grabbed Jasmine by the hair with his free hand and hauled her to her feet.
'I said, we will bring her with us. Pick up your warp disc and enter the coordinates I give you. Try any tricks and I will kill her
With a sick feeling, Moreau reached for his warp disc. He had no thought for his own welfare anymore. He only prayed Lin Tao would reach the temporal agents in time.
'Where the devil are we?' Brant Stoker whispered. 'What happened?'
'I am not certain. Stoker, — Conan Doyle said, looking around, 'but logic would seem to indicate that we have been drugged.'
'Drugged!' said Stoker. 'But I remember nothing!' 'Precisely,' Conan
Doyle said. 'What is the last thing you remember clearly?'
'Being in Whitechapel, following Count Dracula into that courtyard
…' Stoker frowned and pulled at his pointed red beard absently. 'And then it is all a blank!”
'As it is with me,' said Conan Doyle. 'The only possible explanation is that a drug was somehow administered to us and we were brought here senseless. As we neither drank nor consumed anything since we left the pub, I can only surmise that the drug must have been introduced through our lungs, perhaps through an airborne agent of some sort, such as a gas or powder we might have inhaled. Or through our skin, most probably from a distance, possibly by a dart fired from an African blowgun or some similar instrument. I would think the latter method, since the breeze would have rendered the former uncertain.'
He reached out and took Stoker's chin in his hand, turning his face to one side. 'As I suspected,' he said. 'There is a tiny wound upon your neck, slightly inflamed, little more than a pinprick. I would venture to say that I have a similar wound upon my own neck.”
'Yes, I see it,' Stoker said. 'Egad, Arthur. how do you know these things?'
'It is elementary my dear Stoker,' Conan Doyle said. 'Observation, logic and a great deal of reading. I also perceive that we are not in England anymore.'
'What!' Stoker exclaimed. 'Impossible!'
'I assure you that it is so.' said Conan Doyle. 'You have but to take stock of our immediate surroundings to convince yourself that I am right. Observe this room, the obvious age of these stone walls, the dimensions of the blocks used in the construction. Where in Whitechapel could we find such an edifice? We are in a sort of keep, Stoker, or a castle-'
'That we are not in Whitechapel, that I can accept,' said Stoker, 'but we must still be in England, on the Cornish coast perhaps-'
'On the contrary, Stoker. The architecture is of a style such as that employed by the knights of the Holy Roman Empire. This is not an English castle. Besides, if you will take a moment to smell the breeze coming in through that open window, you will notice that there is no smell of the sea, so we can eliminate the Cornish coast. No, Stoker, what I smell is pure. clean, fresh mountain air. Air which is not laden with the damp of English breezes. Observe, moreover, the tapestries hanging on these walls. They are Turkish, unless I am mistaken, and quite old, dating back to medieval days.'
He walked over to the window, somewhat unsteadily, still feeling the aftereffects of the drug. Stoker sat up slowly, rubbing his head, and followed.
'Just as I thought.' said Conan Doyle.
'Good God!' said Stoker.
They looked out upon a mountain view, with snowcapped peaks in the distance, covered by clouds. Below them was a sheer drop into an abyss. They were in a castle perched upon a cliff, overlooking a mountain pass.
'I must be dreaming!' Stoker said. 'Where in heaven is this place?'
'Not in heaven, Stoker,” said Conan Doyle, 'but somewhere in the Alpine range, most likely one of the Balkan nations.'
'But… how is that possible? How did we get here? Who could have done this? — Stoker said.
'As to how we came here, that remains a mystery,' said Conan Doyle. 'But as to the identity of our abductor, there can be little doubt.'
They heard a key turn in the lock and the door slowly creaked open. Dracula entered, carrying a candelabrum.
'Count Dracula,' said Conan Doyle.
'I see you gentlemen are awake,' said Dracula. 'How are you feeling? I trust there were no ill effects?'
'Beyond a slight dizziness and a lingering headache, no,' said Doyle. 'We are apparently little the worse for wear.'
'See here, Dracula!' said Stoker. 'What is the meaning of this? What gives you the right to have us abducted in such a manner? What do you intend to do with us? I demand an explanation!'
'Calm yourself, Mr. Stoker,' the vampire said. 'You are in my home. Here, I am the master. I will insist that you address me in a civil tone. As to what gives me the right to bring you here, allow me to remind you that it was you who followed me, skulking in the night like a pair of common cutthroats.'
'Whereas you. Count Dracula, are a singularly uncommon one,' said Conan Doyle. 'It was you, was it not, who was responsible for the vicious murders in Whitechapell'
'In part, yes.'
'`Then my suspicions were correct,' said Doyle. 'There was more than just one killer. You had an accomplice.'
'In a manner of speaking. yes.'
'Then you admit it!' said Stoker.
'Certainly.' said Dracula.
'You are a monster, sir!'
The vampire smiled ruefully. 'In more ways than you realize, Mr. Stoker. I am, indeed, a monster. I could no more help myself than you could contain your moral outrage upon hearing my confession. In order to survive, I must drink human blood and if I am to spare my victims the agony of an existence such as mine, it is necessary for me to kill them. I cannot always do so, but when I do, believe me. I am doing them a kindness.'
Stoker stared at him, appalled. 'You are insane!'
'I shall not debate the point with you.' said Dracula. 'Insanity, you might say, runs in my family. The very idea of a creature such as I am is insanity itself.”
'Then you truly believe that you are a vampire'?' said Doyle. In response. Dracula bared his teeth, exposing his fangs. Stoker gasped and recoiled, but Doyle stood firm.
'Merely a malformation of the canines,' he said. 'An unfortunate defect, but not even all that uncommon. Certainly no proof of a supernatural existence.'
'How very curious that you should use that word.” said Dracula. 'Ironic, Mine is indeed a 'super-natural' existence, although not quite in the sense you mean. Come, allow me to show you something.'
'The man is a raving lunatic!” whispered Stoker as Dracula led them out of the roomlighting their way down a long flight of stone stairs which followed the curvature of the castle wall.
'Unquestionably,' said Doyle, 'and highly dangerous, but he is nevertheless a man and not some reincarnated demon.'
'He is only one and we are two,' whispered Stoker. 'We can easily overpower him-'
'Perhaps not so easily,” said Doyle. 'Lunacy often tends extraordinary strength. I have seen grisly evidence of what this man can do in the bodies of his victims. Let us not be hasty. He has not acted alone in this. We must learn what we can and wait for a moment that is opportune, then we must make our move. But we must do it quickly. We can take no chances with this madman.'
He led them down the stairs to the great hall of the castle and they saw that part of the huge structure was in ruins. Piles of rubble were on the floor where old mortar had given way and stones had fallen down, leaving large holes in the high ceiling. There was a gaping fissure in one wall and bats flew in and out of it, screeching, the echoes of their cries reverberating throughout the great hall. Huge cobwebs hung in the corners and rats scurried across the floor. Everything looked as if it had been abandoned for centuries. They continued downward, through a great wooden, iron- reinforced door and down another long, steep flight of stone steps, the light from the
