The Classified Dossier: Sherlock Holmes and Count Dracula(32)

“We found the man of Dr Watson’s acquaintance,” Dracula said. He favoured us with a grave smile. “Rupert Allens, the man with the blond mutton chops. He was getting ready for a long journey at sea, under orders from the Mariner Priest to abandon London. He was to board a ship to Portugal, draw no attention to himself, and await further instructions. He also told us that the Mariner Priest himself had already left London with a great many vampires. He does not know precisely when or on what ship.”

“So the tobacco shop was not the entire catch,” Holmes said. “I had feared as much.”

“How do you know this?” I asked.

“He told me,” Dracula said simply. “These individuals were easy enough to question.”

“I should have thought,” I said, “that vampires would be difficult to question, having less to fear.”

“Then you would be incorrect, Doctor,” Dracula said. “On both counts. My people are a superstitious lot. You have retained your civilization through the transformation, but this is not the usual case. For most, it is a movement away from reason, towards primal intuition. Examine the primitive hunters among your own people, and you will find no atheists. It may not be a religion that you recognize, but it is the same with us.”

I found this to be a shocking statement, and had the sudden urge to ask the Count if he, too, had foresworn reason in this manner, but his forbidding expression warned me that such a question would not be welcome.

“Are they still alive?” I demanded.

Dracula gave me a flat stare by way of response. It was Mina who finally shifted in her seat and shook her head. “No, I’m afraid not.”

“Would you have me release them to continue their murder spree?” Dracula said.

“You did what must be done,” Holmes said, “for we cannot let them continue to murder in London, though I confess to some small pangs of guilt. The men on this list were all headed for the gallows, but still it might be a kinder fate than what befell them at your hands.”

If Dracula was insulted by Holmes’s judgement, he gave no sign. In fact, he gave the smallest of smiles that quite confirmed Holmes’s statement and sent a cold chill into the pit of my stomach. “In any case,” he said, “a gallows would not have sufficed.” He turned his flat gaze onto me. “Console yourself, Doctor, with the fact that London’s citizens are better off without them.”

Mina carried a purse, which surprised me for some reason, from which she withdrew a newspaper and handed it to Holmes. “Here is the information for Allens’s ship. I circled it for your attention.” She turned then to me and said, “I’m sorry, Dr Watson. We did not find any sign of your wife.”

“Not entirely true, my dear,” Dracula said. His tone was gentle, but there was a note of admonition in it.

Mina made a rueful face. “We did find a number of her victims, I’m afraid,” she admitted.

“Children,” Dracula said remorselessly. “Three young boys, the youngest being only two, I should estimate. Very likely from the same family. She and the blonde man had been feeding on them for some time. Do you begin to see the purpose behind my methods, Doctor?”

I could see Mary’s face, my Mary, and see blood on her lips, just as I had the last time I’d seen her. Children! The room swam briefly around me and a sudden creaking from underneath me made me realize that I was gripping the armrests of the chair so forcefully that I was in danger of tearing them completely free. I forced myself to let them go.

“My husband is harsh,” Mina said, “as the wolf is hard. Stark and violent, just as the wolf, as life itself is. But he is never cruel for cruelty’s sake. I wonder if most men can say the same.” She shook her head to clear her thoughts. “But his point is well taken. I should not have referred to her as your wife.”

“That woman,” Dracula said coldly, “is dead.”

Mina stretched out her gloved hand and laid it on my shoulder. “I’m very sorry, Dr Watson.”

“Have you,” I said, “ever killed children? To feed?” I was asking about her, but also, in the darkest parts of my heart, about what I was likely to become. I did not dare ask the same question of Dracula, for I felt all too certain that the answer would darken my heart. But with Mina, there was hope.

“I have not,” she said firmly. “There is no need. There is plenty of blood, and plenty of willing victims, to make murder unnecessary. The death of murderers is one thing, but the innocent quite another, I assure you. The bodies of those poor children break my heart every bit as much as they break yours.”

“Extreme measures must be taken, Watson,” Holmes said to me gently. “Or else many more British citizens, children and otherwise, will suffer their fate.” He turned back to Dracula. “What of the other addresses I suggested?” I could tell this sort of investigation by surrogate to be a continually frustrating experience for Holmes. In point of fact, I might have gone with them if not for the ever-present necessity of keeping Holmes interred here at Baker Street. I could see that he railed at the inconvenience his wound caused and would have gladly thrown his health to the winds of fortune had I not stayed at his side to prevent it.

“One had already fled,” Dracula said. “The other, a back-alley cutthroat named Warner, was also readying to depart.”