rebuffed. Though I am an internationally recognised authority on the conduct of modern warfare, my many letters of suggestion to Generals von Moltke, von Falkenhayn, Ludendorff and von Hindenburg have gone unacknowledged ...'
'In the name of the Kaiser and the Graf von Dracula, I extend the apologies of a nation,' Ewers announced, sticking out his hand as if offering a benediction.
Kafka's eyes darted between Poe and Ewers. Poe's impression was that the Jew shared his opinion of the German but had more empirical evidence to justify his dislike.
'What do you wait for?' Ewers snapped at Kafka. 'Herr Poe is an important man. Give him travel papers. We are expected in Berlin tomorrow.'
Kafka opened his folder and handed over a document.
'You won't need this any more,' Ewers said, clawing at Poe's sleeve, ripping away his armband. 'From now on, you are as safe in the Empires as if you were a pure-blood German.'
At a stroke, Poe felt himself transformed again.
6
Mata Hari
The prisoner had welcomed Beauregard's request that he be allowed to see her. Even were he not continuing the Malinbois investigation, he would have been inclined to pay a call. He had given evidence at her trial but they had never been introduced.
To step out of the staff car on to the parade ground was to set foot in a cemetery. The condemned woman was held in a barracks near Paris, long out of regular use, tenants gone to feed the war. The uncurtained windows of the long halls were dusty. Only one dormitory was inhabited. Eight men, pulled from the front to serve as a firing squad, slept in peace and comfort. To them, this must be a relief.
The night was black as ink. Like a warm convict, the prisoner was to be shot at dawn. Sunset would be a more appropriate execution hour for a vampire.
A lone light burned in an office. Beauregard rapped on a door. Lantier, a veteran with half a face, opened up and invited him in. Without a hint of insubordination, the turnkey made it clear he resented having his night disturbed by visitors pandering to the whims of an enemy of France.
Lantier looked over Beauregard's authorisation papers, clucking at each distinguished signature. At length, he decided in Beauregard's favour and ordered that the Englishman be allowed into the cell. A lecture was delivered in rapid French about the degree of intercourse allowed with the woman. There was to be no physical contact, no object was to be passed from one to the other.
The vampire's reputation was bound to outlive her. This fuss fed the greatly exaggerated stories they were telling. It was in the interests of the lady's 'victims' that she be considered irresistible, lest it be decided they had a degree of culpability in her feats of espionage. Surely, no ordinary woman could extract secrets from so many of the great and good. This was an extreme case of the brand of fascination vampires were popularly supposed to be able to exert over their helpless prey.
Of the officers whose names had come up in testimony at her closed trial, most who still lived remained on active service. Only a few insignificant lieutenants had been swept down with her. Even now, the odious General Mireau planned his next offensive.
It had been seriously suggested that the soldiers assigned to this detail be maimed veterans unmanned by the war. Following Lantier's slow progress to the cells, he wondered if the crackpot notion had been implemented. If so, it displayed an alarming ignorance of the physical act of vampirism.
Lantier opened a stout door and stood aside, allowing him into the cell. It was an unpainted room with barely the atmosphere of a cupboard.
The prisoner sat by a small window, looking at the last of the moon. With her hair roughly cropped and in a shapeless cotton dress, she did not resemble the jewelled seductress who had carried all Paris with her.
She turned to look at him and was indeed beautiful. She claimed to be half-Javanese, but Beauregard knew she was the daughter of a Dutch hatter and his provincial wife. After turning, her eyes had changed. She had slit pupils like a cat. The effect was enormously striking.
'Madame Zelle?' he enquired, politely but without need.
She stood graciously and acknowledged him. 'Mr Beauregard.'
He considered her extended, pale hand and shrugged.
'Regulations,' he explained, weakly.
The prisoner attempted a smile. 'Of course. Touch me and you would be my slave. You would overpower the guards and fight to the death to aid my escape.'
'Something like that.'
'How silly.'
A chair was brought for him by the turnkey. She resumed her own chair and he sat down.
'So you are the clever Englishman who caught me?'
'I am afraid so.'
'Why afraid? Did you not do your duty?'
Before the war, he had seen her famous Javanese Dance of Death. She was no Isadora and whoever schooled her was no Diaghilev, but the powerful effect she had on an audience, whether general or private, General or Private, could not be denied.
'You are an honourable English patriot and I am an unprincipled Dutch adventuress. Is that not true?'
'It is not for me to say, Madame.'
Her eyes were growing larger. There was cold, undirected anger in them. But also something else.
'You are a warm man?'
Had she expected him to be a vampire like her? Some
'How old are you, Mr Beauregard?'
That was an unusual question. 'I am sixty-four.'
'I would have thought younger. By five or ten years. Some vampire taint has crept into you, retarding the processes of aging. It does not matter. It is not too late for you to turn. You might live forever, grow young again.'
'Is that such a pleasant prospect?'
She smiled genuinely, not for effect. A tiny, shining fang peeped between her red lips.
'Not, I confess, at this immediate moment. I am immortal and you are not, but you shall see tomorrow's sunset.'
He tried to look at his wrist-watch without being too obvious. The dawn was two hours away.
'There may yet be a reprieve.'
'Thank you for considering that possibility, Englishman. I am given to understand you personally pleaded for my life. You could only do that at risk to your own reputation.'
Unless she really could suck secrets from a mind with a single glance, she could not possibly know he had recommended lenience.
Her fang became more prominent as her smile broadened. 'I still have sources of information. Secrets are not hard to come by.'
'As you have proved.'
'And so have you. My poor secrets have been yours as many men's were mine. Simply by sitting in a room and thinking, you saw through my veils and schemes. I admire that.'
He tried not to feel flattered. It was one of her greatest weapons. Elderly officers had been her favoured prey.
'I have had fine tutors in the whole art of detection,' Beauregard admitted.
'You are a senior member of the Ruling Cabal of the Diogenes Club, the second or third most important man in the British Secret Service.'
She knew even more than was determined at her trial.
'Do not worry, Charles. I shall take to my poor grave those few of your secrets to which I am a party.'
