TW08 The Dracula Caper NEW (15 page)

Moreau went to a closet and opened it.

"What manner of clothing is this?" said Wells, touching the sleek, shiny material and feeling it stretch. "It is made from materials such as I have never seen!"

"Synthetics," said Moreau.

"Synthetic materials'?" said Wells, touching the futuristic garments hanging in the closet.

"A blend of synthetics, created in a laboratory," said Moreau. "Form fitting, easily cared for. They will stretch to accommodate your size."

"But . . . it is all of one piece. Is this all there is to the costume?" Wells said.

"It will serve," Moreau said.

They changed and moments later, Wells stood before a mirror, examining himself in the black clingsuit. "I cannot say it flatters me.” he said. "It seems terribly revealing. And what makes it shine so? It looks as though it is soaking wet."

"It is the nature of the material," Moreau said somewhat impatiently. "And rest assured, in this time period, it is considered a conservative fashion. I should warn you that we are liable to see people, women in particular, wearing costumes that are far more revealing. Customs are very different here. Try not to be shocked."

They went outside into the hallway and took a drop tube to the lobby. Wells could barely contain himself. He wanted to know how the lighting in the hallway operated, how the drop tube functioned, what made the indicator lights work and where the cool air was coming from. Moreau made no attempt to reply to his torrent of questions, saying merely that it was impossible to explain hundreds of years of scientific development to someone who could not even comprehend most of the terms and Wells had to satisfy himself with brief explanations of what the function of various things was, rather than how they functioned.

They came out into the lobby and Wells gasped at the immensity of it, at the height of the ceiling, which was several dozen stories over their heads, at the huge colored fountain playing in the lobby's atrium and the strange music, coming from nowhere and created by instruments he could not even identify. As they walked across it and approached the large ornate glass doors leading outside, Wells was stunned to see them open by themselves and Moreau was unable to restrain him from repeatedly stepping on and off the sensor panels, making the doors open and close repeatedly, as a small child might do.

"Please. Herbert," Moreau said, finally dragging him away. "We must try not to attract attention to ourselves."

They went outside into the street and walked for a short distance, Wells craning his neck backward, looking up above them at the impossibly tall buildings and the traffic overhead. He stopped in the center of the sidewalk, gazing up with rapture and in moments, there were a number of people around
them,
likewise looking up, wondering what he was looking at.

"Herbert, for God's sake,
please!"
Moreau said, dragging him on.

They hadn't walked a block before an adolescent girl with varicolored hair cut in a geometric style and wearing high black boots, scarlet clingpanties and a see-through halter sidled up to them and propositioned Wells. Moreau grimaced and waved her off.

Wells grinned. "Well, in some respects at least, things have not changed very much at all."

"If you had accepted her proposition," Moreau said sourly, "I think you'd have found that things have changed more than you might think. Come, let us go back to the hotel. I do not wish to expose you to so much that your mind will be shocked by overstimulation. We have much to talk about."

"Please, can't we stay a little while longer?" Wells said. "Can't we walk about? There is so much to see! I have a thousand questions bursting from my brain!"

"Later, perhaps," Moreau said. "Regrettably, we cannot remain here for long. Bringing you here was a great risk and I am still not certain that it was the right decision. However, perhaps it was for the best. Perhaps now you will possess enough perspective to fully appreciate what I have to tell you. It would take hours to even begin to answer some of those questions you have, but I needed to eliminate your doubts."

"And that you have," said Wells, glancing all around him. "To think that I have traveled
hundreds of years
into the future! What a world awaits us! What astonishing accomplishments! Please, Moreau, can't we stay awhile longer?"

Moreau smiled, "Very well. But keep close to me. If we were to become separated, you would become truly lost, forever.”

"I do not know that I would mind that very much,” said Wells.

"Don't even joke about it," said Moreau.

"What would happen if we did not go back?" said Wells. "Purely for the sake of argument, of course."

