Bloodline (12 page)

Captain’s Log
The Alexandru

14TH
N
OVEMBER

We have passed into the Black Sea and shall make Varna tomorrow. I am thankful the weather has been with us all the way for I long to be rid of my cursed cargo.

Journal of
Mary Seward

17TH
N
OVEMBER 1916

After a long and arduous voyage, Captain Volkersen has stayed true to his word and has delivered us in Varna. Lord knows how we shall ever return home, but there is not time to worry on such things as that now.

We stood at the top of the gangplank, which clattered with the sound of the crew passing up and down it.

“I have been ashore already and asked about
The Alexandru,”
Captain Volkersen told us. “It docked two days ago and brought with it no cargo, only passengers. It seems
your sister’s crossing was not an uneventful one,” he added darkly. “The captain of
The Alexandru
has been cursing the voyage since he docked.”

“What do you mean?” John asked urgently.

“Three sailors were lost,” Captain Volkersen explained. “You are a brave pair to travel in these dangerous times and deserve the blessing of heaven.”

John and I thanked him and made our way down the gangplank onto the busy quayside.

A chill wind was blowing and oily puddles lay on the dock from the recent rain. Bulgarian soldiers milled among the crowd and I felt exposed, keen to find shelter in the city. We walked as calmly as we could, weighed down by our bags, toward the buildings that lined the water’s edge.

Varna is old, its buildings ornate and brightly painted, its streets narrow and busy—which is a blessing, for it is easy to travel through them unnoticed.

We stopped to buy a crucifix for Lily from a small shop filled with religious paraphernalia. I had my own—Father had always been strangely insistent that I wear one, and now I knew why. John would carry the silver cross we had found in Van Helsing’s bag.

It was too late in the day to find a means of travelling to the Danube, where we would cross into Romania, so we found an inn to stay for the night.

The innkeeper was a tall man, gaunt and stooped; he
eyed us suspiciously as John tried first in German, and then in Romanian, to request rooms.

The man stared at us blankly. So John unfastened his purse and took out a gold coin. Suddenly, the man seemed to understand our request. He picked up our luggage and led us up a creaky staircase.

As he handed over the keys, a woman bundled in thick skirts and a grubby apron shuffled past. The innkeeper muttered something to her.

I recognised German as she began to address John. I waited, my palms prickling with anxious curiosity, as the two conversed. I saw the woman glance repeatedly at John’s purse until finally he opened it and took out two more gold coins.

“What were you talking about?” I asked after the woman had left.

“Mrs. Cinzov has agreed to arrange a way out of Varna for us,” he told me.

“Already!” I gasped.

“Gold is a great incentive.” John smiled wearily. “Especially in wartime. The sight of it encouraged our hosts to place every assistance at the disposal of a German-speaking visitor to their town. I told Mrs. Cinzov the story just as we planned, that you were my sister and we had to get you out of Bulgaria before my leave was over.”

“And she believed you!”

“I don’t think she cared about anything more than my money,” John answered. “But no matter. She told me that her husband has a brother who will be travelling to the river Danube tomorrow, where we can cross into Romania. He’s a tanner, with a cartload of hides to deliver. We may travel with him for a price. I have paid half now and will give the rest to the brother when we arrive safely at the Danube.”

“Can we trust them?” I asked worriedly.

“I doubt it, but what other choice do we have?”

“But what if they try to rob us or worse?”

“I have Van Helsing’s revolver in my coat. I will use it if necessary,” John told me resolutely.

He is right—what choice do we have?

Journal of
Lily Shaw

18TH
N
OVEMBER 1916

I have not written these past few days since we left the ship, for the journey across Bulgaria has been tiring. We have hurried from train to coach then train again.

“Where are we headed for now?” I asked Quincey as we
settled into our private train compartment. The blinds had been pulled down against the sunshine outside, for which I was grateful. I had grown unused to its bright light during our voyage, becoming quite the nocturnal creature since our ship’s passage.

“We are going to the river Danube,” he told me with a smile, “where we shall cross into Romania.”

I tensed as I saw grey-uniformed soldiers stamping along the corridor outside our compartment. Their hats were topped with spikes. I recognised them from posters back in England, warning against the wicked Hun.

“Are they not German soldiers?” I asked, pointing through the compartment’s smoky window.

Quincey nodded. “They will give us no trouble,” he said calmly. “If we are questioned, I have documents to convince them to send us on our way.”

I must have dozed for a while after that, resting my head on Quincey’s shoulder, for the next thing I knew, Quincey’s gentle hand was touching my cheek. I blinked into wakefulness. Lights burned inside the compartment and the sky beyond the window had blackened into night.

“Lily,” he said, “we are nearing the station and must alight. A carriage will be waiting for us there.”

