nothing to inspire him with confidence of victory. Instead, the test had left his body slumped in physical weakness, sweating like a breather. If his lungs had needed air at all, he would have been gasping too.
Reflexively he growled at the world, and shook his spear. For a moment, in the hot aftermath of battle, he tried to tell himself that he had driven the other into flight, but in his heart he knew it was not so.
The struggle had left him slightly dizzy, and with a sensation of weakness that he had not known for many years. Moving carefully, on somewhat unsteady feet, he searched the ground where the clash had taken place.
To find a serious splash of blood would have been enormously cheering, but in that Maule was disappointed. After a minute’s search he did find and pick up a single heavy, translucent scale, almost the size of his own palm, such as might have been gouged out of the hide of some legendary serpent or dragon. It was discouraging to realize that this had to be practically the full extent of the damage that he, with his best efforts, had been able to inflict.
But the find had its encouraging aspect, too. Juggling the fragment in his hand, he thought it might play an important role in their next meeting.
He looked around, probing the environment with inward and outward senses. Yes, for whatever reason, Sobek was truly gone. The monster had abruptly broken off this confrontation—as if listening to some distant call that somehow demanded his attention more strongly than this mere dallying to toy with a new slave.
Sitting down on the ground for a brief rest, Dracula replayed the incident, every detail that he could remember, in his mind. Inwardly he yearned to find some clue that would allow the hopeful possibility that he had driven his enemy from the field—but still he could not deceive himself to that extent.
Maule was not surprised that he had seen the retreating figure disappear in the direction of the riverside swamp, into which a few hours ago he had watched Tamarack’s car sink out of sight. Of course it seemed only natural that a crocodile would turn toward a river. But of course the object Joe Keogh calle
d a “false door” had been down there too.
“I wonder if the great beast took his portal with him this time?” Maule wondered if Sobek could pass like a ghost through a wooden panel, then bring the panel with him.
Still he could hardly believe that his enemy had so casually withdrawn. More than half-expecting some kind of stratagem, some trick, Maule patrolled the top of the little bluff for a little while, spear in hand. But as darkness deepened around him, and stars and moon made their appearance, he eventually abandoned his vigil, and decided he must return to the city.
Soon, he decided, he ought to call Joe Keogh on his cell phone, and inform his breathing ally of the most recent developments. But there was another matter to be decided first. Maule was tempted to reconsider his decision to drown the mysterious little wooden panel in the swamp. Such indecisiveness was highly unusual for him, and he took it as a worrisome result of his clash with the monster.
He spoke the words aloud: “The question is, should I bring it back to the city with me?”
Stripping off his clothes, he slid into the deep pool at one end of the swamp, where he had sunk the car. The lid of the trunk was open, now hanging only by one hinge, as if it had been burst open from inside with an explosive charge. The large plastic bag was still inside the trunk, but it too had been ripped open, and the dead body of Tamarack had been further damaged.
The little wooden panel was floating on the surface of the water, which was already invading the ancient, long-dried wood, causing it to swell. It seemed, then, that this was Sobek’s portal. Could the monster indeed pass in and out of the solid wood like some ancient Egyptian ghost?
Back on dry land, and clad again, Maule considered trying to bring the panel back to Chicago with him. It was just about at the limiting size of objects that could, like clothing, routinely take part in the transformation of a vampire’s body, when he or she assumed the form of animal or bat or a cloud of mist.
A Coldness in the Blood (The Dracula Series) Page 10