Diaries of the Family Dracul - The Covenant with the Vampire Part 2

I thanked him for his kind letters, and we exchanged more gracious remarks, then took our places at the dinner table. The dog, Brutus, who had lain curled at Zsuzsanna's feet, growled most uncharitably at Vlad, then slunk out of the room and did not reappear for the rest of the evening.

Yet Vlad proved as charming as he was fear-inspiring. He made a small speech about his deceased nephew, so touching and clearly heartfelt that all four of us were moved to tears.

Dinner was then served, during which each person relayed fond stories about Petru, and many toasts were made. I took only token sips of my wine, as drink does not agree with me generally, and even less so since I became with child-and it caught my attention that, during the toasts, Vlad raised his gla.s.s to his lips, but only pretended to drink. Nor did he eat, though he lifted his fork on several occasions. At the evening's end, both his wine and meal were entirely untouched. Even more amazingly, neither the servants nor the family seemed to notice. I felt certain the family simply tolerated this as just one more of the prince's eccentricities, but when I later timidly remarked about this to Arkady, he seemed to think I was joking: Of course Uncle had eaten dinner-he had seen him eat and drink with his own eyes!This struck me as incredibly odd, but I said nothing more to him about it, lest he think me deranged or fanciful due to the pregnancy.

Is it the beginning of madness to think myself the only one sane?

At one point during the dinner, Vlad drew out a letter for Arkady and seemed most anxious for him to translate it, as it was in English. Apparently it was from a British gentleman who had been planning, before Petru's death, to visit the estate. I thought the timing inappropriate, considering the solemn circ.u.mstance, but Arkady willingly translated it for him, then promised to help him later with a reply. Vlad turned smiling to me and said: "You must both help me learn English!"

Flattered, I said, "And you must help me learn Roumanian."

No, said Vlad, that would not be necessary, for it was his intent, now that Petru was gone, to travel to England. Petru had felt tied to the land, he said, but as for himself, he was restless.

Transylvania was a superst.i.tious, backward country, and small, and the village was becoming an altogether lonely place now that so many of the peasants were leaving for the cities. He felt he could no longer rely on the occasional entertainment provided by visitors- who all told him stories of how the world beyond the forest was changing quickly, very quickly. "Better to keep up with those changes," said he cheerfully, "than languish in isolation here. Survival is for those who adapt to the demands of the times!" The move, he hastened to add, would take place in a year or so, after the child was born and old enough to travel. And by then he should be quite fluent in English.

"Well," said I, thinking that Arkady's progressive att.i.tude was clearly hereditary, "certainly I should be most glad and privileged to serve as your instructor and travel guide. But as we shall be returning afterwards to Transylvania, it would benefit me to learn the language-"

"Ah," he replied, "but this is not my intent. I intend to relocate, perhaps permanently, in England-though, of course, I shall return from time to time for nostalgic visits to the family estate-"

To tell the truth, my heart was already glad at the thought of returning home. But at this, Zsuzsanna leapt up from her chair in a fit of temper that startled us all. "I forbid it!" she cried, in a strange mixture of English and Roumanian, as if she could not decide whether she wanted Vlad or me to understand. (I write here what I gathered to be the gist.) "You cannot go! You know I am too weak to travel with you, and if you leave me, I shall die!"

He turned his head towards her swiftly. The candlelight caught his eyes so that they gleamed red, like an animal's, and for an instant fury contorted his sharp features so that I thought I gazed upon the face of nothing less than a monster. But he collected himself at once, and his tone was calm as he spoke soothingly. When later I asked Arkady about this, he said that Vlad rea.s.sured her that we would never leave unless Zsuzsa was strong enough to come with us, and that if she continued to feel weak, he would hire a doctor and make her well.

She burst into tears, and her voice shook as she said, "How can you think of leaving? Father is here. Stefan is here. All our memories are here."

He continued to speak comfortingly to her, and finally she calmed and retook her seat. The dinner concluded cordially and without further incident. But I was most disturbed.

