Kate, her Irish flaring, guessed a great many people would be in a permanent state of rage around this new, improved Edwin Winthrop.
'How did you enjoy the show?'
'You fly as if you were born to it.'
'I
Edwin dropped to the ground like a circus tumbler and stood straight. He was still warm, but there was a vampire sharpness to his smile, a thin coldness in his eyes.
She'd seen the look before: in the warm servants some elders impressed into their service, feeding them drops of blood and the promise of eventual turning. But Edwin was no vampire's slave. Certainly not hers.
'You fly like Ball,' Bertie said, stating a fact rather than giving a compliment. The new pilot accepted the judgement. There was something of Albert Ball in him, just as there was something of Kate Reed. But he ruled himself. There was an iron determination that all was down to Edwin Winthrop.
'Probably shouldn't have popped off at old Rutledge, though,' Ginger remarked. 'That sort of stunting's bad for morale. Never know when you'll have a Hun on your tail and Rutledge will be the only one who can shoot the blighter down.'
'I think that unlikely.'
Bertie and the others admired Edwin but did not accept him yet. They could not trust him not to value his own unfathomable cause over that of the squadron. Kate knew how they felt.
'I think it would be useful if we had a chat, Winthrop,' Charles said. 'You, myself and Kate. I wish to clarify a certain situation.'
'Is this a personal matter?'
'If you choose to make it so.'
Jiggs, the mechanic, opened up the cowling of Edwin's fighter. He tutted as a wave of oily heat wafted out.
'I have a patrol to fly in an hour. I'm the only warm man in the squadron. We're under strength for day- flying.'
Kate was not sure how warm Edwin was.
'This need not take long.'
'Very well.'
35
Important Visitors
A long black automobile was parked in the courtyard of the chateau. Six motorcycles, with uniformed outriders, formed a neatly serrated wall of defence around the car.
'Important visitors,' Theo said.
Poe, queasy from exposure to the risen sun, suppressed a cringe. In his experience, important visitors usually meant some new reversal. His dealings with publishers in America and Europe always involved violent argument, broken contracts and long-lasting bitterness. His current patrons might well be disposed to couch criticism of his work in terms of wooden stakes and silver bullets.
Imperial eagle pennants hung from the hood of the car. The outriders were sleek new-borns. Their undoubtedly military black leather uniforms were unfamiliar. Poe assumed this was a new outfit, an adjunct to the Air Service or Dr Mabuse's secret police.
In a German Utopia, everyone would wear a magnificent uniform. Lavatory attendants would look like field marshals. Field marshals would stagger under the weight of braid and brass.
Poe was acutely aware of his status as the lone civilian at Malinbois. Even Ewers had taken to sporting a natty cavalry officer's outfit, earned by some obscure reserve status.
He had an impulse to conceal himself behind Richthofen.
A motorcycle rider, arm fixed in a salute, opened the car's rear door. An insectile elder unbent from the dark interior. A grave miasma emerged with him. Attendants held a black canopy aloft to keep the creature in shade. His rat face hung in the shadow, dirty white eyes shifting, as he stood up stiffly.
'It's the Graf von Orlok,' Theo explained. 'One of Dracula's closest advisers.'
Only the very very old looked this ghastly. Orlok wore an ancient greatcoat, fastened by dozens of buttons and hooks. He was hump-backed, spider-fingered, rodent-toothed and hollow- cheeked; his swollen head was bald under a fur cap and his hands were locked into arthritic claws. Poe had never seen a vampire so repulsive. This was one specimen Ten Brincken would never be able to measure and categorise. Orlok was a fiend of hell, not a creature of science.
'I thought we had more time,' Theo muttered.
Poe would have pressed his friend for an explanation but Theo cut himself off. He had said more than he ought.
Orlok looked around, shaded against the sun. His eyes squirmed in their sockets. Poe tried to stand to attention. Richthofen was instinctively erect, ready for inspection.
General Karnstein marched out of the great doorway, Ten Brincken and Dr Caligari flanking him. Sundry fliers lolled behind the general. They had done their best on short notice to get into dress uniform, the licence for individuality usually afforded heroes suspended for the moment.
The general saluted Orlok, who waved a claw and snarled. Poe realised the elder chose not to speak.
The little lakeside excursion party joined Karnstein's cadre. Baron von Richthofen took his place at the head of the fliers. Theo fell in behind the General and to his left. Poe stood by Theo and was eclipsed as someone - Hanns Heinz Ewers, of course - stepped in front of him.
The tallest outrider returned Karnstein's salute and removed his goggles. He was a handsome new-born Prussian with a clipped moustache, a fixed smile and a duelling scar.
'Hardt of the General Staff,' he introduced himself.
The new-born was Orlok's mouthpiece. He wore a black leather coat and helmet. Hardt looked around the courtyard and up at the skies.
'So this is the lair of our knights of the air. I'm a navy man myself. Submarines.'
Karnstein nodded.
'You've impressive quarters, General. And an impressive record. Which of your men is our Red Fighting Eagle?'
Karnstein gestured. Richthofen stepped forward, saluting. Hardt returned the salute and shook the Baron's hand.
'It is a privilege,' Hardt said. 'You are a hero.'
'I do my duty.'
Poe could not look away from Orlok. The elder seemed almost frail, as if his long fingers would snap and crumble like old twigs. If a sunbeam fell on him, he'd burst into a puff of dust. But there was a strength in him that came with centuries. The spark in him that had clung to life must be hideously strong. The truly old were beyond comprehension.
'Sir,' Ewers addressed himself to Hardt, 'has Dr Mabuse had time to absorb the import of my report?'
'You are ... ?'
'Hanns Heinz Ewers.'
'The doctor will give due consideration to your complaint, Herr Ewers. As I'm sure you understand, more pressing matters demand his time.'
Ewers hung his head and chewed his lip angrily.
'And is this the cause of your trouble, Herr Edgar Allan Poe?'
Poe understood the brand of treacherous calumny Ewers had communicated to Mabuse. Ewers, no friend of his, must be working hard to undermine his position. Poe could only shrug. Hardt looked him up and down, grinning.
'Herr Ewers claims your reputation is inflated,' Hardt said, smiling.
Poe tried to return the new-born's steady gaze.
'On the contrary,' he said, hoping bravado would conceal unease, 'it might stand higher were I not plagued by
