Young man, said Giresci, unless I’m very much mistaken I know why you’re here. Last time someone came to me inquiring about vampires, it cost me my life! But if there’s any way I can help you, Harry Keogh, any way at all, just ask it!
‘That was Boris Dragosani who came to see you, right?’ said Harry. He sensed the other’s shudder. Giresci might have no body, but at the mention of Dragosani’s name he shuddered.
That one, yes, Giresci answered at last. Dragosani. When first 1 met him I didn’t know it, but he was already one of them. Or as good as. He didn’t know it himself, not quite, but the evil was in him.
‘He sent Max Batu to kill you with his evil eye.’
Yes, because by then I knew what he was. That’s the thing a vampire fears most: that people will discover what he is. Anyone who suspects. . . he has to die. So the little Mongol killed me, and he stole my crossbow.
‘That was for Dragosani. He used it to kill Thibor Ferenczy in the cruciform hills.’
Then at least it was put to good use! Ah, but when you talk about Thibor, you’re talking about a real vampire! said Giresci. if Dragosani, with all of his potential for evil, had lived — alive or undead — as long as that one, then the world would have an incurable illness!
‘I’m sorry,’ said Harry, ‘but I can find nothing to admire in such monsters. And in any case, there was one greater than Thibor, who came before him, and outlasted him. His name was Faethor, and Thibor took his second name from him. Rightly so, for it was Faethor who made him a vampire. I’m speaking of Faethor Ferenczy, of course.’
Ladislau Giresci’s voice was the merest whisper now as he answered: Indeed, and that was where my interest in the undead really began. For I was with Faethor when he died. Imagine that, and him a creature at least thirteen hundred years old!
‘These are the ones I want to know about.’ Harry was eager. ‘Thibor and Faethor. In your life you were a vampire expert; however people might scorn your obsession or look upon you as an eccentric, you studied the vampire’s myths, his legends, his lore. You were still studying them when you died, and it’s my guess that dying didn’t stop you. So where’s your research led you now, Ladislau ? How did Thibor end up buried there on the cruciform hills? And what of Faethor between the tenth and twentieth centuries? It’s important that I know these things, for they relate to what I’m doing now. And what I’m doing relates to the safety and sanity of the whole world.’
I understand, said Giresci, soberly. But Harry, don’t you think you should speak to someone with even more authority? I believe it can be arranged.
‘What?’ Harry was taken aback. ‘Someone with more authority than you? Is there such a person?’
Ahhh! said a new voice, a powerful voice. It was black as the night itself and deep as the roots of hell, and it seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Oh, yesss, Haarrry, there is — or was — just such a one. And I am he. No one knows as much about the Wamphyri as I do, for no one has or ever will live so long. So very long, indeed, that when I died I was ready for it. Oh, I fought against it, be sure, but in the end it was for the best. Now I have peace. And I have Ladislau Giresci to thank for giving me that final, merciful release. Since he obviously holds you in the greatest esteem — as do all the dead, apparently — then so must I. So come to me, Harry Keogh, and let a real expert answer your questions.
It was an offer Harry couldn’t refuse. He knew who it must be at once, of course, and he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it himself. It was, after all, the obvious answer.
‘I’m coming, Faethor,’ he said. ‘Just give me a moment and I’ll be right there. .