I have seen how he looks at her, and she at him. She is desperately in love with him, and I fear Vlad is not above taking advantage of it. My innocent husband has no idea, and I do not know how to tell him.* * *

The Diary of Arkady Tsepesh 7 April.

d.a.m.n the peasants! d.a.m.n them! d.a.m.n them and their superst.i.tion and stupidity all to h.e.l.l!

I can scarcely bring myself to write about what has happened-it is too monstrous, too painful, too grotesque. Yet I must; someone must bear witness to the evil wrought by ignorance.

We buried Father yesterday beside Stefan and Mother in the family tomb, situated on the knoll between the manor and the great castle. I did not want Mary to attend, as she seemed wan and tired, and it was a cold, windy spring day. But she held firm, saying it was the least she could do for the father-in-law she had never met. The tomb impressed her deeply, and she paused to read the list of names on the outside wall of each person buried therein.

Despite my gloom, I felt some distant pride at the lordly tomb and the fact that all, even the oldest entries-dating from the early seventeen hundreds -were legible, as they had been lovingly carved into the white marble, along with the dates, so that the name of the forebear would never be forgotten and lost to the ages. (Someday soon I shall show her the chapel, and the crypts dating back to the fifteenth century.) It was a small ceremony at noon. We laid Father in a little alcove alongside Stefan and the mother I never knew. In accordance with his wishes, there was no priest, no reading of scripture or the burial service. The great door to the tomb was unlocked, and servants carried the coffin inside and set it to rest on a catafalque surrounded by lighted candles and decorated with fragrant white flowers. We followed and said our final farewells, then I spoke briefly, once again feeling the scrutiny and palpable presence of my dead ancestors; I half- expected to see little Stefan in the small gathering of mourners. Vlad did not come, which did not particularly surprise anyone, though he paid for an exquisitely engraved gold coffin- plate (that read: "PETRU TSEPESH, Beloved Father, Husband, and Nephew"), another pair of Bocete singers, and a beautiful cascade of red roses which adorned the casket and which we left in the tomb with Father.

The day pa.s.sed quietly, and the next. Since my previous journal entry, Mary and I have several times discussed the conversation with Vlad and my remaining to take Father's place, and she has nearly succeeded in a.s.suaging my guilt over asking my city-bred wife to spend the rest of her life in the wild Carpathian forest. Bistritz is the nearest post town, and hardly a replacement for London; to send or receive mail or to shop at the modest facilities there requires an eight-hour carriage ride (not to mention the return trip!) over winding mountain roads. During winter storms, we shall be effectively isolated.

Mary says it is of no import, so long as she can remain by my side. For my part, I cannot imagine what saintly deed I performed in childhood that brought the reward of such a wife.

The following day, Mary seemed physically drained, and remained in bed until late in the day. I rested and read an English romance from Father's well-stocked library and made the decision to go that evening to speak with V. Sadness still overtook me from time to time, but I knew that boredom was not the way to ease it. I wished to keep busy, and knew it would gladden my heart to accomplish that by doing something that would have pleased Father.

And so I set out shortly before sunset for the castle. It is hardly a fifteen-minute stroll up the gentle greening slope to the north, a mere stretch of the legs to a city-dweller. Sunlight filtered through the branches of tall pine to the west; the air was filled with subtle spring warmth and the sweet high song of birds. Despite the idyllic surroundings, a growing uneasiness crept over me, and it was not until I heard a dog's frenzied barking in the manor behind me that I determined its cause: I had altogether forgotten that wolves roamed at nightfall.

It was not so dangerous as in winter, when they grouped in deadly packs, but the thought of encountering even a lone wolf caused me to hurry my pace. Nonetheless, I permitted myself a promised detour to the family burial place to spend a solitary moment with Father.

Yet, approaching the black iron fence, I could see through the bars a strange sight: the corpses of two wolves lying just inside the wide-open gate. I knew at once something was wrong, dreadfully so. I broke into a run and dashed through the open gate. The wolves lay on their sides next to one another, their eyes clouded with death; the skull of one had been shattered, and the other's belly was caked with dried blood. Clearly they had attacked some visitor here, who had shot them and fled, in his hurry failing to close the gate.

And more: I glanced up from the wolves to see that the door to the tomb had been unlocked, and stood open. Horrified, I ran inside; the entry to the tomb was blocked by yet another murdered wolf. I stepped swiftly over the body and hurried to the alcove where Father lay.

