Dracula The Undead Part 3

I use it to tie the top of the bundle. Then the wolf has me carry it to the courtyard of the castle.

The great gateway and the high frowning walls sway across my sight. I am terrified; ghosts and dead leaves blow about the courtyard, black pa.s.sages yawn into crypts. Surely the stone towers will come tumbling down and bury me. My companion shows me a niche in which to hide the bundle. Then I run away down the long, hard path.

Of the journey home I remember little. My feet were sore, and I was delirious from exhaustion and lack of food. The wolf must have led me safely back to the farm; my strongest impression was of the force of his will, which seemed loyal, single-minded, yet wholly pitiless.

It was afternoon when I reached the farm. I looked around for my friend but he was gone. I had not eaten for two days, and I was all in filthy rags. The shock of my father and the farmers when they saw me! They had been searching for me! And I could not explain where I had been, or why, for I don't know!

Somewhere I stepped out of reality and entered a nightmare.

When I could not and would not explain, my father dragged me to my room, closed the door and beat me with his belt. I deserved it, I know. Now I am locked in the room alone, without food, writing my journal to keep me from crying with pain.

I can hear my father arguing furiously with the farmer and his wife through the door. Oh G.o.d, they are telling us to leave! They say that their youngest son saw me feeding a great white wolf by the well, that the shepherd saw me walking through the forest with my pale companion. They say I am a witch, in league with the Devil, I will bring a curse upon them if I stay!

Because of me, my father will lose his good friends and be unable to complete his paintings. He will never forgive me.

Tomorrow, they say, we must go. Oh G.o.d, help me. Soon it will all be over.

Chapter Three.

PROFESSOR KOVACS'S JOURNAL.

(Our Search for the Scholomance -A Record)

10 August I begin my record by noting that it is not only for my eyes, but for those of my good friend Abraham Van Helsing -a.s.suming that I have anything of value to record! (If not, my friend, one of us shall consign it to the fire!) All there is to note so far is that Miklos and I have cheerfully endured a slow journey from Pesth to Hermannstadt, and that we have checked through our equipment; bedrolls, provisions, lamp and candles, and so on - the minimum we need to survive for two weeks.

It is strange to think that my brother and my dear niece are also somewhere within these mountains, albeit many miles to the east and north. I have heard nothing from them, but then did not expect to. They will come home, I dare say, as soon as the weather turns cooler. No doubt Emil's paintings will be admired for generations to come, while my dry studies are long consigned to a forgotten corner of some museum archive! Tonight we camp on a scrubby slope brightened by patches of dandelion and wood violet. Between the cultivated land and the mountains there is no hilliness -the mountains make a dramatic barrier beyond which it is easy to believe that a place such as the Scholomance, where Count Dracula learned his dark wisdom, exists - indeed, from which the Four Hors.e.m.e.n might come riding down to announce the Apocalypse.

11 August All day we have walked through the mountains, and the country grows ever wilder and more magnificent around us. The weather is fine, making hot work of our walk, and we are both suffering blisters despite our stout boots. A minor annoyance.

Nature in its raw state lends us vigour! Miklos and I imagine ourselves a pair of intrepid explorers, in search of some fabled land; and the grim nature of our goal seems to add fascination rather than fear to the expedition. When we make camp I must check our provisions. We have such tremendous appet.i.tes from walking, I fear I may have underestimated our need. There is no habitation for miles around.

I find our map to be vague, unhelpful and inaccurate. I am adding my own corrections and notes to it as we go. My compa.s.s and instinct prove to be better guides!

Evening Disappointment! Despite my careful researches as to the most likely location of the Scholomance - the region of Lake Hermannstadt - we have found nothing. All day we scoured the area for evidence; a man-made path, remains or foundations, the tell-tale patterning of the ground that might indicate a building once stood there.

I am being impatient, of course. I knew this search might take days, weeks, even months! I need only the tiniest seed of evidence to justify a bigger, more organized expedition. I am, of course, very much out on a limb. It is generally accepted that the place is a myth, simply a part of the rich folklore of this land. It is more than likely that there is nothing to find. I am prepared for that possibility.

There is also a chance, however, that the school lay near some other, unknown, lake, and that the two have become confused in folk memory ...

