Budayeen Nights (15 page)

I put some of the wrappers in my pocket and went back to the window. A niggling thought had been bothering me, and I looked outside again. My attention was drawn to the four trash cans below. They weren’t just any trash cans. Safiyya the Lamb Lady had brought me here. She had found all her silver jewelry in Sheba’s alley.

I took another look around Sheba’s shabby apartment. There were dead flowers shoved into one corner, several books thrown together on the floor, and shattered glass everywhere. I found another double handful of abandoned jewelry, a heap of pendants and necklaces, cheap stuff. Most were decorated with familiar symbols, all jumbled together—there were a couple of Christian crosses; Islamic crescents and items with Qur’ânic inscriptions; a Star of David; an ankh; Buddhist, Hindu, and other Asiatic religious tokens; occult designs; Native American figures; and others I wasn’t able to identify. These were the only things I saw that might have had some connection to the vampire mythology, but I still discounted them—the things might just have been left behind like the rest of the jewelry. I couldn’t be sure there was any particular significance to them.

Nothing else set off a bell in my highly perceptive crime-solving mind. The moddies were the best clue, and so my next stop was Laila’s modshop on Fourth Street. I was surprised that Laila herself wasn’t in when I got there, but I was relieved, too. Laila is almost impossible to deal with. Instead, there was a young woman standing behind the counter.

She smiled at me. She didn’t seem crazy at all. She was either wearing a moddy that force-fed her a pleasant personality, or something was definitely not right here. This was not a shop where you met people under the control of their own unaugmented selves.

“Can I help you?” she asked me in English. I don’t speak much English, but I have an electronic add-on that takes care of that for me. I kept the language daddy chipped in almost all the time, because there are a lot of important English-speaking people in the city.

I took the wrappers from my pocket. “Sell any of these lately?”

She shuffled the cellophane around on the counter for a few seconds. “Nope,” she said brightly. I was positive now that I wasn’t dealing with her real personality. She was just too goddamn perky.

“How do you know?” I asked.

She shrugged. “This shop and its owner are much too concerned about upholding local ordinances to sell illegal bootleg moddies.”

I almost choked. “Yeah, you right,” was all I said.

“Anything else I can help you with?” She was deeply concerned, I could tell. That was some moddy Laila had found for her.

“I’ll just browse a bit.” I went toward the bins of moddies based on characters from old books and holoshows. For some dumb reason, I couldn’t come up with the name of the villain I was looking for. “You know what a vampire is?”

“Sure,” she said. “We had to watch that movie in a class in high school.” She made a scornful expression. “Twentieth Century Literature.”

“What was the vampire’s name again?”

“Lestat. They made us watch that movie and another classic.
Airport
, it was. None of us could figure out what they had to do with the real world. I like modern literature better.”

I’ll bet she did. Lestat wasn’t who I was searching for. I browsed through the bins for half an hour before I came across a set of vampire-character moddies. The package had been torn open. I took it to the counter and showed it to the young woman. “Know anything about this?” I asked.

She was upset. “We don’t break sets open,” she said. “We wouldn’t have done that.” The Dracula moddy was missing, leaving the Jonathan Harker, Lucy Westenra, Dr. Van Helsing, and Renfield moddies. I gave a little involuntary shudder. I didn’t want to meet the person who’d be eager to chip in Renfield.

“Do you suppose someone could have shoplifted the missing moddy?” I asked.

I almost wished I hadn’t said it. The young woman paled. I could see how abhorrent the entire idea was to her. “Perhaps,” she murmured. The word she used was “perhaps,” not “maybe.” That had to be the software talking.

“Forget it,” I said, coming to a decision. “I’ll buy the rest of the package.”

“Even though part of it’s been stolen? You know I’m not authorized to offer you a discount.”

It took me a little while longer to persuade her to sell me the things, and I was already chipping in Dr. Van Helsing, that fearless old vampire hunter, as I left the shop and headed back toward the eastern gate.

The first thing Audran noticed was that he was somewhat taller and a good deal older. There was a painful twinge in his left shoulder, but he decided it wouldn’t hinder him too much. He also felt very Dutch; he—Van Helsing—was from Amsterdam, after all
.