The tomb had been unlocked and entered, and Father's final resting place had indeed been violated. The beautiful red roses had been swept aside and were scattered everywhere upon the white marble floor. As for the coffin, the screws had been undone and allowed to drop where they had fallen, and the wooden lid pried off and propped against the nearest wall. The lead casing had been sawed through and peeled back.

Inside the casket, my father's corpse lay mangled. A thick wooden stake pierced his chest, as though driven in with a mallet. His mouth had been opened, and something white (I thought at first a handkerchief) stuffed inside; and his neck- Oh, G.o.d! Stefan! Father!

The perpetrator of this vile deed had succeeded in sawing three-quarters of the way through his neck, but had stopped before the head was entirely severed. As Father had been dead two days, there was little blood, and his expression remained one of peaceful repose. But the weight of his skull, now detached from the front muscles of the neck, had caused the head to roll back slightly, and the chin to tilt upward, revealing the gaping crimson grin beneath his jaw. So deeply had the desecrator cut that I saw, embedded within the red and purplish ma.s.s of muscle and veins, his exposed spine. For an instant, it seemed as though I had been transported back two decades, to behold once more the flayed throat of my brother Stefan.

The shock provoked an overwhelming vision that I might have dismissed as a waking dream had I not been convinced by its vividness that it was real: Again, my five-year-old self looked up at my father. I saw him clearly as the man he had been then, younger, black-haired; I saw, in the flickering candlelight, the love and misery in his eyes as he held my small, thin arm in his large hand. I realised he no longer stood in the rain-jeweled daylight forest, with the snarling wolf-dog at his back, but in a vast, dark place shrouded in wavering shadows. Silver glinted beside his face. I stared up, helpless as Isaac when Abraham raised the knife.

A sudden vise gripped my temples with such unrelenting force that I clutched my head; the image vanished at once, replaced by the compelling thought, Surely this is madness.

I sank to my hands and knees on the cold marble floor and emptied my stomach. I suppose I fainted, for I was quite mindless for a time. When I managed at last to rise on trembling, uncertain legs, I noticed on the floor beside me the implements of desecration, a heavy iron mallet and rusted steel handsaw, and some scattered heads of garlic; apparently the violator had dropped these in fright and fled before the task was done.A new sort of insanity seized me, an unhappy combination of fury and hysteria. Had I confronted the perpetrator at that moment, I would easily have killed him with no more weapon than my hands. I knew I could not return to the manor-G.o.ds, no! I have not spoken to Mary of this, nor shall I, for such a dreadful shock would surely harm her and the child. Instead, I ran like a madman up the southern slope, and arrived some time later, panting, at the castle's ma.s.sive wooden door beneath the great stone arch. I was convinced only V. could help me; only V. would understand.

I threw myself against it and pounded wildly, ignoring the metal studs that cut my fists.

When no immediate response came, I began shouting Uncle's name.

After the s.p.a.ce of an eternity, the door swung slowly open a foot; there it remained. In the shadows of the gloomy entryway stood a plump, white-haired serving-woman dressed in traditional peasant garb: the long white double ap.r.o.n, front and back, over a brightly coloured dress; on the breast of the front ap.r.o.n rested a large gold crucifix. She regarded me with undisguised confusion and dismay.

"Vlad!" I cried. "I must see Vlad at once!"

She stuck her head out to reply, and I could see in the fading sunlight that her hair was not white, but blond streaked with silver at the temples; and that she was not as elderly as I had first thought, but suffered from the same peculiar accelerated aging that afflicted my father and sister. Her face seemed vaguely familiar, but between my past grief and my present frenzy, I had entirely forgotten until now, as I write these words, that she had attended my father's burial, and that I had seen her face amid those of other servants from time to time in my childhood. "The voievod sees no one."

"He will see me!" I replied indignantly. "My, father -" I broke off, on the verge of weeping, unable even to speak of what had transpired.

She leaned forward to peer at me myopically, and drew in a sharp breath as she raised a hand to her lips. "Why, it is Petru's son! Good sir, forgive me. My sight is poor, else I would have recognised you at once. You so resemble him. Please, come in..." And she motioned me inside.

