Giresci nodded. In fact he was well aware of the Wamphyri’s rapacious nature. ‘No, of course not,’ he confirmed Dragosani’s denial. ‘What? A vampire celibate? Ridiculous? Lust is the very force that drives him. Universal lust – for power, flesh, blood! But listen to this:
‘In 1840 one Bela Ferenczy set off across the Meridi-onali to visit a cousin or other relative in the mountains of the northern Austro-Hungarian borders. Now this much is well documented; indeed, old Bela seems to have gone to a deal of trouble to let people know he was going visiting. He installed a man to look after the place while he was away – not a local man, incidentally, but someone of gypsy stock – hired a coach and driver for the early stages of the journey, made reservations for connections through the high passes, and completed all of the preparations necessary to travel in these parts in those days.
And he put it about locally that this was to be a journey of valediction. He had seemed to grow very old very quickly in the last year or two, and so it was accepted that he went to say his last farewells to distant relatives.
‘Now remember, we were still very much Moldavia-Wallachia at that time. In Europe the Industrial Revolution was in full swing – everywhere but here! Insular as ever, we were so backward as to seem almost retarded! The Lemberg-Galatz railway, skirting the mountains, was still more than a decade away. News travelled extremely slowly, and records were hard to keep. I mention this to highlight the fact that in this case there was good communication, and that a record did survive.’
‘Case?’ Dragosani queried. ‘What case are you talking about?’
‘The case of Bela Ferenczy’s sudden death when his coach and horses were hurled into a precipice by an avalanche in one of the high passes! News of the “accident” got swiftly back here; the old man’s Szgany retainer took Ferenczy’s sealed will to the local registrar; the will was posted without delay, showing that the Ferenczy house and grounds were to pass to a “cousin”, one Giorg, who had, apparently, already been appraised of the situation and his inheritance.’
Dragosani nodded. ‘And of course this Giorg Ferenczy later turned up and took possession. He would be – or he would appear to be – younger far than Bela, but the family resemblance would be unquestionable.’
‘Good!’ Giresci barked. ‘You follow my reasoning precisely. Having lived here for fifty years, which would normally make him an old man, Bela had decided it was high time he “died” and made way for the next in line.’
‘And after Giorg?’
‘Faethor, of course,’ Giresci scratched his chin reflectively. ‘I’ve often wondered,’ he said, ‘if I had not killed
him on the night of the bombing – if he had survived that night – what his next incarnation would have been? Would he have shown up after the war in some new Ferenczy guise, to rebuild the house and carry on as before? I think the answer is probably yes. They are territorial, the Wamphyri.’
‘And so you’re convinced that Bela, Giorg, and Faethor were all one and the same?’
‘Of course. I thought that was understood. Didn’t he tell me as much himself, when he raved of the battles at Silistria and Constantinople? And before Bela there was Grigor, Karl, Peter and Stefan – oh, and the Lord knows how many others – all the way back to Faethor Ferrenzig the princeling and probably beyond! This was his territory, do you see? He held bloody dominion here. And in the olden times, as princelings or Boyars, my God but the Wamphyri were fierce about their holdings! That was why he joined the Fourth Crusade, to keep olden and future enemies off his lands. His lands, you understand? No matter what king or government or system is in power, the vampire considers his home ground to be his. He fought to protect himself, his monstrous heritage, and not for a mangy pack of scummy foreigners out of the West! You’ve seen the defaced Crusader cross on the reverse of my medallion – hah! When they dishonoured him he scorned them, spat on them!’