"There is no way of knowing exactly what would happen.” said Moreau, "but you can be certain that history would be changed. The results could be disastrous on an unimaginable scale. By the act of bringing you here, I have already altered history, but the risk is slight if we follow proper precautions. It is nothing compared to the risk we all face back in your own time. And now that you have seen all this, perhaps you might begin to understand. Come, I will tell you about myself, about who and what I am and where I came from, and about the crowning achievement of my career, which has now turned into a nightmare that threatens all humanity. And it all began when a device known as a chronoplate was invented and man achieved the capability of traveling through time . . ."

"Count Dracula?"

The tall dark man in the black opera cape paused as he was about to get into his coach outside the Lyceum Theatre. "I am Dracula.” he said, turning around.

"Inspector William Grayson, Scotland Yard. Might I ask you to give me a moment of your time?"

"Certainly. Inspector. How may I help you?"

"I should like to ask you a few questions. I understand that you were one of the last people to see Miss Angeline Crewe alive. "

"Yes," said Dracula,
"
I suppose I must have been. I had heard about her collapse during rehearsal. Poor girl, a tragedy to die so young. But why should the police be interested? It was an illness, no?"

"We have reason to suspect that it may not have been.” said Grayson. "Why, did she seem ill to you?"

"I thought she seemed a trifle pale," said Dracula.

"You had dinner with her and another young woman from the company, a Miss Violet Anderson?"

"Yes, that is correct.”

"And there was another gentleman present, a Mr. Anthony Hesketh?"

"Yes, it was Mr. Hesketh who introduced me to Miss Crewe."

"I see. When was the last time you saw Mr. Hesketh?"

"I believe it was that evening, when we all had dinner together."

"And you have not seen him since?"

"No, I think he said something about going abroad on business.”

"How well do you know him?"

"We occasionally take in a play together. We met here, at the Lyceum. He was kind enough to share my box with me and assist me with the language. English is not my native tongue, you know."

"You seem to speak it very well," said Grayson.

"Thank you, but my fluency is not all that I would like it to be. The theatre is an excellent place to hear it spoken properly. I never tire of listening to Mr. Irving."

"So you and Mr. Hesketh are not very close, then? You see each other only at the theatre?"

"And sometimes for dinner, afterward." said Dracula. "I am a very private person, Inspector. I generally keep to myself and only go out at night. Mr. Hesketh seemed like a very pleasant and well-educated young man, but he is only an acquaintance, nothing more. I could not even say what business he is in. I do not recall ever discussing it with hint. Such matters bore me. We spoke mainly about music, literature and the theatre. I fear that I am not being of much help to you."

"On the contrary," Grayson said, "every little bit of information helps. Might I ask what brings you to London?"

Dracula smiled. "I am a very wealthy man, Inspector Grayson, thanks to the fortunes of my family. I devote most of my time to travel. There is not a great deal to occupy one's time in my native country. The night life of London is so much more fascinating."

"I see, May I ask where you are staying'?"

"For the present, I am taking rooms at the Grosvenor. But I enjoy sampling your hotels as much as I enjoy sampling your theatre. In fact, I am enjoying England so much that I am considering purchasing a home here. Perhaps nothing quite so grand as my family castle in Transylvania, but on the other hand, nothing quite so old and drafty, either."

"Speaking of your family." said Grayson, "I once heard a fascinating story about a prince from your country whose name was the same as yours. He was also known as Vlad the Impaler. I believe."

"Yes, I am descended from him," said Dracula. "Not many people outside my country know of him and those that do, such as yourself, invariably ask me if it is true that my ancestor was as bloodthirsty as the legend has it. He was, indeed. However, he is a national hero in my country for having driven out the Turks, who were quite savage in their own right. It is fortunate for all of us that we live in times that are so much more civilized. I fear that my ancestor would not have approved of me. He was a merciless warlord, a
voivode.
and I am merely an extravagantly wealthy vagabond. No one shall ever tell stories about me. But now I have forgotten what we were discussing. Ah, yes. Miss Crewe and Mr. Hesketh, was it not? They seemed quite taken with each other. Such a pity. They made such a delightful couple. Have I answered your question, Inspector ... Grayson, was it'?"

"Yes, thank you, Count," said Grayson, "I will not be taking up any more of your time. Sorry to trouble you."

"No trouble at all. Good night to you, Inspector."