Audran’s own consciousness lurked in a tiny, hidden-away area submerged beneath the overlay of Van Helsing. There he wondered what “feeling Dutch” meant. It was probably just some programmer’s laziness. That person had known that Van Helsing was Dutch, but had not bothered to include specific dutchnesses. It was a weakness that Audran despised in poorly written commercial moddies.

It did not take long for Audran’s muscles and nerves to compensate for the differences between his own physical body and the one the moddy’s manufacturer imagined. As long as the moddy was chipped in, Audran would move, feel, and respond as Van Helsing. There was also an annoying nervous flutter in his right eyelid, and Audran sincerely hoped it would go away as soon as he popped the moddy out.

Van Helsing was still heading east, on the sidewalk; Audran preferred walking in the middle of the street. As he approached the arched gate of the Budayeen, Van Helsing considered the things they had found in Sheba’s apartment. Now, with his special knowledge, the evidence took on new significance.

How could Audran be expected to appreciate the absolute horror of what he’d discovered in the abandoned apartment? How could Audran know that the dead flowers, roses, were shunned by all vampires; that the broken glass came from shattered mirrors around the room; that the sacred symbols were powerful weapons against the Undead?

More compelling yet were the books and papers left with seeming carelessness on the floor. They had looked harmless enough to Audran, but Van Helsing knew that within their pages were terrible, evil passages describing rituals through which a living human being could become a vampire, and others that gave instructions for inviting demons to invade and possess one’s immortal soul.

Through Audran’s inaction, the situation had become dire and deadly; more than human lives were at stake now. An unholy monster was loose among the unsuspecting people of the Budayeen. Once again, it was left to Dr. Van Helsing to restore peace and sanctity, if he could.

Cursing Audran for a fool, Van Helsing quickened his pace. Audran should’ve guessed the truth when the young boy had been attacked. Dracula’s victim, Lucy, had preyed largely upon children. Van Helsing felt an uncomfortable stirring of his emotions. Although he’d never admit the fact to anyone, he was aware of his barely sublimated lust toward female vampires. And now he’d been called upon to battle a new one. He shook his head; at the ultimate moment, he knew, he would be strong enough. He passed through the arch and onto the beautiful Boulevard il-Jameel.

Bill the cab driver was still waiting for him. He tapped Van Helsing on the shoulder. “Ready to go?” he asked.

“Gott im Himmel!” Van Helsing exclaimed.

“That’s easy for you to say,” Bill said. “Get in.”

Van Helsing and Audran glanced at the taxi. Together they reached up and popped the moddy out.

“The guy’s a total loon,” I muttered as I slid into the cab’s backseat.

“Got a complaint about me, pal?” Bill asked.

“No,” I said, “I’m talking about this Van Helsing jerk. He sees deadly gruesome creatures everywhere he looks.”

Bill shrugged. “Well, hell, so do I, but I just steer around ‘em.” I thought that was a pretty sensible attitude.

Bill delivered me to the front gate of Friedlander Bey’s estate. I hurried inside and up to my suite just in time for Kmuzu to remind me about the important luncheon meeting scheduled with Papa and the political representatives of some damn place. I showered again, feeling just a little sullied after letting that repressed Van Helsing character occupy my mind and body. I put on my best gallebeya and keffiya, going so far as to belt a gorgeous jeweled ceremonial dagger in front at the waist. I looked good, and I knew Papa would be pleased.

The luncheon itself was fine, just fine. I don’t even remember what we ate, but there was tons of it and the delegation from Parthia was appropriately impressed. More important, though, was that they were appropriately intimidated. I sat in my chair and looked thoughtful, while Friedlander Bey explained to them the facts of life here in the early years of the twenty-third century of the Christian Era.

What it all amounted to was that the Parthians pretended to be grateful after being denied the help they’d come for. They even tried to bribe Papa further by guaranteeing him exclusive influence with the victorious side in the brand-new Silesian revolt. Since no one at that moment could predict which party would end up in power, and since Papa had little interest in nations beyond the Islamic realm, and since everyone in the room including Habib and Labib knew that the Parthians couldn’t deliver on their promise in the first place, we acted as if they hadn’t said a word. It was an embarrassing blunder on their part, but Friedlander Bey handled it all with grace and assurance. He just waved to have the coffee and kataifi brought in. Papa’s extremely fond of kataifi, a Greek dessert something like baklava, except it looks like shredded wheat. It may be his only worldly weakness.