"I must see my uncle at once!" I managed in a trembling voice, to which she responded: "Alas, young sir, that is not possible. He has not yet arisen."

"Then rouse him!" I demanded, and her pale grey eyes widened.

"Nor is that possible, sir," said she, in a tone that conveyed amazement at my ignorance.

"No one may disturb his slumber now, and none but Laszlo is permitted to see or speak to him. But he shall be rising shortly, and I know he will see you. Let me take you to his drawing-room, where you can await him in comfort."

I was in such a nervous state that I did not protest, but let her escort me, with her gentle hand betimes prompting my elbow, through narrow corridors and up a winding stone staircase. For all the years I had played within the castle's shadow, I had rarely been inside it, and the novelty of it added to my agitation, leaving me quite overwhelmed.

By the time we arrived within the drawing-room, which, though windowless, was comfortably appointed and cheerfully warmed by a blazing hearth, I was so distracted that I failed to hear her invitation, and the poor woman literally had to push me down into a waiting chair near the fire.

"Arkady Tsepesh," she said, leaning over me, and I started at the sound of a strange voice repeating my name. At my look of surprise, she smiled faintly and explained, "I knew your father, young sir. He was very kind to me, and spoke of you often." Her expression grew somber. "It grieves me to see you so distraught on his behalf. I cannot remain here long- the master will be coming soon-but let me fetch you something to calm you. Tea, or perhaps something stronger... ?"

"Brandy."

"We have only slivovitz, sir."

"Then bring me slivovitz," I said, but as she straightened and moved to go, I reached out and touched her, she turned. "You knew my father well?"

She gave a single sad, solemn nod. The mixture of sorrow and genuine affection in her grey eyes reached through the layer of shock to touch my heart, and I asked: "What is your name?"

"Masika, young sir."

"You speak with a Russian accent, Masika, but your name is Hungarian."

"My father was Russian, sir."

"And his name... ?" I said, prompting for her patronymic. As distressed as I was, I wished to be polite to her, as she was so kindly towards me.

Her round cheeks flushed rosy pink. "Ah, sir, just Masika. I dare not put on such airs with you. I am just an old serving-woman."

"You were my father's friend. Please. I would like to know."

Her cheeks deepened to a ruddy colour, but she replied dutifully, "Ivan, sir."

"Ah, Masika Ivanovna, you cannot imagine the horror I have just witnessed!" At the memory, I put a hand to my face and struggled against tears. She knelt beside me and took my hand as a mother might, while I chokingly relayed, without detail, the fact of the desecration of Father's grave.

Her expression hardened and became unreadable as her eyes grew moist. For a time, she patted my hand in silence; at last, she spoke with pa.s.sionate conviction. "I know such a spectacle must tear at your heart, as it does mine. But you must never forget, young sir: your father sleeps now among the blessed dead, and no one, nothing, can disturb his slumber. He is with G.o.d."

I would have objected to the latter statement, but the former gave me a modic.u.m of comfort, as did her sincere and maternal concern. She parted her lips as if to speak, then hesitated, as if there were something more she wished to say, but could not bring herself to voice.

"What is it?" I asked softly.

She glanced up at me with a start, and in her eyes I saw regret, mingled with unmistakable fear.

"Nothing," said she, lowering her eyelids to hide her fright, "nothing at all. Now, let me go quickly, young sir, and fetch the slivovitz before the prince comes." She rose heavily, with a groan, then hurried out.I wiped my eyes with my kerchief and struggled to compose myself and organise my thoughts as I stared into the fire. I do not know exactly why I fled to Uncle's to beg his help-though technically we Tsepesh still are royalty who possess some legal rights over the peasantry, the extent of those rights has become blurred in modern times. While Domnul Bibescu of Valahia might recognise V."s authority as prince, Transylvania is under Austrian rule now, and prosecution of criminals is usually left to the authorities in Bistritz; but then, there has never been any crime to speak of in our domain, and we have never before been so personally attacked.