12 August, morning The mountainscape in the dawn is breathtaking. Great peaks surge up through the mist, the lower slopes painted dark violet by shadow. Long tongues of forest run down into the valleys, but the naked rock of the peaks is drenched by the sun's first rays to the most wondrous hues of rose and silver. I wish I could have captured the moment before sunrise, when sky and mountains turned as ruby-red as blood.

We are very high up now, and seem to be beyond civilization, on the roof of the world. All along the way I have been looking for the smallest sign - and have asked Miklos to do the same - that human beings once pa.s.sed this way. A horseshoe nail, a b.u.t.ton!

So far, nothing. Time now for a meagre breakfast, and onwards.

13 August Another fruitless day. We have climbed steep, rugged slopes, wound our way through thick forests until we are both exhausted and disorientated. My usually infallible sense of direction seems constantly to disagree with the compa.s.s! It will be restored by sleep. We are camped in the lee of a cliff, and it seems very dark tonight. The fire burns low and Miklos is in a deep sleep. The weather has turned cold and the howling of wolves sounds unutterably eerie. These mountains are so vast and wild, it would indeed be possible to wander in circles and never find our way home. It is all too easy, in a state of extreme tiredness, to allow all kinds of imaginings to intrude on the mind. No wonder superst.i.tions take such a hold on the peasant brain. Away with these thoughts!

14 August We have cast the search wider and are making for a westerly chain of peaks that looks promising; great limestone obelisks towering from the forested steeps like a voivode's fortress. But the way is proving difficult. Our path has taken us down into a deep, narrow gorge and it is hard to find a route up the precipitous ridge of rock that rims the far side - especially with the weight of our knapsacks on our shoulders. We have attempted several deer tracks that look easy enough from below but are impa.s.sible, forcing us back to the gorge floor. The map is of no help. Miklos is tiring, but I cannot give up. I have a strong feeling that we must cross the ridge, that on the far side we will find nestling some extraordinary ancient edifice on which human eyes have not alighted for centuries! The more it defies us, the stronger the feeling grows.

I am worried about Miklos. His usual stoical good temper is failing him. He is very quiet. If I catch him unawares, I see an expression of extreme distress on his face, as if he were in pain or terror. When challenged he insists there is nothing wrong, but I fear the journey is proving too much for him. He may well have strained a muscle and be in pain, but it's the Devil's own job to make him admit it! I hear him muttering behind me as we walk. I cannot make out the words, except for, 'The dragon, the dragon.'

I must confess it becomes very trying. But if I turn round and challenge him, he denies that he ever spoke.

15 August We crossed the ridge today. Dear G.o.d, my hands are shaking so that I can barely hold the pen. I hope you are able to read it, my friend Abraham. No matter, I must set it all down.

At dawn we moved higher up the gorge and at last found a tortuous way over the great, frowning brow of rock. On the crest there was no more to see than a circle of fanged rocks cupping a sea of forest. Not the gleaming spires of the Scholomance, after all. Not that I actually expected to see a spectacle that I suspect exists only in legend, but I was disappointed, all the same. Still, there was such an air of mystery on the place that I was eager to descend. I turned to Miklos, only to see an expression of intense dread on his face. 'Must we go down there?' he said.

'But of course,' I replied. 'Miklos, whatever is wrong?''Nothing, sir.' His stoic look returned.

'You're exhausted. If you would prefer to camp here on the ridge and wait for me while I explore the valley, I will understand.'

'No, sir,' he said quickly. 'I cannot let you go into it alone!' And there was such fear in his voice it quite affected me for several minutes. Angered at myself as well as him, I led the way down the ridge in silence.

The dense spruce forest enveloped us. All was deathly quiet. Presently I saw a gleam between the tree-trunks, a glint of dark, gla.s.sy water. I hurried forward until we came out on to the bank of a small lake. I can hardly describe my emotions as we stood there. The water was darkest blue-green and although the lake was only a hundred feet in diameter it gave an impression of immeasurable depth. All around, the trees stood dense and silent, and beyond them the circle of jagged limestone. The air was thick with the scents of pine resin and stagnant water, motionless and brooding. The only movement was in the mist that drifted in sluggish layers over the obsidian surface; it seemed almost to writhe, as if sentient. I felt on the brink of revelation and terror.