I yawned and stretched as Antanasia got down our bags and gathered the luggage tickets. Quincey leaned out into the corridor and called, in German, for assistance.

The carriage took us to a ferry on the banks of the Danube. I stood at the stern, wondering at the great width of the river and how silently it flowed, disappearing into the velvet darkness of the night.

We are in Romania now, comfortable in a carriage Quincey says will carry us all the way to his home. The journey will take a few more days, but he promises it will pass quickly and that the inns along the way will give us comfort and warmth at night.

It feels so strange—and yet familiar, being back in the country where I was born. I had learned to accept the sights and sounds of England as the only ones possible and had forgotten that houses or people, landscape and animal could be any other way than the way I’d become used to at Carfax Hall. But now I remember how the strangeness of England disturbed me when first I moved there as a child of seven.

A myriad of memories are being awoken by all I hear and smell here in Romania—the Slavic accents and ancient buildings, the rough countryside and strong odours of food and animals, these are of the world I shared with Mother and Father. How I wish they were here to share it again. But I know that cannot be and so am doubly thankful for darling Quincey.

Journal of
Mary Seward

20TH
N
OVEMBER 1916

We have crossed the Danube. The tanner introduced us to a fisherman with a boat who agreed to ferry us across to Romania once night had fallen.

“What luck!” John whispered as we settled ourselves into the rough fishing smack.

“It is not luck but kindness that has brought us this far,” I answered. “Be grateful. We have found humanity in a strange land.”

“It is greed that drives these people. They help us only for the gold.”

The disillusionment in John’s voice surprised me. “They risk their lives,” I pointed out. “Would they do that simply for money?”

John did not reply, only stared at the waves that stretched ahead of us. I felt his despair.

“My dearest, you have been through so many horrors,” I murmured gently. I took his cold hand and kissed his fingers. “It has shaken your faith, but in time, you will forget.”

He looked at me hopefully and pulled me close to him. “Do you think it is possible?”

“Of course, my darling.”

“And what of the horrors we still have to face?”

“We will conquer them together.” I looked at him intently, imploring him to accept my words.

“Yes,” he said, stroking my cheek, “we will do it together. And when this is darkness is over, I shall return you to England, where we will be married in the sunshine.”

He gazed down and in that moment I knew he was going to kiss me. I tilted my head back as he pressed his soft lips to mine. The sweetness of our embrace made me ache for home and everything I knew.

Yes, to stave off these nightmares, I would have to believe that soon John and I would have in our day in the sunshine.

Journal of
Lily Shaw

21ST
N
OVEMBER 1916

Quincey tells me we are now only a day’s journey away from his home. We have stopped at an inn for the night at the foot of the mountain where the castle is situated. He has gone downstairs to collect a letter that was waiting here for him.

“Who could have sent it?” I asked Antanasia.

She looked up from unpacking our bags and was about to say something when Quincey returned, the letter in his hand.

I stared at it inquisitively.

He smiled and silenced me with a kiss. “It is from the castle. But no questions, eh? You will know all once we arrive.”

His words filled me with excitement. But though I am now quite unused to resting at night, Quincey says I must, so that I will remain fresh for our arrival at the castle tomorrow evening.

22ND
N
OVEMBER 1916

Shortly after midnight I awoke suddenly, unnerved by the sound of screaming. I sat up in bed—and found no noise disturbed the room except the peaceful ticking of the clock.

I looked at Antanasia. She snored on. I wondered if the screaming had been a dream.

Reluctant to disturb her, I decided to seek comfort from Quincey. I pulled on my dressing gown to go next door. I knocked lightly. When I received no answer, I turned the handle and let myself in.

The room was empty. Though disappointed, I did not think too much of it, knowing Quincey rarely slept during the hours of darkness.

My eye was drawn to the letter on the mantel. I longed to know its contents—knowing it would likely provide a clue as to what might await me at the castle.

And though my conscience told me not to, a wilful curiosity impelled me to lift the creamy envelope and take out the letter.

Letter from Mina,
Countess Tepes

CASTLE DRACULA
20TH
N
OVEMBER 1916

Dearest Quincey,

It is so long since you left us, my son. But soon you will back where you belong, at the heart of your family—and with you, such a prize! I need not tell you how eagerly we await your arrival…. At last, your bride is ripe for the union we have planned these long years.

The preparations for your wedding are all in hand. What a glorious St. Andrew’s Eve it shall be! And not a moment too soon—for we sorely need your strength to carry us through this time of darkness to a new age where once more the House of Dracul shall be triumphant.

Your loyal mother,    
Mina, Countess Tepes

Journal of
Lily Shaw

22ND
N
OVEMBER
(CONTINUED)

St. Andrew’s Eve? But that was just days away, on the 29th of November! Pleasure and confusion seemed to war in my breast. My wedding to Quincey was close at hand. Soon we would be united for all eternity! Yet I wondered, why did my love not tell me of his intent to marry on this day?

