Thirteen Years Later (62 page)

‘It’s not easy to march with a piano.’

‘You’re keeping it up though?’

Dmitry nodded.

‘Good,’ said Aleksei. ‘Next time you’re in Petersburg, there’ll . . . well, you’ll see.’

Dmitry was about to ask his father what he meant, but it was clear he was being deliberately enigmatic. ‘So what do you think we should do, Papa?’ he asked instead.

‘About what?’

‘About the revolution.’

‘Like you said,’ replied his father. ‘We wait.’

Even in the Crimea it was turning cold now, especially at night. The crescent moon was low in the sky, but still cast a reasonable light. This was the third night in a row Iuda had sat out here. He hoped it would be the last. He’d chosen the spot some way to the north of Chufut Kalye. The hills were lower here, which helped with the cold. There was no snow as yet, but it could be seen on the mountain peaks to the south.

It was an ideal location. The trail he had left should be easy enough to follow. He had gone back to Karaite citadel and talked
to several of the locals there. A few had recognized him from when he had first reconnoitred the land, years before, but none guessed how close he had been living to them in the meantime. Certainly, anyone who asked wouldn’t have too much difficulty gaining directions to an inn in Simferopol where he – still under the name of Cain – had been staying.

At the inn, they’d learn that the Englishman, Cain, had presented himself as a keen geologist, interested in the cave formations in the region. They’d be told the area he’d been asking questions about, and the fact that he intended to set up camp there.

Not too obvious, he hoped. It shouldn’t matter though; anyone – any creature – that followed the trail would have such an overwhelming sense of their own superiority – against all historical evidence – that they would not be looking for a trap. Even if they were, the worst it could do would be to scare them off.

On the other hand, it could be Lyosha who came after him. He might be buoyed by his victory over Iuda – however pyrrhic it had been, considering that it required the death of Aleksandr – and have decided to pursue him. Would he get lucky and actually manage to kill Iuda one day? The chances were that someone would – someone less squeamish about it than Aleksei, probably. It had become a growing concern for Iuda, and that was what tonight’s undertaking was all about.

His worst fear was that it would be Zmyeevich himself that came, though more likely he would see such personal involvement as beneath him. Iuda regretted having made an enemy of him. Their alliance had begun in 1812, when Zmyeevich had first sent Iuda to Russia to contact the tsar, under the cover of a band of mercenaries whose mission had been, even in Zmyeevich’s eyes, secondary, though the defeat of Russia would have done him little good. He would make a terrible foe, but better to be alive and faced with an enemy like that than to be dead. More and more recently, Iuda had been reminded of his own mortality.

Somewhere behind him, lower down the hill, he heard a sound. He reached into his pocket and drank from the small pewter flask
he found there. It tasted foul, but he knew he had to drink it – not too much though. He almost gagged as he swallowed; there was little chance of overconsumption.

Whoever it was was skirting along the hillside, round to the right. Iuda could still hear them, though they had not yet climbed high enough to have come into view. It would seem they wanted to greet him face to face. Foolhardy, perhaps, but it was necessary for an avenger to be known to his victim. That was why Zmyeevich had insisted Aleksandr know most of what was going on. It had proved a mistake then; it would now.

A face appeared, rising up over the brow of the hill with the moon behind it, but illuminated by the single lamp Iuda had placed beside him. It was the face he had been expecting. There was no attempt at stealth. He came to a halt a few paces away.

‘Good evening, Cain,’ he said.

‘Good evening . . .’ Iuda pretended not to remember the name. ‘Ruslan, isn’t it?’

‘It was once. I prefer Kyesha now.’

‘Ah, yes! Maksim Sergeivich’s poor little brother Innokyentii.’

‘You knew I’d go to Saratov?’ asked Kyesha.

‘I knew it must have been you who gave my book to Danilov. The only link you could have with him was through Maksim Sergeivich.’

‘So you set me up? Aleksei too?’

‘I have to admit I had formed only the vaguest of plans,’ said Iuda. There was no need for deceit. ‘You really did all the thinking for me; though if I’d been organizing things, I’d have been a little better prepared for Lyosha when he arrived at Chufut Kalye – or I’d have made sure he arrived a few weeks later. One thing at a time is best, I always find.’

‘And now you’re starting all over again.’

Iuda looked around him at the barren hilltop. ‘Here?’ he said. ‘No, I think my cave-dwelling days are over. I was just waiting here for you.’

‘Just like you were waiting for Aleksei?’

Iuda decided it was time to show a little weakness. ‘You learn quickly,’ he said, with a self-effacing smile.

Kyesha took a step towards him. Iuda felt his heart quicken as he welcomed in the familiar sensation of fear. This was not the kind of fear he had experienced with Zmyeevich on
R
zbunarea
– this was the good kind, the kind that told him he was alive.

‘Where are all the others?’ asked Kyesha.

‘Others?’

‘From the caves.’

‘Ah! Those others. Raisa Styepanovna has gone her own way. You are here. As for the rest – they’re still there.’

‘Still in the caves?’ said Kyesha. Iuda nodded. ‘Dead, you mean?’

‘Why should they be dead? They have long lives to look forward to.’ As he spoke, Iuda could see that Kyesha’s temper was on the verge of snapping. ‘Long, dull lives.’

‘Unlike you,’ muttered Kyesha. He launched himself into the air towards Iuda, covering far more ground in a single leap than any human could. The impact knocked Iuda backwards off the rock on which he had been seated. He felt a sudden panic fill him. Beneath his coat he had a dagger made of wood – a copy of the one he had seen years before in Aleksei’s hand. It would be so easy to use it now, so safe, but he resisted. Any safety such an action brought would only be for the short term.

