Anno Dracula - Kim Newman [152]
Hentzau raised his sword-arm like a scythe; the blade began a swishing descent. Beauregard knew the arc would terminate in his neck. He thought of Geneviève. And Pamela. With a convulsion, he brought up his own arm to ward off the blow. The handle of his sword slipped slightly in his sweat-slick fist and he gripped it hard.
A shock of impact ran through his whole body. Hentzau’s arm sliced against Beauregard’s silver. The Guardsman staggered back. His sword-arm fell in a dead lump, cut clean through at the elbow. As blood geysered, Beauregard rolled out of the way.
He regained his footing. The Guardsman gripped his stump and stumbled. His face turned human, moulting hair. After Hentzau’s howl had subsided to a succession of choking sobs, there came an exaggerated clanking sound. Beauregard and Geneviève turned to its source.
Prince Dracula stood on the dais. He had detached the Queen’s chain from his arm, and dropped it...
... he came down from his throne, steam pouring from his nostrils. For centuries he had thought himself a higher being, apart from humanity; less blinded by selfish fantasies, she knew she was just a tick in the hide of the warm. In his bloated state, the Prince was almost lethargic.
Geneviève held Charles to her and turned to the doors. Before them stood the Prime Minister. He was civilised, almost effete, in this company.
‘Aside, Ruthven,’ she hissed.
Ruthven was uncertain. With the Queen truly dead, things would change. Willing to try anything, Geneviève held out her crucifix. Ruthven, surprised, almost laughed. He could have barred their path, but he hesitated – ever the politician – then stepped out of the way.
‘Very clever, my lord,’ she told him, quietly.
Ruthven shrugged. He knew an empire had foundered. She guessed he would immediately concentrate on his own survival. Elders were skilled in survival.
Merrick held the doors open. In the antechamber, a startled Mina Harker stood, unsure in her shock. Everyone was reeling, trying to keep up with the rapid changes. Some of the courtiers had given up and returned to their pleasures.
Dracula’s shadow grew, his wrath reaching out like a fog.
Geneviève helped Charles out of the throne-room. She licked blood from his face, and felt the strength of his heart. Together, they would ride this whirlwind.
‘I couldn’t tell you,’ he tried to explain.
She shushed him.
Merrick shut the doors and put his enormous back to them. He made a long howl that might have meant ‘go!’ Something smashed against the other side of the doors and a clawed hand punched through above Merrick’s head, a dozen feet from floor-level, tearing at the wood. The hand made a fist, and enlarged its hole. The doors shook as if a rhinoceros were slamming against them. An upper hinge flew apart.
She saluted Merrick and limped away, Charles by her side...
... he told himself not to look back.
As they ran, Beauregard heard the doors behind them bursting outwards, and Merrick being crushed under falling wood and stamping feet. Another ill-used hero, lost too swiftly to be mourned.
Sweeping past Mina Harker, they emerged from the antechamber into the reception hall, which was full of vampires in livery. A dozen different rumours animated them.
Geneviève pulled him onwards.
He heard the thunder of pursuit. Among the clatter of boots, there was a single flap. He felt the draught of giant wings.
Bewildered guards let them through the Palace doors...
... her blood raced. There was no carriage, of course. They would have to make their way on foot and disappear in the crowds. In the most populated city in the world, it should be easy to hide.
As they stumbled down the wide steps, a cadre of Carpathians quick-marched up, swords rattling in their scabbards. At their head was the General everyone made