Séance for a Vampire by Fred Saberhagen (ebook reader macos .TXT) 📕

swirling down from the coachman’s high seat to pounce like some winged predator upon my attacker.

A moment after that, my immediate antagonist had been wrenched out of my grasp. His body now hung in the air, dangling incredibly like that of a snared bird, held prisoner in the iron, one-handed grip which had been fastened on the back of his neck by the tall, lean coachman. The latter was now standing almost within arm’s length of me, and his hat had fallen off, revealing a shock of black hair. Some yards behind him, the bully who had drawn a pistol lay sprawled facedown, as if dead, upon the broken pavement, his useless weapon at his side.

Almost before I had begun to struggle on my own behalf, the fight was over, and for the moment I was safe.

I think my last doubts regarding the coachman’s identity had been dissipated even before he used his free hand to loosen the scarf which had until now effectively concealed the lower part of his pale, cleanshaven, and somehow shockingly youthful face.

I was gasping from the brief exertion, and needed a moment or two in which to regain my breath. “Prince Dracula! I had begun to fear that my summons failed to reach you.”

“Most diplomatically phrased, Doctor.” Dracula’s well-remembered voice was deep, his English precise and elegant, though still marked with the accents of Eastern Europe. Simultaneously he let his prisoner down until the man’s feet just touched the ground. “I really came as quickly as I could. Unhappily, when your summons reached me I was not in the close vicinity of London–though fortunately I was at least in England.”

“That is fortunate indeed for me.”

“My apologies, Doctor, for any inconvenience my tardiness may have caused you. but I was unavoidably detained–ha, would you?”

This last was addressed to his prisoner, who, with some breath restored, had summoned up fight enough to attempt to kick the prince. Dracula, pinching the fellow’s neck in a way that rendered him unconscious, allowed him to slide down, to sprawl at full length on the broken pavement. Then my rescuer went on unconcernedly to explain that he had reached baker Street at about the same time as these messengers, and from the moment of his arrival had been suspicious of such a thuggish-looking trio of callers–their number had then included their own driver on the coach.

“Naturally,” my rescuer concluded, “I felt it necessary to make sure that I understood the situation before I interfered.”

“No apology is necessary,” I murmured. by this time my respiration and pulse were beginning to return to their normal rates. “My thanks for your help.”

“The determination was a matter of some delicacy.” The prince went on to explain how, employing several of the powers naturally available to his race between the hours of sunset and dawn, he had invisibly followed and then secretly boarded the four-wheeler as it pulled away with my kidnappers and myself inside.

Crouching undetected behind the driver, making use of his preternaturally keen hearing to eavesdrop on such conversation as took place inside the vehicle, Dracula had soon convinced himself that his suspicions were fully justified.

“Then it was necessary first, to interview their driver, as quietly as possible, and next to induce him to tell me where he had been told to drive the coach. I allowed him to make a quick and silent departure from the vehicle, while he permitted me to retain his whip, hat, and scarf.

“The fellow could scarcely wait to be off–it may have been something I said, or the way I looked at him. At any rate, I satisfied myself that he was only a hireling. Not worth a great deal of our attention. This man, on the other hand, may be worth talking to.” The prince smiled, looking down with what appeared to be affection at the thug who lay at his feet.

“Where are we, then?” I looked about, but the night-filled ruins in our immediate vicinity shut us closely in, and the only sounds of traffic came from streets away.

“Somewhere in the City, a little northwest of St. Paul’s. The original driver told me that this was our general destination.”

I realized that we could not be far from normal streets and traffic; and events proved that we were in fact no great distance from the site where the demolition of Newgate Prison, to make way for the new Criminal Court, was already under way.

Before we made our way back into the traveled streets, a decision had to be made about our prisoner, or prisoners.

The man whose pistol had been pulled from his grasp had now revived again, but only briefly. I went to attend him and saw that he had sustained a deadly fall upon the broken pavement, suffering a broken spine, as well as other severe injuries. Before dying he found breath enough to rail at me again as an enemy of the people.

And briefly he accused Prince Dracula—hearing me address him as “Prince”—of being a servant of the Okhrana, and a lackey of the Tsar.

“I have no notion of what the fellow was talking about,” I assured Dracula.

He began to explain to me that Okhrana was the name of the Russian secret police.

“I am aware of that, Prince.” I had now retrieved my hat and was dusting it off. “What I do not understand is what possible connection there can exist between politics in Eastern Europe, and spiritualist sittings in central England.”

He shrugged. “You do not know how you have managed to acquire such exotic enemies?”

Quickly I outlined my reasons for summoning help, and the situation in which Holmes had disappeared.

...but let me not bother to record the good doctor’s somewhat awkward answer. He was at a certain psychological disadvantage at the time: feeling grateful, as well he might, and honor-bound to express his gratitude– but, in general, firmly disapproving of my way of life. Once more, let me take up the narrative.

As Watson in his workmanlike prose has already informed us, the two of