Anno Dracula - Kim Newman [49]
‘Remember, sir, I offered up voluntary-like the secret.’
Orlando tripped a catch and a section of wall-panel sprang out. The copper-smell of blood wafted from within, along with perfume and incense. Kostaki was first through the door. The room he entered was decorated as a bower; trees were painted on the walls, crêpe foliage hung from the ceiling, dry leaves were scattered all around. The remains of a basket of fruit were squashed into the japanwood floor. Curled up by the door was a dead youth, ragged gashes all over his nude body, face a perfect blue. He might turn, but Kostaki thought him too broken to be much use as a vampire.
‘Here, masterful sir, behold the rutting beast, indulging his disgusting pleasures!’
In the middle of the room, surrounded by oriental cushions, churned a reptile form composed of two bodies. Underneath a writhing vampire was a squealing youth, blood slicking his back. The important personage was using the boy as a man uses a woman, simultaneously swallowing great gushing draughts from open veins. It was Count Vardalek, his back twice its normal length. Snake-teeth sprouted from the lower half of his face. His chin and lips were studded, fangs erupting through the flesh. His green-yellow eyes floated, pupils shrunk to pin-points.
The Count looked up and spat venom.
‘You see, sir,’ Orlando said, grinning, ‘a very important personage indeed, masterful sir.’
‘Kostaki,’ Vardalek said, ‘what does this damned interruption mean?’
He was still moving sinuously, his body bearing upon the boy’s like a serpent’s coils. His sides were lightly scaled, and the scales caught the light, rainbow patterns reflecting.
‘Captain Kostaki,’ said Gorcha, standing by with his heavy musket, ‘what should be done?’
‘Get out you fools,’ Vardalek shouted.
Kostaki made a decision. ‘There can be no exceptions.’
Vardalek gasped and gaped. He rose from his exhausted boy, and pulled a quilted robe about himself, spine settling as he dwindled to his usual height. His face rapidly resumed its human look. With a delicate touch, he reset his golden peruke on his sweat-slick skull.
‘Kostaki, we are both...’
Kostaki turned away from his comrade, ordering, ‘Bring him outside with the others.’
Out on the street, von Klatka’s eyes bulged to see the Count being led to the stake.
Kostaki looked up at the sky. In his mountain homelands, he was used to the bright points of the stars. Here, gaslight, fog and thick rainclouds robbed him of the night’s thousand eyes.
Gorcha and the Sergeant had to hold Vardalek steady. Kostaki and von Klatka stood close to the prisoner. He was smiling, but his eyes were afraid. He was not stupid. His long life was over. There would be no more gazelle-like lads for Count Vardalek.
‘We have to do this thing,’ Kostaki explained. ‘Vardalek, you know Prince Dracula. If you were spared, we’d be impaled.’
‘Comrades, this is absurd.’
Von Klatka was shifting from foot to foot like a warm fool. He wanted to intervene but he knew Kostaki was right. The Prince was proud to be known as harsh but just. His own regiment must be more rigid in its obedience to his rule than anyone else.
‘What are a few boys, more or less?’ Vardalek said.
‘Sir, masterful sir...’
Kostaki raised a hand. A Guardsman took hold of Orlando and quieted him.
‘I regret this deeply,’ he explained.
Vardalek shrugged, endeavouring to retain his dignity. Kostaki had known the vampire since the 1600s. He had never exactly liked the arrogant Hungarian, but respected him as brave and wilful. Vardalek’s preference for boys did not strike him as anything to fuss about, but Prince Dracula had strange prejudices.
‘One thing you must know,’ the Count said. ‘That elder bitch the other night, the Dieudonné creature: my business with her is not finished. I have taken steps to even things.’
‘That is to be expected.’
‘I have commissioned her destruction.