'This must be the place!' I whispered, gripping Miklos's arm. I felt it necessary to keep my voice low, not to disturb anything.

'This is the lake we sought, the Cauldron of the Dragon, and this is Yadu Drakuluj, the Devil's Abyss. We've found it. If the Scholomance exists at all, it is nearby!'

Miklos's eyes swung from side to side, as if he were terrified. I grew annoyed with him, I am ashamed to confess - especially in the light of what transpired. 'The peasants say that the lake goes to the earth's core, and a dragon sleeps at the bottom. If you throw in a stone you wake the dragon and cause a storm to shake the very world to its roots.' I picked up a stone and made to throw it in.

Miklos grabbed my wrist to stop me, crying, 'No!'

His voice echoed off the walls. His nervous state was so acute that I felt ashamed of my childish behaviour. 'Miklos,' I said, 'our expedition is almost over. I fear I've driven you too hard, for which I ask your forgiveness. Today we explore this valley, and whatever we discover, which may well be nothing, tomorrow we start for home.'

He nodded in relief. 'Forgive me, sir. I don't know what is wrong with me. I feel such a dread of this place ...' He shook himself, and was again the brave, good-natured man I know.

All day we searched the valley and the slopes around it, finding not one sc.r.a.p of evidence dial a building of any kind had ever existed here. In the evening, as the dusk gathered and the first stars came out, we sat disconsolately on the bank of the lake. Miklos toyed with a large pebble he'd picked up. We were both tired and dispirited.

'Of course, the idea that there ever was a school run by the Devil is a fable,' I said, 'but there surely must have been something that gave rise to the fable. Behind all these myths and superst.i.tions is a seed of truth.'

Miklos exclaimed with a savagery that startled me, 'But it is all so much nonsense! There's no Devil, no dragon! I won't let these phantoms terrify me!' And he flung the pebble into the lake.

The surface swallowed the missile with A plop so unnaturally deep and sonorous that it startled us both. Ripples spread out in perfect circles. It seemed to me that I heard a dull rumbling from a great distance. We looked at each other and laughed, very uneasy. 'Come, let us make our camp for the night,' I said.

As we were building a fire on the lake sh.o.r.e, it turned very dark and a chill wind sprang up. Then a great blaze of lightning split the sky. I looked up and saw thick greenish clouds rolling overhead, the lightning against them forking into scores of branches until the whole sky ran with white fire. A thunderbolt cracked deafeningly. We flung ourselves to the ground, our hands over our ears.

Thus commenced the most violent storm I have ever witnessed.

Rain flowed down upon us in sheets. The thunder and lightning were continuous, confounding sight and hearing. The lake surface roiled. The ground shook and shuddered so violently that I believed we were experiencing an earth tremor in addition to the storm.

The fire hissed out. I began swiftly to gather up our equipment before it became utterly soaked. But as I was engaged in this task, Miklos leaped up and ran into the trees. Shouting at him to stop, I seized my knapsack - which contained food, candles, and this precious journal - dropped everything else, and ran after him.

Barely keeping him in sight, I pursued him to the valley's edge. As we came to the foot of the high ridge, lightning illuminated the black mouth of a cave. This was a feature we had missed in our search! The cave!' I shouted, although Miklos, evidently, was already heading for its shelter. But just before he gained the entrance, a flying branch, ripped free by the wind, caught him on the head, and he fell.

Reaching him, I found him semi-conscious and groaning. With the rain blowing wildly around us, I dragged him as best I could into the cave mouth to shelter. Here we remain for now.

Inside the cave is dry, but very musty and full of bats. The floor is thick with their droppings. We sit as close to the entrance as we can. I have made Miklos as comfortable as possible, but he drifts in and out of consciousness and I fear for him. We are so far from anywhere that there is no chance of finding help for him. He murmurs in his delirium of the Devil riding through the storm on a dragon to take us down to h.e.l.l, and although I am not a superst.i.tious man, his mutterings fill me with the blackest dread.

