“‘I wish I knew.’
“‘Did you continue your research about Dracula after that?’
“‘Not for several years.’ Hugh stubbed out his cigarette. ‘I didn’t have the heart to. About two years ago, though, I found myself thinking about him again, and when I started working on my current book, my Hungarian book, I kept an eye out for him.’
“It had grown quite dark now, and the Danube glowed with reflected lights from the bridge and the buildings of Pest. A waiter came to offer eszpresszó, and we accepted gratefully. Hugh took a sip and set his cup down. ‘Would you like to see the book?’ he asked.
“‘The one you’re researching?’ I was puzzled for a moment.
“‘No—my dragon book.’
“I started. ‘You have it here?’
“‘I always carry it on me,’ he said sternly. ‘Well, almost always. Actually, I left it at my hotel during the lectures today, because I thought it might be safer there while I was lecturing. When I think it might have been stolen —’ He stopped. ‘Yours was not in your room, was it?’
“‘No.’ I had to smile. ‘I carry mine around, too.’
“He pushed our coffee cups carefully aside and opened his briefcase. From it he took a polished wooden box, and from that a parcel wrapped in cloth, which he placed on the table. Inside it was a book smaller than mine but bound in the same worn vellum. The pages were browner and more brittle than those in my book, but the dragon in the center was the same, filling the pages to their very edges and glowering up at us. Silently, I opened my briefcase and took out my own book, setting its central image next to Hugh’s dragon. They were identical, I thought, bending close to each.
“‘Look at this smudge over here—even that’s the same. They were printed from the same block,’ Hugh said in a low voice.
“He was right, I saw. ‘You know, this reminds me of something else, which I forgot to tell you just now. Miss Rossi and I stopped by the university library this afternoon before going back to the hotel, because she wanted to look up something she saw there a while back.’ I described the volume of Romanian folk songs and the weird lyrics about monks entering a great city. ‘She thought this might have something to do with the story in the Istanbul manuscript I told you about. The lyrics were very general, but there was an interesting woodcut at the top of the page, a sort of thicket of woods with a tiny church and dragon among them, and a word.’
“‘Drakulya?’ Hugh guessed, as I had in the library.
“‘No, Ivireanu.’ I looked it up in my notebook and showed him the spelling.
“His eyes widened. ‘But that’s remarkable!’ he cried.
“‘What? Tell me quickly.’
“‘Well, it’s just that I saw that name in the library yesterday.’
“‘In the same library? Where? In the same book?’ I was too impatient to wait politely for the answer.
“‘Yes, in the university library, but not in the same book. I’ve been poking around there all week for material for my project, and since I always have our friend in the back of my mind, I keep finding the odd reference to his world. You know, Dracula and Hunyadi were bitter enemies, and Dracula and Matthias Corvinus after that, so you run into Dracula now and then. I mentioned to you at lunch that I’d found a manuscript commissioned by Corvinus, the document that mentions the ghost in the amphora.’
“‘Oh, yes,’ I said eagerly. ‘Is that also where you saw the word Ivireanu?’
“‘Actually, no. The Corvinus manuscript is very interesting, but for different reasons. The manuscript says—well, I have copied a little here. The original is in Latin.’
“He got out his notebook and read me a few lines. ‘“In the year of Our Lord 1463, the king’s humble servant offers him these words from great writings, all to give His Majesty information on the curse of the vampire, may he perish in hell. This information is for His Majesty’s royal collection. May it assist him in curing this evil in our city, in ending the presence of vampires, and in keeping the plague from our dwellings.” And so on. Then the good scribe, whoever he was, goes on to list the references he’s found in various classical works, including tales of the ghost in the amphora. As you can tell, the date of the manuscript is the year after Dracula’s arrest and his first imprisonment near Buda. You know, your description of that same concern on the part of the Turkish sultan, which you detected in those documents in Istanbul, prompts me to think Dracula made trouble wherever he went. Both mention the plague, and both are concerned with the presence of vampirism. It’s quite similar, isn’t it?’
