The Classified Dossier: Sherlock Holmes and Count Dracula(31)
“Indeed,” Holmes said. “Recruiting and transforming them, though not all fall into this category. There are no less than four sailors on this list, as well, which should incline us to think that his next moves would be something of a nautical vein.”
“He is called the Mariner Priest,” I pointed out.
“Precisely,” Holmes agreed. “In addition, Scotland Yard has, as I suspected, two new murders, one in a cemetery and one in the morgue, that are almost certainly vampire attacks that require our attention. It is too soon to tell if this is an intentional threat or merely the Mariner Priest’s discarded mistakes, meaning a vampire he cannot control, but either possibility bodes ill for London. All in all, it bodes for serious plans from our adversary. If we can only calculate what those might be!”
But Holmes had no more insights and shortly thereafter lapsed into an uncommunicative mood. He tried a few passes on his violin, but his injury would not let him continue and he was forced to lie down.
About mid-afternoon, we received a response to several telegrams Holmes had sent earlier. I took them into his room at once. Holmes was irritable, having been mostly bedridden for the past three days, but he was healing quickly and growing stronger each day. He snatched the envelopes from my hands and tore them open with shaking fingers. He read the contents of all three and then dropped them on the bedcovers with a disgusted sigh.
“Nothing! My only conclusion is that the Mariner Priest has withdrawn with his new squadron of vampires for I can find no sign of him. This convalescence has proved to be catastrophic, Watson! If only you could have handled that bullet without tearing so much tissue around it. This delay is intolerable!”
“The bullet had to be removed,” I said mildly. I was privately very pleased with the result. The bullet had come out cleanly, and I thought the job a remarkably neat one considering the unfavourable conditions. Furthermore, I had been meticulous about the dressing and was very pleased to see no sign of infection. But I knew my friend could never rest easy with the Mariner Priest’s continued freedom. No wound short of a fatal one could change that.
I longed to know the exact contents of the telegrams that had distressed him so, but, as ever, my friend divulged details only in his own time and fashion.
“Perhaps a late dinner would help?” I said. “Mrs Hudson has mentioned a brace of Cornish hens she might bring up for you. Mentioned it no less than seven times, in fact.”
“Oh, very well,” he said, waving his hands in dismissal. “If only to prevent further distracting inquiries. Any news from Count Dracula?”
“Not yet,” I said. “It is still another few hours until the sun sets.”
*
Dracula and Mina arrived a short time after dusk, using the bell and front door rather than the sudden and startling appearance that Dracula favoured by himself. Holmes was feeling strong enough to move about a little and I helped him into a chair by the fire so that we might receive company.
Fully recovered, the Countess Mina Dracula was a pale, exquisite creature with dark hair and an outwardly mild demeanour compared to her starkly proud and aristocratic husband. Still, every quietly enunciated word and polite smile the seemingly delicate woman made revealed signs of both a sardonic sense of humour and a very serious-minded intelligence.
“We have found the other two sisters,” Dracula said without preamble. “They could provide no information as to the Mariner Priest, as it seems only Adaliene dealt with him. These two have been hiding in a nest under one of your parked railway trains for weeks. They will trouble London no further.”
“You… destroyed them?” I asked. Even with the clear necessity, the image of the Count murdering his former consorts felt horrific and sordid.
“Not I,” Dracula said, and his gaze flashed to Mina with some pride.
“That was my welcome burden,” Mina said. “I felt I owed them something for this.” She gestured slightly with her left hand, where underneath a black lace covering her hand still lacked the index finger.
“Have no concern, gentlemen,” she added. “With proper care and feeding I shall have a new one to wear my wedding band on in five or six months.”
“Indeed,” Holmes said, raising his eyebrows. “That is good to know.”
I have since confirmed this from my own experience. Surprisingly, vampire healing is a great deal slower than the human equivalent. A wound such as Holmes’s would take much longer to close and heal. However, given enough time and an ample supply of blood, there is virtually nothing that cannot be regrown and eventually made whole in a way far surpassing human biology, as long as the heart and head remain intact.
Still, I shall not soon forget the burning light I saw in the eyes of Count Dracula’s wife, and it made me uneasy. Partly this was because of what it displayed about her own soul, and possibly my own. Count Dracula was visibly proud of his terrible wife, and I believe their love was strong, despite the horrific nature of their, that is, our, nocturnal existence. Holmes, in assisting in her rescue, had won a great and terrible force over to his cause. I was forever humbled at how nations, sovereigns and now, even this vampire noble, found themselves indebted to the faculties of Sherlock Holmes.
“What of the other places I asked you to investigate?” Holmes asked. “Surely the Mariner Priest must have left some traces.” He touched his bandaged side. “This inactivity, it’s intolerable!” He cast another look of irritation in my direction. Quite unfairly, I thought, but I could at least understand his frustration.