There was more that perplexed me about the letter. Quincey’s mother spoke eagerly of my arrival—her tone showed the very same warmth and affection I love so much in her wonderful son. But what did she mean by “the union we have planned these long years”? Who were the others “who eagerly await” our arrival? What was the House of Dracul? And what kind of triumph was the countess talking about?

Sighing with frustration, I wished that Quincey were less reluctant to talk of his family. I refolded the letter and put it into its place back on the mantel.

L
ATER

It is almost time to embark on the very last leg of our journey. Quincey wants us to be on our way before dawn.

Antanasia has gone to buy provisions from the inn’s cook.

I have written to John to tell him that the wedding will take place on the 29th of November and that I am safe and well and very happy. I have no idea when the next mail coach will pass through this remote village to collect the letter. But even though John will not receive my reassuring words for some time, it was a comfort nonetheless to imagine his face as he reads them.

Journal of Mary Seward

22ND
N
OVEMBER 1916

We race across Romania toward the castle, taking whatever transport we can find. I cling ever more tightly to Van Helsing’s bag as we near our goal, but it is gold that is our most important tool in this foreign land. It buys us passage and eases our way through nations disjointed by war.

We travelled last night huddled on the flat back of a wagon, open to the lashing rain.

This morning, as our “carriage” rumbled over the rutted roads, I looked out at the passing countryside. Out in the fields women, the elderly, and children worked the land. I
supposed it must be the same here as it is back in England—the war drew all the young strong men away to fight.

The landscape is imposing, its wildness crowding the villages and roads. As we travel farther into Romania’s heart, it grows ever more rugged and mountainous.

L
ATER

We found shelter at an inn tonight. Though the food was poor, it warmed us and we have dry beds for the night. But the knowledge that we come ever nearer to Castle Dracula fills me with trepidation. I am only thankful I have my dear John and that we face the hellish peril side by side.

Journal of
Lily Shaw

22ND
N
OVEMBER
(CONTINUED)

It is difficult to write as we travel in the coach along rough dirt tracks. We are in a splendid black caleche, which I believe has been sent from the castle. Antanasia is dozing in the corner and Quincey seems lost in thought.

I left my letter for John with the innkeeper. Even though
the hour was ungodly early—not yet dawn—I was touched that the innkeeper had roused himself to see us away.

I know that my adored Quincey cuts an impressive figure, but I have noticed that the locals all regard him with an awe and reverence that surprises even me. I am beginning to wonder at his family. They must be even grander than I’d guessed. I must admit, the possibility makes me even more nervous.

As we began to take our leave, a fearful shriek sounded outside and a man burst through the doorway, shouting to the innkeeper. I struggled to grasp what he was saying, but he was quite incoherent.

He had clearly not seen our party waiting in the shadow of the doorway, for when Quincey stepped forward—I assume to ask the poor fellow what was the matter—he jumped in surprise and backed away. His jabbering mouth fell silent, hanging slackly as he stared up into Quincey’s face. He crossed his chest with a trembling hand and slunk out of the door, running down the muddy street. My initial alarm dissolved into pity, for it seemed that he must not be of sound mind.

“Did you catch what was troubling that poor strange fellow?” I asked Quincey.

Quincey shook his head. “Probably drunk,” he muttered. He lifted his hand, and his black cloak enveloped me as he placed his arm around my shoulders. “Come, Lily,” he said gently. “Let’s not keep the driver waiting any longer.”

We went out to the carriage. The black velvet sky was
beginning to warm with the onset of dawn. I heard the door of the inn being closed firmly behind us and its bolts being fastened.

Quincey helped Antanasia and I into the vehicle, then climbed in himself and secured the door. He pulled down the shades and signalled to the driver to set off.

Though the blinds are down for Quincey’s comfort, I can, by leaning my head close to the window frame, see a sliver of scenery through the gap between the blind and the glass. As we progress up the winding mountain road, the shadows cast by the thick forest surrounding us never seem to disappear, no matter where the sun appears in the sky. Large black birds circle and swoop, high above the treetops.

The carriage sways along and makes me drowsy. Though I had hoped to enjoy the countryside in the light of day, I think I shall stop now and sleep.

23RD
N
OVEMBER 1916

I am now at Quincey’s home—the castle. Though midnight has passed, I cannot find peace in sleep—so I shall write, by lamplight, of the horrible events that befell us as the carriage made its approach to this place.

As the sun began to sink behind the treetops, the road grew steeper. Quincey pulled up the blinds, and for the first time, I
was exposed to the full force of our fiercely majestic surroundings. Transylvania was truly beautiful.

As I watched the scenery go by, a chill penetrated my shawl. I began to experience the strangest sensation that we were being watched.