For Father's sake, I could not let this act go unpunished, not if I had to track down the criminal myself. It seemed to me poor Father's corpse had become a symbol of how the peasantry have reviled our family name for the past four centuries-and I swore vehemently to myself that I would put an end to their slurs forever, that I would force them to respect the name Tsepesh.

Masika Ivanovna soon returned with the slivovitz, in a fine goblet of cut crystal. She delivered it with a small curtsy, and after a swiftly muttered, "G.o.d comfort you, young sir,"

she turned to go.

I reached for her hand. "Please, stay a moment." Her very presence soothed me, and I wanted to question her about Father's final days at the manor, and her unspoken words.

She stiffened with panic, her eyes involuntarily going to the door opposite the one we had entered. Gently, but firmly, she pulled free of my grip. "Oh, sir! I cannot. The sun has nearly set, and I must hurry home!"

I dropped my hand. Had I not seen her anxious glance at the door, I would have suspected that she had to walk home through the forest and quite rationally feared wolves. But at the sound of footfalls approaching the far door, she crossed herself, lifted her skirts, and ran through the open door that led to the corridor. It closed behind her with an unceremonious slam.

The echoing sound reignited my anguished fury. Because Uncle is given to odd habits, and because of a misunderstanding over the family name, the peasants fear him as a monster, and have woven many myths about him, incorporating their ridiculous superst.i.tions. These same superst.i.tions have caused them to commit the hideous crime against my poor dead father; and for an instant, my natural affection for Masika Ivanovna was replaced by hate.

Despite her kindness, she feared Uncle, and probably believed that what had occurred in the family tomb was necessary for Petru's soul to rest unmolested.

The door opened with a creak, and Uncle came forth, straight and tall, with an easy grace, but with an air of weakness and the same disturbing pallour as the past two evenings. At the sight of me-and my agitated expression-his bushy white eyebrows lifted in astonishment. (Above those eyes that so resembled Father's; and again, he spoke in Father's melodious voice, making the news I had to deliver all the more difficult.) "Arkady!

Dear Nephew! I had not expected to see you this soon. But what is this? You are upset..."

Swiftly, I lifted the goblet to my lips and took a large gulp of the slivovitz, which stung nostrils, tongue, and throat like flame, but was not altogether disagreeable. Repressing the urge to cough, I said (with a matter-of-factness that amazed me), "Father's crypt has been violated. They have mutilated the corpse by-"

He held up a hand, unable to hear more, and turned away towards the fire, bowed over and clutching his heart. I straightened in the chair and moved to set down the goblet and rise, thinking at first that he had suffered some sort of attack, and feeling a pang of guilt that I had so bluntly broken the news to this frail old man; but it was only grief. He remained motionless and uttered no sound for the course of at least two full minutes. I fell back into the chair and took another large swallow of slivovitz.

At last he spoke, in a voice so low it was almost a whisper; a voice I no longer recognised, for it was cold and hard as the marble tomb. "d.a.m.n them," he said slowly, still staring into the fire. "d.a.m.n them..." He whirled towards me, with such sudden vehemence that I recoiled, splashing a small amount of the liquor on my waistcoat. His hawkish features were contorted, and his eyes-no longer Father's, but those of Shepherd, bending over Stefan- burned with such maniacal, dangerous rage that I grew frightened. "I will see them pay!

How dare they think that I-!" He seemed to note my discomfort then, for his expression relaxed somewhat, to one of mere bitterness; he turned back towards the fire and said, "I loved your father. I cannot bear to see him come to harm, not even now."

"I know," I responded. "I am sorry to bring such news, for I know it causes you grief. But I thought perhaps that you might be able to help discover who-"

Once more, he turned towards me and raised his hand. "Say no more! I shall see to it that the perpetrator of this foul deed is brought to justice. You must trouble yourself with this not one more moment."

"I cannot help but do so," I said, "for I cannot understand how someone could commit such a horrid act. It is simply beyond my comprehension." And I raised the crystal goblet to my lips and drained it.

V."s lips twitched, as if in repressed disgust or amus.e.m.e.nt. He moved towards a centuries- old upright chair, padded with golden-threaded brocade, and sat regally, gripping the padded armrests with strong hands, looking very much like a prince ascending his throne.

