Anno Dracula - Kim Newman [134]
‘Good God, Art, what...?’
Dravot stopped to talk with a knife-grinder. Godalming thanked providence, and wondered how he might get rid of his unwanted old friend.
‘You look...’ Unable to complete a sentence, Seward shook his head and grinned. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
Godalming could tell Seward was sick in his head. When last he had seen him – in Purfleet when, as a warm fool, Godalming had dared defy Dracula and wound up fleeing for his life, leaving behind his companions to face the Count – Seward had been nervous but in command of himself. Now he was a broken man. Still ticking but completely broken, like a watch that skips hours and sometimes runs backwards for the odd minute.
Dravot was deep in conversation with the knife-grinder. The man must be one of his confederates.
‘You’re a vampire.’
‘Obviously.’
‘Like him. Like Lucy.’
He remembered Lucy, screeching as he pounded the stake into her. The dreadful grinding of the saw against her neckbone as Van Helsing and Seward removed her garlic-stuffed head. The old anger came back. ‘No, not like Lucy.’
Dravot started walking off again. Godalming stepped around Seward and hesitated. If he broke into a run, the Sergeant would know he was pursued and take steps to evade the huntsman. Coldly ignoring Seward, he began to walk, pretending to amble, but actually moving at a measured pace, fixing Dravot in his eye. The doctor caught up and trotted at his side, giving out little yelps to get his attention like an overly-insistent mendicant. Behind them, someone else had come out of the Ten Bells. She shouted after Seward. It was Marie Jeanette. Seward had certainly changed his habits since Godalming last knew him.
‘Art, why did you turn? After all he did to us, why...?’
Dravot slipped into a side-street. Godalming thought the Sergeant had been alerted by the commotion.
‘Art, why...?’
Seward was near hysteria. Godalming shoved him away, and hissed. He must be rid of this nuisance. The doctor fell back against a lamp-post, appalled and shocked.
‘Leave me be, Jack.’
The doctor shook, old fears returning. Godalming heard the rapid clip of Marie Jeanette’s boots as she ran towards them. Good. The whore would distract Seward. He turned away and followed Dravot. The Sergeant had doubled back away from the Jago, walking around the market towards Aldgate. Damn. It was in the open now. Godalming would have to outpace the new-born and bring him down. He had a revolver loaded with silver. He needed Dravot alive but he was ready to cripple the Sergeant to bring him in. The more he was hurt, the keener he would be to expose his confederates. Dravot was the key. If he could be turned properly, the future was laid out to Godalming’s advantage. He was sure of his own faculties, of his strength. His curved fangs were comfortable in the grooves they had worked inside his mouth. He no longer chewed himself.
Through the warren-like maze of streets around the market, Godalming hunted Sergeant Danny Dravot. Even when the quarry got out of his sight, he seemed to leave a glowing trail in the fog. Godalming could hear the distinctive quality of his boot-steps streets away. This could be dangerous. The Sergeant had shown consummate cool in his assassination of Inspector Mackenzie. Remembering Kate Reed, he checked his confidence. He would not be brought low by overestimating his own powers.
Cautiously, he followed Dravot. They were past the market now and straggling back towards Commercial Street. Godalming rounded a corner into Dorset Street and could not see the Sergeant. Off this road was a series of tiny residential courts. The fox must have slipped into one of them. The fog eddied by an arched opening. Godalming was sure he had his man cornered. The only other egress from the court would be through one of the dwellings.
Whistling again, light-headed with incipient victory, he strolled towards the court. His step was nimble