I have a theory, for what it is worth, Abraham. Could it be the nature of the storm itself- the thick, crackling heaviness of the clouds, static electricity or electromagnetic forces -that wreaks havoc with our brains and creates the effect, quite terrifying, that waves of pure evil are sweeping over us? The shock of everything has quite undone my nerves. We have been here, trapped by the storm, for two hours now. Outside all is crashing thunder, fire and deluge. I watch the rain sheeting down against a flickering, greenish glow. I have lit a candle - the lamp was left outside, so the naked flame gutters madly - in order to fill in my journal; at least the writing of it has steadied me somewhat. Miklos is stirring.

16 August Morning, and calmness, thank the Almighty! The storm only died out at dawn. Such a night. No sleep. Miklos is sitting up and eating breakfast, though he seems confused and winces at every movement as if he has a severe headache. He denies his pain, naturally, but I fear that he has a concussion. He needs a doctor. I can only pray he will be fit enough to make the journey home. I brought him into this and I feel responsible; if any harm befalls him I shall never forgive myself!

The storm has abated, but rain is pouring down again. I fear we are trapped here until it eases off.

Later Now do I mark this as a day of revelation or horror?

The rain went on and the trees shook in a wild wind off the mountains as we sheltered. (I still cannot understand how we failed to find this cave yesterday!) I dozed for a time, then awoke to find Miklos wandering off into the back of the cave. I followed, intending to make him come back and rest, but he shook me off, saying, 'No, no, he's here,' or something of that sort. Daylight revealed the cave as being much deeper than I'd realized. Curiosity got the better of me, despite my concern for Miklos's state of mind. I lit a fresh candle, slung the knapsack on my shoulder - lest some wild animal come scavenging in the cave and eat both food and journal! - and went after him.

Much of the cave was thick, musty and disgusting with bat droppings. The creatures stirred over our heads, rustling, squeaking.

Deeper in, the bat colony ceased and the rock floor was clear. Here the cave narrowed to a fissure, a mere corridor, but it wound on inside the ma.s.sive ridge. Miklos felt his way along swiftly - at walking pace, but too fast for unknown terrain - seeming afraid. I, too, was deeply uneasy, but if I tried to make him slow down he became agitated.

We followed this pa.s.sage for at least fifteen minutes. After that, however, I discovered that my pocket watch had stopped.

Although I guess that we were moving in the direction of the greatest peak - that of the 'voivode's fortress' - my compa.s.s needle began to veer as irrationally as my own imaginings.

The candle guttered in a draught. The fissure ended at last in a small cavern of great beauty, forested with columns of stone. I admit, I was oppressed and wished for the open air - but Miklos, his face frozen with some inner compulsion, pulled me onwards.

The cavern narrowed, then opened out - even now I can hardly overcome my disbelief - into a symmetrical, ten-sided chamber.

Lifting the candle, I saw mosaics on the walls and floor which could have been Roman, but all so thickly covered with black mould and cobwebs that it was hard to make out. The air was so stale I choked on it.

The chamber is approximately thirty feet wide and twenty high, with a domed ceiling - the ten sides converging to a central point. In the centre is a ten-sided marble block, perhaps an altar or dais. Webs lie as thick as fleece round its base, but carving can be seen on the sides; esoteric sigils that are echoed in the mosaics. Each of the walls has a plain marble bench; there is no other furniture.

'Ten benches, ten scholars,' I said. 'Never did it occur to me that the Scholomance might not be a separate edifice, but part of the mountains themselves! Yes, of course, how better to conceal it?'

Almost wild with excitement, it took me a minute to notice that poor Miklos was panting for breath. I made him sit down and gave him some water from the flask. A look of quiet dismay came over his face and he sighed. 'Forgive my erratic behaviour, sir,'

he said, sounding more his normal self. 'I've been prey to wild imaginings ever since we set out. Perhaps you should have brought Elena instead, she would have made a more level-headed companion.'

'Nonsense,' I said. 'Now we will sit and rest awhile, then conduct a very thorough scientific exploration. My friend, we are on the threshold of a discovery to rival that of the Egyptian tombs!'

Refreshed by a rest and a bite to eat, we set out to investigate the chamber .. . and now I know every inch of it. Oh Abraham, is there any point to recording this? Yes, be calm. We worked our way round, sweeping dust off the walls to reveal strange mosaics in intense deep colours. These represented stylized scenes of battles, hunts, saint-like figures preaching to mingled groups of humans and animals, all presented against a background of sigils so densely interwoven they confuse the eye and seem to move.