"What is there to understand? The peasants' ignorance drives them to insanity."

"I suppose I am shocked. I have always believed in the basic goodness of people."

His lips thinned; his tone carried a sharp irony that I found troubling. "Then you have much to learn about humankind, Arkady... and about yourself." At this, I was mildly insulted, and grew more so as he continued: "Addressing servants by their patronymics! This will never do! Royal blood flows in your veins; you are Tsepesh, the great-nephew of a prince!"

I flushed, realising that he had somehow managed to eavesdrop on my conversation with Masika Ivanovna; I wondered whether he had also heard about Father.

He must have sensed my discomfort, for his tone changed abruptly, and grew cheerful.

"Come now! It is settled; leave the resolution of this matter to me, and let us speak of happier things. Is there anything else with which I may a.s.sist? Is your dear wife resting well after the fatiguing events of the past few days?"

The slivovitz suddenly went to my head; I felt a slight dizziness, and a rush of warmth surged down my spine and lingered, tingling, in my feet. I relaxed slightly, and realised that V. was simply changing subjects rapidly in order to help me over the shock, to make me think about something other than Father.

"Yes," I replied, more calmly, though the truth was that I was somewhat concerned about Mary, as the grueling trip and the shock of Father's death had left her exhausted, and that morning I had had the impression that she was troubled about something, though she denied it. "But she is still somewhat tired. It has all been quite taxing for her."

V. listened gravely. "If she is still fatigued by tomorrow, then I shall arrange for a physician to take up residence at the manor," he said. "And he shall remain there to see she is taken care of until after the child is born." When I protested that I could not allow him to incur such an enormous expense without my a.s.sistance, he waved once more the imperious hand and said, "The matter is settled. It is the least I can do for Petru"s grandchild, and for his son."

His manner had grown warm again, and being rea.s.sured, I confessed, "Before I made the terrible discovery in the cemetery this evening, I came tonight because I wished to speak about a.s.suming Father's work."

To which he responded at once: "Ah, yes. Soon, when you have had a chance to get over the dreadful shock. But not now. It is too soon to speak of business, because you have just had another great shock."

"No," I answered firmly, "the distraction would help me; and it would bring me comfort to know I was fulfilling Father's wishes. He was quite concerned that you and your affairs be taken care of."

At this, V."s eyes misted. "Ah, your father was aptly named: Petru, the Rock. Truly he was a rock to me, ever loyal and dependable. And you, Arkady-you must know that I love Petru's children as my very own."

He stated this with such warmth and conviction that I was seized by a welling of affection for him. To be sure, he is odd and elderly, with strange habits, but he has always been inordinately generous to our family. Despite his proud demeanour, he cuts a pathetic figure, in a way. For all his wealth, he is so lonely, so isolated, so utterly dependent upon my father... and now on me. I am his one real link to the outside world.

We spoke of business, then, which helped distance our thoughts from the recent horror.

Uncle promised to show me Father's office tomorrow evening, where all the ledgers and bank books are kept, and bade me come earlier, so that I might acquaint myself with the servants (whom, except for Laszlo the coachman, he has never seen). It is apparently quite important that I speak with the foreman and tour the fields, for Uncle has not the slightest inkling whether spring planting has been arranged. He is indeed quite helpless.

He was also quite keen to dictate a letter, which I wrote down in Roumanian and then translated into English for a Mister Jeffries. V. seems desperate to notify the visitor to come as quickly as possible, now that the funeral has taken place; a recluse he might be, but one who is hungry for educated company beyond that of his family. I offered to take the letter to Laszlo and tell him to post it in Bistritz, as I would be pa.s.sing by the servants' quarters on my way home, but V. folded up the letter without signing it, and said that he wished to give Laszlo the instruction himself.

And so I have taken my father's place. The meeting with Uncle was brief-I sensed he was restless and eager for me to leave; I think my very presence made him nervous to some degree. I mentioned, as I was leaving, my preoccupation with wolves, and asked whether they still, as I remembered from childhood, const.i.tuted a danger. V. said that this was indeed the case; and rather than have Laszlo drive me home, he arranged for me to have a caleche and two horses for my very own, so that I could be free to come and go without concern for the time of day.