He felt his back hit the ground. Kyesha was already on top of him and had him pinned down. Iuda knew how immense the strength of these creatures was, but it always shocked him to feel it directly.

Kyesha bared his fangs. ‘I’m sure I don’t have to tell you this,’ he said, ‘but there are two ways that an
oopir
likes to consume its prey. The quick way involves biting away the flesh of the neck. The slow way involves the gradual but ultimately total draining of the blood.’ He paused, and Iuda saw the lustful hunger in his eyes. ‘I hope you’re not in any hurry,’ he said.

Kyesha would not have seen the look of relief upon Iuda’s face, even had Iuda not successfully repressed it. His head went down on to Iuda’s throat and his fangs found their way through the skin. The entire length of his body began to pulsate in time with the slurping sounds that emanated from his mouth.

It was a fascinating experience. There had been no pain at the initial penetration. He had not yet isolated the chemical the vampire secreted to stop this. He did feel the sensation of blood being drawn from his body, but not enough yet to affect him. The strangest thing was – as Zmyeevich had described happening with Pyotr – the sense in which Iuda began to know Kyesha’s mind. He could see what he saw and know what he knew. It was a good job the reverse wasn’t the case, or Kyesha would have fled the mountains that instant.

Iuda could now see through Kyesha’s own eyes. In truth, there was not much to see; just the bottom of his own earlobe and the side of his neck. More delightful was the fact that Iuda could taste what Kyesha tasted – he could taste his own blood. There was nothing new in that – Iuda, like any human, had sucked his own cut finger more than once, but to drink down great mouthfuls at a time was glorious, refreshing, invigorating. Clearly there were some compensations to being a vampire. In a way, he was sad that Kyesha would soon have to stop, but stop he would, and the sooner the better, for Iuda would still need his strength.

Then he felt it, a tightening pain in his stomach which he knew was in fact a far greater pain in Kyesha’s stomach. The vampire pulled away from his body and raised his head upwards, screaming at the sky and clutching his belly. With a swift kick, Iuda was free of his weight and back on his feet. He felt a little dizzy – more from what he had been drinking than from the blood loss, he hoped. He grabbed the bandage he had placed on the ground beside where he had been sitting and pressed it against the wound on his throat. He held it there for a moment, and then tied it around his neck. He had little time. He reached into his bag for the few items he would need.

Kyesha had raised himself to his feet and was staggering across the rocky landscape like a drunk. Iuda caught up with him from behind and kicked him hard in the back of the leg. Kyesha collapsed to the ground in a kneeling position, his upper body gyrating in a small, slow circle, but never falling.

‘What have you done?’ he slurred.

‘I’ve improved on a master,’ explained Iuda. ‘Your Pyotr certainly was great if he could fool Zmyeevich, but he did it in a very haphazard way. I need no troop of men to rescue me. What you drank was your own undoing.’

‘Po—’ muttered Kyesha.

‘I’m sorry?’ said Iuda, leaning forward to better hear him, and also tucking his dark hair behind his shoulders.

‘Poison?’ It took Kyesha an effort to say even that one word.

‘For you more than for me,’ explained Iuda. He straightened up and had to steady himself on Kyesha’s shoulders. ‘A concoction of my own, devised and perfected after much experimentation. The effect on me, having drunk it, is – I now discover – not unlike the inebriation caused by alcohol. The effect on you, drinking my blood, is far more debilitating.’

‘Will I . . . die?’ gasped Kyesha.

Iuda cocked his head to one side and smiled. ‘A silly question. But my infusion won’t kill you. You creatures are – as you know – very exclusive in the methods by which you can be destroyed.’

‘So . . .’

‘Sh!’ said Iuda gently. ‘Now I’m just going to take back a little of what you’ve taken from me. That’s fair, isn’t it?’

He grabbed Kyesha by the hair and pulled back his head, bringing his knife round so that the vampire could see it. He pondered which side of the blades to use, the smooth or the serrated. The razor-sharp edge of the smooth side would be tidier, but probably less painful, and though he had no qualms about inflicting pain on Kyesha – quite the reverse – he had other more important concerns for now. He brought the two sharp, parallel
blades close in until he felt them press against the skin, then he tugged the knife back firmly towards himself and across Kyesha’s throat.

Kyesha’s head moved back palpably under the strain of Iuda’s hold as the knife tore through neck muscles that had been trying to resist. Two wide, dark gaps opened up between his chin and his collarbone, out of which blood began to vomit. Calmly but quickly, Iuda put down the knife and picked up the small bowl he had brought for the task. He held it in front of Kyesha and let the blood cascade into it. The flow was slowing already, but it didn’t take long to fill the receptacle.

He let go of Kyesha’s hair and put the bowl down carefully some way away on a flat piece of ground. It would be ridiculous to risk spilling it now. Then he returned to Kyesha, reaching inside his coat as he walked.

The vampire had managed to crawl a little way away, in a hopeless attempt at escape, but he scarcely had the strength to move. Iuda strode over to him. His chest was matted with blood, and the ground around him was stained. Iuda grabbed his hair again and lifted his head. The two parallel lines across the neck where the blades had cut gaped open, but even as Iuda watched, he could see they were beginning to heal. He let go, but Kyesha’s head remained lifted under his own volition. The eyes opened and looked blearily in Iuda’s direction. The lips moved, but no sound escaped them.

Iuda knew that he was decades old, but now, in this battered, vulnerable state, Kyesha looked more than ever the boy he had been when he had first allowed a vampire to drink his blood. Iuda would have loved to let him recover just a little more. Inside his overcoat he felt the handle of his wooden dagger, but then he hesitated. It would be too easy, and Iuda was in the mood for some fun.