‘Rightly so,’ Dragosani agreed at once. ‘He was blown to hell, eh, old Janos? Good! And have you tracked down any other vampires, Ladislau Giresci? Come, tell me now: were there no Ferenczys who paid for their crimes and were put down in their heyday? How say you? What of the Western Carpatii, say beyond the Oltul?’
‘Eh? But that should be familiar ground for you, Dragosani,’ said the other. ‘You were born there, after all. Knowing as much as you do, and being so “clever” in your own right – yes, and with this keen interest of yours in vampires – surely by now you’ll have made your own investigations and searches?’
Dragosani nodded. ‘Indeed, indeed! And five hundred years ago in the west there was such a creature; he butchered the vile Turk in his thousands and was slain for his so-called “unnatural” zest!’
‘Good!’ Giresci thumped the table, no longer seeming to notice the change which had come over his guest. ‘Yes, you’re right: his name was Thibor, a powerful Boyar, destroyed in the end by the Vlads. He had great power over his Szekely followers – too much power – so that the princes feared and were jealous of him. Also, it’s likely they suspected he was one of the Wamphyri. It’s only us modern, sophisticated men who doubt such things. The primitive and the barbarian, they know better.’
‘What else do you know of this one?’ Dragosani growled.
‘Not much,(Giresci gulped more whisky, his eyes less sharp and his breath beginning to reek,) ‘not yet. He’s to be my next project. I know that he was executed -‘
‘Murdered!’ Dragosani cut in.
‘Murdered, then – somewhere west of the river, below lonesti, and that he was staked and buried in a secret place, but -‘
‘And was he decapitated, too, this Thibor?’
‘Eh? I found no records to that effect. I -‘
‘He was not!’ Dragosani hissed from between clenched teeth. ‘They weighted him down with silver and iron chains, put a stake in his vitals and entombed him. But they let him keep his head. You of all people should know what that means, Ladislau Giresci. He was not dead. He was undead. He still is!’
Giresci struggled upright in his chair. Finally he had sensed that something was desperately wrong. His eyes had been a little glazed but now they came back into focus. Seeing the snarl on Dragosani’s face, he began to tremble and pant. ‘It’s far too dim in here,’ he gasped.
Tar too close . . .’ And he reached out a fluttering hand
to swing back a shutter on the window. The sun at once streamed in.
Dragosani had risen to his feet, was leaning forward in a half-crouch. Now his hand reached across the table and trapped Giresci’s wrist in a band of steel-like fingers. His grip was ferocious. ‘Your next project, you old fool? And if you had found him – found the vampire’s grave – what then, eh? Old Faethor showed you how to do it, didn’t he? And would you do it again, Ladislau Giresci?’
‘What? Are you mad?’ Giresci drew back more yet, inadvertently dragging the younger man’s hand and arm into the beam of sunlight. Dragosani at once released him, snatched himself upright and reeled away into the room’s cool shadows. He had felt the sunlight on his arm like acid, and in that moment he had known!
‘Thibor!’ he spat the word out like a vile taste. ‘You!’
‘Man, you’re ill!’ Giresci was struggling to stand up.
‘You old bastard – you old devil – you ancient Thing in the earth! You would have used me!’ Dragosani raved, as if to himself. But in the back of his mind, at the edge of his awareness, something chuckled evilly and shrank back, shrank down.
‘You need a doctor!’ Giresci gasped. ‘A psychiatrist, anyway.’
Dragosani ignored him. He understood all now. He crossed to the small occasional table, took up his gun from where he’d placed it, jammed it firmly into its under-arm holster. He made to stride from the room, stopped and turned back. Giresci cringed away from him as he approached.
Too much!’ the oldster was babbling. ‘You know far too much. I don’t know who you are, but – ‘