CHARLES and GENEVIEVE follow MERRICK to the most elaborate doors yet seen, decorated with gilt bat- motifs.
CHARLES
It amuses the Prince Consort to keep this poor creature on hand.
GENEVIEVE
He’s a monster. Not...
CHARLES
I know who you mean. (MERRICK opens the door.) Gene, if what I do brings harm to you, I am sincerely sorry.
He kisses her again...
BEDROOM, INT. NIGHT. FLASHBACK.
GENEVIEVE, lips bloody, cuddles up to CHARLES, who is awake, brooding.
GENEVIEVE
This can be forever, Charles. Truly forever.
CHARLES
Nothing is forever, my darling...
HALLWAY, BUCKINGHAM PALACE. INT. NIGHT.
... the kiss breaks. Light falls on CHARLES and GENEVIEVE as the doors are fully opened. They are admitted.
THRONE ROOM, BUCKINGHAM PALACE. INT. NIGHT.
Ill-lit by broken chandeliers, the throne-room is an infernal sty of people and animals. Dirtied and abused paintings hang at strange angles. Whimpering, grunting, screaming creatures congregate on divans and carpets. An almost naked CARPATHIAN wrestles a giant ape, their feet scrabbling and slipping on a filthy marble floor. HENTZAU stands by smartly. RUTHVEN is also present, scented handkerchief at his nose as he views the proceedings with distaste. The CARPATHIAN jams the ape’s face against the floor and snaps the animal’s spine.
Gales of cruel laughter are cut off by a wave of a ham-sized hand. Upon the raised hand, an enormous gemstone ring – the Koh-i-Noor, centrepiece of the Crown Jewels – holds the burning reflections of seven fires. GENEVIEVE looks into the jewel, and sees through it the distorted shape of a gross figure.
We pull back to see DRACULA. He sits upon his throne, massive as a commemorative statue, enormously bloated face a rich red under withered grey. Moustaches stiff with recent blood hang to his chest, his thick hair is loose about his shoulders, and his black-stubbled chin is dotted with the gravy of his last feeding. His left hand loosely holds the orb of office, which seems in his grip the size of a tennis ball.
CHARLES (overwhelmed)
I never dreamed...
An ermine-collared black velvet cloak clings to DRACULA’s shoulders like the wings of a giant bat. His body is swollen with blood, rope-thick veins visibly pulsing in his neck and arms. He smiles, showing yellow teeth the size of pointed thumbs.
QUEEN VICTORIA kneels by the throne, a spiked collar around her neck, a chain leading from it to a loose bracelet upon Dracula’s wrist. As a vampire, she has reverted to girlhood, but still has an old woman’s dignity even in these circumstances.
CHARLES (bowing his head)
Majesties.
An enormous fart of laughter explodes from DRACULA’s jaggedly-fanged maw.
DRACULA
I am Dracula. And who might these welcome guests be?
RUTHVEN
These are the heroes of Whitechapel, Majesty. To them we owe the ruination of the desperate murderers known as Jack the Ripper. Dr John Seward of infamous memory, and, ah, Arthur Holmwood, the terrible traitor...
CHARLES looks at DRACULA’s face. It seems painted on water; sometimes frozen into hard-planed ice, but for the most part in motion. CHARLES sees other faces beneath. The red eyes and wolf teeth are fixed, but around them, under the rough cheeks, is a constantly shifting shape; sometimes a hairy, wet snout, sometimes a thin, polished skull.
DRACULA (grins ferociously)
You have served us well and faithfully, my subjects. Have they not, Vicky?
DRACULA stretches out a hand and caresses VICTORIA’s tangled hair. She shrinks. At the base of the throne-dais cluster a knot of shrouded
DRACULA
Genevieve Dieudonne, I have had word of you before. My lady, why have you not come before to my court? You wandered from one place to the next for hundreds of years, in fear of the jealous warm. Like all un-dead, you were outcast. Was this not injustice? Harried by inferiors, we were denied the succour of church and the protection of law. You and I, we have both lost those that we have loved, to peasants with sharpened spikes and silver sickles. I am named Tepes, the impaler, and yet it was not Dracula who pierced the heart of Lucy Westenra. My dark kiss brings life, eternal and sweet; it is the silver knives that bring cold death, empty and endless. The dark nights are ended and we are raised to our rightful estate. This have I done for the good of all who are
GENEVIEVE
I have been un-dead a half-century longer than you. When I turned, you were a babe in arms. Impaler, I have no equal.
DRACULA glares enormously at GENEVIEVE.
CHARLES (steps forward, hand inside his coat)
I have a gift, a souvenir of our exploit in the East End.
CHARLES takes a cloth bundle from his inside pocket, and unwraps it. Silver light explodes. Vampires who have been noisily suckling in the shadows are suddenly quiet. The tiny blade gleams, illuminating the whole room. CARPATHIANS, led by HENTZAU, detach themselves from their amusements and form a half circle to one side. Several of the harem of BRIDES stand, red mouths wet and eager.
DRACULA (angrily amused)
You think to defy me with this little needle, Englishman?
CHARLES
It is a gift. But not for you. For my Queen.
He tosses the knife. Tumbling silver reflects in DRACULA’s eyes. VICTORIA snatches the scalpel from the air.
VICTORIA
The Lord forgive me.
VICTORIA slips the blade under her breast, puncturing her heart. For her, it is over swiftly. With a moan of joy, she falls from the dais, rolls down the steps, chain unravelling. RUTHVEN beats his way through and clutches VICTORIA’s body. He extracts the scalpel with a single pull. RUTHVEN presses his hand over her wound as if willing her back to life. It is no use. He stands, still gripping the silver knife. His fingers begin to smoke and he throws away the scalpel, yelping. Surrounded by Dracula’s BRIDES, their faces transforming with hunger and rage, RUTVHEN shakes inside his finery.
RUTHVEN
It is over, Prince. As a widower, you have no right to rule.
CHARLES stands still, certain of death. DRACULA is on his feet, cloak rippling around him like a thundercloud. Tusks explode from his mouth, his hands become spear-tipped clusters. He raises a hand, useless chain dangling
