"Elrod, P N - Quincy Morris, Vampire e-txt" - читать интересную книгу автора (Elrod P N)

I understood that I'd probably come up with other aspects of my change to object to, but feeding on blood had been the real cork in the bottle. It worried me now how I'd changed my mind so quick after such determination to starve. One taste of blood and suddenly I'm feeling right as rain, all my misgivings faded to nothing. Having seen how a syringe full of morphine could quiet the most violent lunatic in Jack Seward's asylum I wondered if the blood had done something similar to me, affecting my very thoughts. If I made myself go without again, would I return to the kind of thinking I'd had before?

Looking at the situation, with my head clear and the grinding pain in my belly vanished, I deemed it unlikely that I'd even try. Pure stubbornness had kept me going down that road. Since it hadn't led to anyplace good, I'd have to admit I could do nothing constructive for myself there and strike out in another direction. It just rankled that Dracula had been right about it all. At least he wasn't being smug.

"You're apparently well revived now, which is all that matters," he said. "Your color is better and your eyes are not so dull. What of your spirits?"

"Improved."

"Yes, a good meal is always a help there. You did enjoy it?"

What an inadequate word, enjoy. "Once I'd started. Yes."

"No more revulsion? Ah. So excellent. But for the future I must advise you not to become too lost in the pleasure of it as to be unaware of what is around you."

"What do you mean?"

"The time will come when you wish to leave my home, and the wide world is not so understanding of these things as are the people here. Should some stable lackey chance upon you while you are engaged in refreshing yourself his reaction may not beЧahЧconvenient to you."

"So I need to take care not to get caught."

"Exactly. A little caution will save you much trouble and probably your life."

His quill scratched over a fresh sheet of paper at irregular intervals as he made notes from an old book. I wondered why he did not avail himself of a modern steel pen, or even a typing machine like the one I'd gotten Mrs. Harker, but perhaps such items were scarce this far into Transylvania. Certainly I'd seen plenty of evidence that the advantages of living in the nineteenth century had not progressed far into this corner of the world. These days even in the wildest parts of Texas you could unexpectedly come upon a well-to-do household with a piano on proud display in the parlor, the whole family and the hired help having enough schooling to be able to read their Bible. Not so here. From the look of things the land and people hadn't changed much since the Dark Ages.

That was clearly in Dracula's favor. With everyone in the strong grasp of fear and superstition he had little need to worry about the peasants making trouble for him. He was fairly safe from any local sneaking up to the castle during the day with a stake and hammer.

Of course the same went for me, which was something to rejoice in, for I was far more vulnerable. Dracula could be up and about with the day if he chose or if necessity dictated. No such luxury for what I'd become. As soon as the sun made its first lance of light over the horizon I ceased to be aware of anything until it set again. Had I gone mad from my change, then that would have been the best time for Dracula to deal with the problem. At least then I'd have been oblivious, and as he'd said, I'd not suffer.

My thoughtful host had given me a secure enough place to retire. He'd provided me with the key to a windowless chamber high up in an otherwise abandoned tower. The oak door was a stout thing nearly a foot thick, and if the lock was very old then it was also quite formidably huge. There was also a heavy iron bar I could slip between two massive rings set in the stone on either side of the door. Even if someone got past the lock they'd still have to break through that obstacle, which would take hours, and the noise might draw attention from the other inhabitants of the castle.

I'd been rather curious on how Van Helsing had been able to enter this fortress so easily to make his executions of the three vampire women, until I got a look at their resting place on my first night. Dracula had led the way into his castle through a series of passages that he assured me Van Helsing had quite missed. Finally, my host pushed through a ponderous door that opened onto his family crypt.

The vault was so dismal and hideous, the air so fetid with the smell of sulfur, rot, and death that only a vampire with no need to breathe would dare penetrate such dreadful depths. Little wonder the Szgany servants avoided it even in the day, and little wonder they'd heard nothing of the violence that had taken place there.

We passed on to the old chapel. Dracula looked turn-on-turn into three empty tombs, but found naught there but dust.

And drying blood. The smell of it permeated the chamber. Butcher's work had been done here, brutal, audacious butcher's work. Even knowing the implacability of his nature, I could hardly attribute this horror to Van Helsing, but there were the man's own square-toed boot prints scuffed into the grime on the floor next to each resting place.

Dracula offered no comment, and apparently no prayer. He only heaved a great sigh, put his back to his sorrows, then guided me up into the castle proper and eventually to the tower room. After a brief discussion where he determined that I had absolutely no desire to lie in anything resembling a coffin, he saw to it that a supply of earth was brought up along with a simple pallet for a bed. As I still possessed the blanket that had wrapped my body, I lay it upon the dirt to spare my clothing.

Without irony he bade me goodnight and departed, pulling the door shut with a solid bump. The room became too silent and lonely for my peace of soul. I dropped to my knees and prayed as I'd not done since a child, pouring out my misgivings and terrors to a hopefully kind deity. Not knowing if I was heard or not did nothing to ease my low spirits. I remained on my knees until an awful sluggishness abruptly stole over me. Through the thick stones of the wall my body had sensed the risen sun. I crawled onto the pallet and for the first time assumed my portion of death for the day, unmindful of the discomfort of the hard floor.

My spirits were no better when I woke in pitch darkness. For a few moments panic overcame my hunger until I blundered my way to the door and hauled it open. The faint light that shone up the spiral passage helped steady me. I was ashamed of my fear, but did not know what to do about it, so I pushed it away for the time being.

Dracula had promised more agreeable amenities, and on the second night my room had a proper bed (with the earth spread between the linens and a fine feather mattress), a table, chair, oil lamp, and candles. No fire was possible, but that was of little concern to me since I now seemed to be fairly indifferent to the cold so long as I was out of the wind.

After inquiring, I learned that in ancient times the room was meant for use as a sort of final bolt hole should the castle be overrun by enemies. There would the women lock themselves away until they either greeted their triumphant defenders, surrendered to their conquerors, or killed themselves. Dracula made no mention which of those events might have happened in the castle's long history, only saying that I would be perfectly safe there. Certainly it was proof against anyone but my host, who could change himself into mist and slip through the cracks if he chose.

Of course, I could do pretty much the same, or so he maintained.