With all the formal greetings and salutations and invitations and flatteries and thank-yous and blessings and leave-takings, it was about five o’clock before I was able to return to my rooms. I started to tell Kmuzu what had gone on, but naturally he already knew all about it. He even had a little advice for me concerning the people of Kush, who no doubt would soon strike back against the weakened Parthians.

“Fine,” I said impatiently. “Thank you, Kmuzu, I don’t know what I’d do without you. If you’ll just excuse me—“

“The family of the young murdered boy said they were sorry you couldn’t come to the funeral. They know how fond of you he’d been. I explained that you’d been detained by the master of the house.”

I regretted missing the service. I wished I could have at least been at the cemetery to offer my condolences.

“I think I’ll just relax now,” I said. “I’m going to rest for a while, and then I’m going to see how my nightclub is doing without me. That is all right, isn’t it? I mean, I’m allowed to go down there this evening, aren’t I?”

Kmuzu gave me a blank stare for a second or two. “I have been advised otherwise, yaa Sidi,” he said.

“Oh. Too bad. Then-“

I was looking at his back. “You have two visitors waiting to speak with you, a man and a boy. They’ve been here since two o’clock.”

“In the anteroom? All this time?” I didn’t want to see anyone else, but I couldn’t just tell these people to go home and come back tomorrow. “All right, I’ll—” Kmuzu wasn’t paying any attention. He was already going toward my office. I followed, trying not to let all this power go to my head.

When I saw who was waiting for me, I was startled. It was Bill the cab driver and a boy from the Budayeen. Bill was standing up with his back to the room, his hands stretched up as high against the wall as he could reach. Don’t ask me why. The kid’s name was Musa Ali, and his dirty face was streaked with tears. He was sitting quietly in a chair. I felt sorry for him, having to spend all those hours alone with Bill. I wouldn’t have done it.

When I came in, they both began speaking at once. They talked fast and furiously. I couldn’t make any sense out of it. I signaled Bill to shut up, and then I let Musa Ali explain things. “My sister,” he said, his eyes wide with fear, “she’s taken her.”

I looked at Bill. “The vampire,” he said. Suddenly he was very calm and matter-of-fact. His hands were still raised high, but I didn’t hold that against him. You took what you could get with Bill.

Between the two of them, I got an idea of the story. Not the truth, necessarily, but the story. Apparently, just at noon, Sheba, in her vampire form, had stolen another child, Musa Ali’s six-year-old sister. Bill had tried to interfere, and a tremendous fight had erupted. On one side was this burly full-grown man, and on the other was a short nightclub dancer burdened with a struggling child in her arms. Bill was covered with dark bruises and bloody cuts and scratches, so I didn’t really have to ask which way the conflict had gone.

“She turned into a bunch of mist,” Bill said, shrugging. He sounded apologetic. “I couldn’t fight a bunch of mist, could I? She just floated away on the breeze. Reminded me of that time this guy from Tunis tried to cheat me out of my fare, and just then I heard this music from Heaven that was too high-pitched for normal humans to hear, see, so I turned around as fast as I could, but he was trying to get out of the cab, so then—“

I stopped listening to Bill. “Mist?” I asked Musa Ali.

“Uh-huh,” the boy said.

So now I was tracking down a fog lady. A murderous vampire fog lady. Suddenly I really wanted another piece of kataifi….

It was getting late. I returned quickly to my apartment, to change clothes again and pick up a few items I thought might be useful. One of those things was the Van Helsing moddy—after all, the excitable Dutch fanatic knew more about hunting vampires than I ever would. I just had to try to maintain a little rational control, to offset Van Helsing’s own serious hang-ups.

I avoided Kmuzu and hurried back to Bill and Musa Ali, still waiting in my office. With some difficulty, we managed to slip out of the house without any direct interference from Friedlander Bey’s staff, and I gave Bill the order to drive us back to the Budayeen. “First I take you over there,” Bill complained, “then I bring you back, then I go home, then I come back here, now we go over there again. Maybe I’ll be lucky and we’ll all get killed tonight. I don’t do this driving thing because I enjoy it, you know.”