"And good night to you, Count."

Grayson held the door for him as he climbed in. then he shut it and waved up at the coachman. For a moment, he froze, startled at the sight of the coachman's face staring down at him. The lower half of the man's face was covered by a muffler. He had long grey hair and he wore a high-collared
tweed
coat and a bowler hat, but it was the eyes that startled Grayson. They were looking down at him with an absolutely feral gaze. For a brief moment, they almost seemed to glow in the dark and then the coachman cricked the whip and the horses took off at a trot. Grayson stared after the coach until it disappeared into the fog.

Private Paul Ransome woke up strapped to a bed in a large, luxuriously appointed bedroom. He had been drugged and he did not know how long he had been unconscious. The restraints would not allow him any motion beyond some slight movements of his head and neck. He felt ill, disoriented, and there
was
a maddening itch at a spot on his throat which he could not scratch. He felt nauseous and he had a fever. The sheets were damp with his sweat.

The bedroom door opened and a man dressed in a dark butler's suit entered, the same man who had answered the door of the sprawling Richmond Hill estate that Ransome had come to investigate. He had long, steel grey hair that hung down to his shoulders and he was powerfully built. He was swarthy looking, with sunken eyes, a high forehead and a prominent jaw. The mouth was wide, thin-lipped and cruel. He saw that Ransome was awake, turned and left the room before Ransome could say anything.

Ransome desperately tried to remember what had happened, but his mind was a complete blank. He could not seem to concentrate. He knew he was in trouble. Bad trouble. And that knowledge was confirmed when the door opened once again several moments later and a tall, dark, well-built, striking looking man with emerald green eyes and a long scar down the side of his face came in and stood over his bed, looking down at him.

"Drakov!" Ransome said.

"Good morning, Private Ransome," Nikolai Drakov said in a deep voice. He smiled. "How do you feel?"

"Sick as a dog,” said Ransome. "What did you do to me?"

"A number of things," said Drakov pleasantly, as if they were merely discussing the weather. "Nothing fatal, however,"

"But I assume that's coming, right?"

"Oh, on the contrary, I want you alive. I have some very special plans for you."

"What happened?" Ransome said. "How did I blow my cover? I don't remember anything.”

"You remember what happened before you came here, don't you?" Drakov said.

"Yes, but after that it's all a blank."

"Good."

"What did you do, damn you?"

"Well, you might say I've influenced you somewhat, in more ways than one," said Drakov. "You see. I was prepared for you people this time. I no longer take any chances. You were scanned when you approached this house and your cybernetic implants were detected. I'm really very well protected here. Just the same, it now appears that I shall have to leave this comfortable house. A pity, but if you found me, the other members of your team cannot be far behind."

"It won't work, Drakov," Ransome said. "I'm not going to tell you anything."

Drakov chuckled. "Spare me the
esprit de corps
heroics. Ransome. You may not know it, but you have already told me everything I wished to know. I am quite looking forward to another confrontation with my father's first string team. You were just an appetizer. It's Delaney, Cross and Steiger that I want. And you are going to help me.”

"The hell I will,” said Ransome. "I'll die first."

Drakov grinned. "In a manner of speaking, yes, you will," he said. "But never fear, you shall be reborn. Your rebirth is in progress even as we speak."

Ransome felt a knot forming in his stomach. "What have you done to me?"

"How does your throat feel, Ransome?"

"My—" Involuntarily, Ransome tried to raise his hand to his throat, but the restraints wouldn't let him move. "Jesus," he said. "Oh, Jesus.” His eyes went to the butler standing by the door, watching him silently.

Drakov followed his gaze. "No, it wasn't Janos," he said. Drakov beckoned the butler forward. "However, Janos
is
someone you've been looking for. I thought you might like to be properly introduced. Pvt. Paul Ransome, Janos Volkov. Janos is, in a manner of speaking, one of my children. I'm really very proud of him. Janos is the very first of his kind, a triumph of genetic engineering and biomodification. He is the werewolf you've been seeking. I'm sorry to say that you will not be able to see Janos in all his hirsute splendor, as he has reached the end of his monthly cycle, but take my word for it, it is an impressive sight."