“He paused thoughtfully. ‘Actually, that connection with plague is not so far-fetched, in a way—I read in an Italian document at the British Museum Library that Dracula used germ warfare against the Turks. He must have been one of the first Europeans to use it, in fact. He liked to send any of his own people who’d contracted infectious diseases into the Turkish camps, dressed like Ottomans.’ In the lantern light, Hugh’s eyes were narrow now, his face shining with an intense concentration. It rushed over me that in Hugh James we had found an ally of the keenest intelligence.
“‘This is all fascinating,’ I said. ‘But what about the mention of the word Ivireanu?’
“‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’ Hugh smiled. ‘I’m a bit off track. Yes, I did see that word in the library here. I came across it three or four days ago, I think, in a seventeenth-century New Testament in Romanian. I was looking through it because I thought the cover showed an unusual influence of Ottoman design. The title page had the word Ivireanu across the bottom—I’m sure it was the same word. I didn’t think much about it at the time—to be frank, I’m always running across Romanian words that mystify me, because I know so little of the language. It caught my attention because of the typeface, actually, which was sort of elegant. I assumed it was a place-name or something of the sort.’
“I groaned. ‘And that was all? You’ve never seen it anywhere else?’
“‘I’m afraid not.’ Hugh was attending to his deserted cup of coffee. ‘If I run across it again, I’ll be sure to let you know.’
“‘Well, it may have little to do with Dracula, after all,’ I said, to comfort myself. ‘I just wish we had more time to examine this library. We have to fly back to Istanbul on Monday, unfortunately—I don’t have permission to stay beyond the duration of the conference. If you do find anything of interest —’
“‘Of course,’ Hugh said. ‘I’ll be around for another six days. If I find something, shall I write to you at your department?’
“This gave me a turn; it had been days since I’d thought seriously about home, and I had no idea when I would next be checking my mail in my departmental box there. ‘No, no,’ I said hastily. ‘At least, not yet. If you find something you really think might help us, please call Professor Bora. Just explain to him that we talked. If I speak with him myself, I’ll let him know you might get in touch with him.’ I took out Turgut’s card and wrote the number down for Hugh.
“‘Very good.’ He tucked it into his breast pocket. ‘And here’s my card for you. I do hope we’ll be running into each other again.’ We sat there in silence for a few seconds, his gaze lowered to the table with its empty cups and plates and flickering candle flame. ‘Look here,’ he said finally. ‘If all you’ve said is true—or all Rossi said, anyway—and there is a Count Dracula, or a Vlad the Impaler—extant—in some awful sense, then I’d like to help you —’
“‘Eradicate him?’ I finished quietly. ‘I’ll remember that.’
“There seemed to be nothing left for us to say just now, although I hoped we would talk again someday. We found a taxi to take us back to Pest, and he insisted on walking me into the hotel. We were saying a cordial good-bye at the front desk when the clerk I’d talked with earlier suddenly came out of his cubicle and grasped my arm. ‘Herr Paul!’ he said urgently.
“‘What is it?’ Hugh and I both turned to stare at the man. He was a tall, drooping man in a blue worker’s jacket,
with mustaches that would have suited a Hun warrior. He pulled me close to speak in a low voice, and I managed to signal to Hugh not to leave us. There was no one else in sight, and I didn’t especially want to be alone with any new crisis.
“‘Herr Paul, I know who was in your zimmer this afternoon.’
“‘What? Who?’ I said.
“‘Hmm, hmm.’ The clerk began almost to hum to himself and to glance around, searching his jacket pocket in what would have been a meaningful way if only I’d understood his meaning. I wondered if the man was some sort of idiot.
“‘He wants a bribe,’ Hugh translated in an undertone.
“‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ I said in exasperation, but the man’s eyes seemed to glaze over, brightening only when I fished out two large Hungarian bills. He took them secretively and hid them in his pocket, but said nothing to acknowledge my capitulation.
“‘Herr American,’ he whispered. ‘I know it was not only ein man from this afternoon. It is two men. One comes in first, very important man. Then the other. I see him when I go up with a suitcase to another zimmer. Then I see them. They talk. They walk out together.’