I caught glimpses of movement through the trees—a sleek pelt moving here, another there. Suddenly, an unearthly howl rang out.

Alarmed, I looked to Quincey.

“We are perfectly safe,” he assured me. “The wolves have been protectors of this place—and my family—for many centuries. They are to be welcomed rather than feared.”

I nodded and despite my trepidation gave him a smile. I was determined to meet my future with a boldness that he could be proud of.

A strange creaking noise began to sound from beneath us.

“What is that?” Antanasia asked curiously.

“These old roads are hard on the carriage,” Quincey replied calmly. “Nothing to fear.” He pointed out of the window. “Look, Lily …”

I glanced out the window to the top of the peak we were climbing. Perched on the corner of a vast rock far above us was the castle—three towers blackly outlined against the bloodred sunset.

The fourth tower appeared to have collapsed some time
ago. It tumbled down the almost sheer drop that surrounded the structure on most of its sides.

“How old is the castle?” I asked.

“At least five hundred years,” Quincey replied. “The Tepes family have occupied Castle Dracula for many generations.”

The creaking of the carriage became louder as the incline grew steeper and stonier. All at once I heard a crack like a tree snapping in a gale. A second later, it was as if the world tumbled over! The carriage spilled and crashed onto the ground with a sound of splitting wood. Outside, the horses whinnied in protest.

“Lily, are you all right?” Quincey grasped me, pulling me up from where I had fallen to the floor of the caleche.

I waited to see if pain afflicted any part of me and was relieved to find that none did. “I’m fine,” I assured him.

Antanasia dusted off my skirt, then straightened her hat, which had been displaced with the pitch of the carriage.

“It feels as though we have lost a wheel,” Quincey announced, reaching past me to unlatch the door and let it swing open. He leapt out and lifted me down and then Antanasia.

Quincey was right. The great wheel at the back had cracked in two and lay crushed beneath the carriage. “We have a spare one,” he told us, and signalled to the driver, who had already climbed down from his seat.

It was the first I had seen of the driver. I could not make out his face, shadowed as it was beneath a wide-brimmed black hat and a tall upturned collar. The effect of the outfit was strange. I should probably be quite unsettled by it if Quincey had not been with me.

More howls came from the trees. And now I could see pinpricks of light—eyes gleaming amongst the thickets.

Though Quincey said we had nothing to fear from the wolves, they frightened me. Now that we were exposed—outside the safety of the cab—my fear of them doubled.

Antanasia took my arm. “Don’t worry, child. We shall be on our way in no time.” She led me to a boulder a few yards from the carriage. “Let’s sit and wait here.”

I sat beside her and watched the driver unfasten the spare wheel from the underside of the caleche. Quincey stripped the broken wheel from its axle as the driver rolled the new one to his side. Then, with strength so massive it stopped the breath in my throat, Quincey took hold of the axle and raised it from the ground so that the caleche balanced on three wheels.

How he supported the weight of the coach, I could not say. I watched in awe as the driver rolled the spare into place and hammered it onto the point of the axle that rested in Quincey’s hands. Each blow made the carriage shudder and Quincey with it, but he just gazed down, concentrating on his task.

So absorbed was I by this that the sudden piercing scream next to me turned my blood to ice.

I turned to reach for Antanasia—and recoiled in horror. She was being pulled violently backward by a huge wolf, who gripped her neck with its pure white fangs.

I wanted to shout out for help, but my voice died in my throat. A loud crack met my ears, and Antanasia’s head twisted in a brutally unnatural angle. I stared into the bloodied face of my beloved guardian, her unbelieving eyes fixed in death, as she was hauled into the bushes.

Another scream rang out around the trees and echoed against the dark and empty sky. I felt Quincey at my side, pulling me to him, and realised that the screams were my own. “No!” I sobbed, not wanting to believe in the unthinkable horror I had just witnessed.

A loud rustling sounded through the undergrowth. More wolves were slinking toward the site where the murderous beast had taken Antanasia. The noise of them feeding on flesh, gnawing on bone, made me nauseous and light-headed. Only Quincey’s arms kept me from falling. “We must hurry back to the carriage,” he told me. He enclosed me in the darkness of his cloak, shielding me from the sound of Antanasia’s bloody dismemberment.

I barely registered my surroundings as we continued on our journey. Then the noise of the wheels changed, sounding out on cobbles instead of dirt. We passed through huge wooden gates into a courtyard. We had arrived at the castle.

“Introductions will wait,” Quincey told me. I buried my face into his chest, desperate for his comfort as he carried me immediately to my rooms. He placed me gently on the bed and took off my boots. Then he placed a coverlet over me and sat with me until I fell into an exhausted slumber.

I awoke, an hour or so later, to discover a silver tray of food on the small table beside my bed. I have no appetite, however. I can only grieve for the loss of my guardian and pray for slumber to ease my suffering.