These deserve scholarly interpretation, but at a primitive level they filled me with revulsion - as if they are a h.e.l.lish inversion of biblical stories. I think it is the colours that give this effect. Somehow the shades conspire to. produce a feeling of revulsion - deep coppery reds, dark purple streaked with bronze, thick greens slimed with silver, bluish-crimson - all give the impression of congealed blood . ..

But I wander from the point, which is that when we had worked our way all around, we could not find the archway by which we had entered. The ten sides of the chamber were seamless, as if the ingress had never existed. At first we couldn't believe it. We went around again and again. We argued about the position of the archway. (Our footprints had become so muddled as to tell us nothing.) But even supposing one of us were right, it is no longer there.

Now we sit on our bench, and once I finish writing all I have to say, madness will surely close in. Miklos is speechless, shaking with dread. He does not answer my attempts to comfort him.

We have twelve candles, which will last a few days at most. I should snuff out this one to conserve the supply, but I cannot bear to. The flame dances, so there is a draught from somewhere, but I cannot find its source. We will not suffocate, then - though that would be swifter and more merciful than starvation. In its dim glow, my eyes are constantly drawn to the base of the ten-sided marble block in the centre of the chamber. Its carved surface is also draped in thick webs. Sometimes this grey ma.s.s moves and bulges, as if huge spiders are moving underneath. At the base of the block, to the right from where we are sitting, these webs form a ma.s.s so thick and dense it seems to be a huge coc.o.o.n, the size of a man. My stomach recoils in disgust to think of what might be inside.

Later I fell asleep with the pen in my hand! I recall some vague, uneasy dream that by throwing the stone into the lake, we woke the dragon, caused the storm, opened the gate to the Scholomance . . . that we summoned the Devil himself.

Waking to darkness, I lit a fresh candle in a shameful panic, which has now abated a little. Miklos sleeps beside me, I will not wake him. My pocket watch works for a few minutes if I wind it, but is useless. Is it morning or night? I have searched again for a way out, but all is as before. By what freak of nature is this possible? In the circle of candle-light it seems we have stepped into the antechamber of h.e.l.l. The Scholomance, the Devil's own school! Oh G.o.d, the great coc.o.o.n

Later Must complete this, though my hand is crabbed by cold and the shuddering of my nerves. I am racked with grief and terror. This is my only hold on life.

I thought I imagined it, when I first saw the coc.o.o.n stirring. But I did not; I heard its fibres softly cracking. Something was rising out, some hideous grey thing with gaunt limbs. I dropped my pen in horror, rose to protect my companion and myself, only to fall dizzily on to the floor. The next that happened, I know not whether I saw or dreamed it. The thing that came out of the webs was a man, so ancient, grotesque and skeletal that he resembled a spider. Through a reddish veil of candle-light he came skittering towards us on all fours, papery and mummified. I tried to scream but could not. I saw the creature bending over Miklos. Then I lost consciousness.

When I came to myself - I know not how much later -several candles were burning. Who lit them, I dread to think. I looked around and saw that the coc.o.o.n was empty, a thin sh.e.l.l of dusty silk fibres, ripped open along its length. My next thought was for Miklos. He was sitting on the bench where I'd left him, his eyes open. I picked myself up off the floor and touched his arm.

'Miklos!' I said.

At my touch his body slid sideways and slumped along the bench. I searched feverishly for some sign of life but there was none.

My dear friend and companion, dead. He has been like a son to me. I would rather have given my own life ten times over than have dragged this dear, good man to his death! How am I to tell his parents - and Elena? How am I to bear it? I still cannot believe it. But there he lies.

I am exhausted from searching for the way out. I have hunted for hidden levers, secret doors, everything. Hopeless. But then, if the Devil exists, it is surely no great task for him to change the very structure of matter? Or at least to inflict the illusion of such a change upon us?

Whatever emerged from the webs and killed Miklos is in here with me somewhere. There is nowhere for it to have gone.

Somewhere beyond my small circle of light, it waits.

Never in the world did I dream that a scientific expedition could come to this unthinkable end. Dear Abraham, if ever by a miracle this reaches you, beware the trap into which I have fallen - the arrogance of imagining we could toy with the Devil!