“‘Didn’t anyone stop them?’ I snapped. ‘Who were they? Were they Hungarian?’ The man was glancing all around him again, and I suppressed the urge to throttle him. This atmosphere of censorship was taking a toll on my nerves. I must have looked angry, because Hugh put a restraining hand on my arm.
“‘Important man Hungarian. Other man not Hungarian.’
“‘How do you know?’
“He lowered his voice. ‘One man Hungarian, but they speaks Anglisch together.’ That was all he would say, despite my increasingly threatening questions. Since he had apparently decided he’d given me enough information for the number of forints I’d handed over, I might never have heard another word from him had it not been for something that seemed suddenly to catch his attention. He was looking past me, and after a second I turned, too, to follow his gaze through the great window by the hotel door. Through it, for a split second, I saw a hungry, hollow-eyed countenance I’d come to know much too well, a face that belonged in a grave, not on the street. The clerk was spluttering, clinging to my arm. ‘There he is, with his devil face—the Anglischer man!’
“With what must have been a howl, I shook off the clerk and ran for the door; Hugh, with great presence of mind (I later realized), plucked an umbrella from the stand by the desk and bolted after me. Even in my alarm, I kept a tight grip on my briefcase, and that slowed me down as I ran. We turned this way and that, dashed up the street and back, but it was no use. I hadn’t even heard the man’s footsteps, so I couldn’t tell which way he’d fled.
“Finally, I stopped to lean against the side of a building, trying to catch my breath. Hugh was panting hard. ‘What was it?’ he gasped.
“‘The librarian,’ I said when I could manage a few words. ‘The one who followed us to Istanbul. I’m sure it was him.’
“‘Good Lord.’ Hugh wiped his forehead with his sleeve. ‘What’s he doing here?’
“‘Trying to get the rest of my notes,’ I wheezed. ‘He’s a vampire, if you can believe that, and now we’ve led him to this beautiful city.’ Actually, I said more than that, and Hugh must have recognized from our common language all the American variants of infuriation. The thought of the curse I was trailing almost brought tears to my eyes.
“‘Come, now,’ Hugh said soothingly. ‘They’ve had vampires here before, as we know.’ But his face was white and he stared around him, gripping the umbrella.
“‘Blast it!’ I beat the side of the building with my fist.
“‘You’ve got to keep a close eye out,’ Hugh said soberly. ‘Is Miss Rossi back?’
“‘Helen!’ I hadn’t thought of her at once, and Hugh seemed on the verge of a smile at my exclamation. ‘I’ll go back now and check. I’m going to call Professor Bora, too. Look, Hugh—you keep a close eye out, too. Be careful, all right? He saw you with me, and that doesn’t seem to be good luck for anyone these days.’
“‘Don’t worry about me.’ Hugh was looking thoughtfully at the umbrella in his hand. ‘How much did you pay that clerk?’
“I laughed in spite of my breathlessness. ‘Yes, keep it on you.’ We shook hands heartily, and Hugh vanished up the street in the direction of his hotel, which wasn’t far. I didn’t like his going on his own, but there were people in the street now, strolling and talking. In any case, I knew he’d always go his own way; he was that sort of man.
“Back in the hotel lobby, there was no sign of the terrified clerk. Perhaps it was only that his shift had ended, for a clean-shaven young man had taken his place behind the counter. He showed me that the key to Helen’s new room was on its hook, so I knew she must still be with her aunt. The young man let me use the phone, after a careful arrangement for the cost, and then it took me a couple of tries to make Turgut’s number ring. It galled me to call from the hotel phone, which I knew could be bugged, but it was the only possibility at this hour. I would have to hope our conversation would be too peculiar to be understood. At last I heard a clicking on the line, and then Turgut’s voice, far away but jovial, answering in Turkish.
“‘Professor Bora!’ I shouted. ‘Turgut, it’s Paul, calling from Budapest.’
“‘Paul, my dear man!’ I thought I’d never heard anything sweeter than that rumbling, distant voice. ‘There’s some problem on the line—give me your number there in case we are cut asunder.’
“I got it from the hotel clerk and shouted it to him. He shouted back. ‘How are you? Have you found him?’
“‘No!’ I shouted. ‘We are fine, and I’ve learned a little more, but something awful has happened.’
“‘What is that?’ I could hear his consternation, faintly, over the line. ‘Have you been hurt? Miss Rossi?’
“‘No—we’re fine, but the librarian has followed us here.’ I heard a swell of words that could have been some Shakespearean curse but was impossible to distinguish from the static. ‘What do you think we should do?’
“‘I don’t know yet.’ Turgut’s voice was a little clearer now. ‘Do you carry all the time the kit I gave you?’
“‘Yes,’ I said. ‘But I can’t get close enough to this ghoul to do anything with it. I think he searched my room today while we were at the conference, and apparently someone helped him.’ Perhaps the police were listening in at this very moment. Who knew what they would make of all this anyway?
“‘Be very careful, Professor.’ Turgut sounded worried. ‘I do not have any wise advice for you, but I shall have some news soon, maybe even before you return to Istanbul. I am glad you called tonight. Mr. Aksoy and I have found a new document, one neither one of us has ever seen before. He found it in the archive of Mehmed. This document was written by a monk of the Eastern Orthodox Church in 1477, and it must be translated.’
“There was static on the line again, and I had to shout. ‘Did you say 1477? What language is it in?’
“‘I cannot hear you, dear boy!’ Turgut bellowed, far away. ‘There was a rainstorm here. I will call you tomorrow night.’ A Babel of voices—I couldn’t tell whether they were Hungarian or Turkish—broke in on us and swallowed his next words. More clicking followed, and then the line went dead. I hung up slowly, wondering if I should call back, but the clerk was already taking the phone from me with a worried expression and adding up my bill on a scrap of paper. I paid glumly and stood there for a moment, not liking to go up to my bare new room, to which I’d been allowed to take only my shaving instruments and a clean shirt. My spirits were sinking rapidly—it had already been a very long day, after all, and the clock in the lobby said nearly eleven.
“They would have sunk lower still if a taxi hadn’t pulled up at that moment. Helen got out and paid the driver, then came through the great door. She hadn’t noticed me by the desk yet, and her face was grave and reticent, with the melancholy intensity I’d sometimes noticed in it. She had wrapped herself in a s
hawl of downy black-and-red wool that I had never seen before, perhaps a gift from her aunt. It muted the harsh lines of her suit and shoulders and made her skin glow white and luminous even under the crude lighting of the lobby. She looked like a princess, and I stared unabashedly at her for a moment before she saw me. It was not only her beauty, thrown into relief by the soft wool and the regal angle of her chin, that kept me riveted. I was remembering again, with an uneasy quiver inside, the portrait in Turgut’s room—the proud head, the long straight nose, the great dark eyes with their heavy, hooded lids above and below. Perhaps I was just very tired, I told myself, and when Helen saw me and smiled, the image vanished again from my inner sight.”
Chapter 43
If I hadn’t shaken Barley awake, or if he had been alone, he would have passed in slumber across the border into Spain, I think, to be rudely awakened by the Spanish customs officers. As it was, he stumbled onto the platform at Perpignan half asleep, so that I was the one who asked the way to the bus station. The blue-coated conductor frowned, as if he thought we should be at home in the nursery by this hour, but he was kind enough to find our orphaned bags behind the station counter. Where were we going? I told him we wanted a bus to Les Bains, and he shook his head. For that we would have to wait till morning—didn’t I know it was almost midnight? There was a clean hotel up the street where I and my—“Brother,” I supplied quickly—could find a room. The conductor looked us over, observing my darkness and extreme youth, I supposed, and Barley’s lanky blondness, but he only made a clicking sound with his tongue and walked on.
“The next morning dawned even fairer and more beautiful than the one before, and when I met Helen in the hotel dining room for breakfast, my forebodings of the previous night were already a distant dream. Sun came through the dusty windows and lit the white tablecloths and heavy coffee cups. Helen was making some notes in a little notebook at the table. ‘Good morning,’ she said affably as I sat down and poured myself coffee. ‘Are you ready to meet my mother?’
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