LITMIR.BIZ

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if it was needed. The old man lurched unsteadily as his feet touched the earth, but he did not fall.

      Carpenter and Bukharov followed the old man at a respectful distance as he approached the rock doorway. He paused as he reached the threshold, then sank to his knees so suddenly that his valet ran forward, alarmed.

      “Back,” hissed Van Helsing, waving an arm at him, and Carpenter did as he was told.

      The Professor knelt before the opening, his heart pounding, his throat closed by the terrible wave of grief that had driven him to the cold ground.

      Beneath the canopy of rock lay the two flat stones that he and Jonathan Harker had placed there in 1891; a lifetime ago, or so it seemed. The one on the right was pale grey, and had carved upon it a simple crucifix, a narrow cross that Harker had chiselled with the end of his kukri knife, tears falling from his eyes as he did so. The one on the left was black, and it too bore a carved crucifix, only this one was upside down, the ancient mark of the unholy. Van Helsing had carved it himself, using Quincey Morris’s bowie knife, bitter satisfaction filling him as he did so.

      “Professor?” It was Bukharov’s voice, low and full of worry. “Professor, you are being fine?”

      The old man laughed, despite himself, a short bark of mirth.

      “Yes, Ivan, I am being fine.”

      He pushed himself back to his feet and turned to face the rest of the men.

      “It looks undisturbed. Have your men dig up the ground, but tell them to be careful. The coffin is large but it may be fragile, and it contains both sets of remains. I do not want my friend’s bones spilling out across this mountainside, is that understood?”

      Bukharov nodded, then spoke a short sentence of Russian to his men, and waved them forward. They set about their orders manfully, hacking at the hard ground with pickaxes and shovels, and Van Helsing retired to a flat outcropping of rock, where he sat and waited for them to complete their task. After a minute or two, his valet joined him, leaving Bukharov overseeing the excavation.

      “All would appear to be going to plan, sir,” said Henry Carpenter.

      Van Helsing grunted.

      “So far, Henry. It appears to be going to plan so far. There will no doubt be ample opportunity for the Russian halfwit to jeopardise matters before we have the remains safely on their way to London.”

      Carpenter looked at Bukharov, who was encouraging his men with a steady stream of Russian.

      “Do you believe the Special Envoy is truly slow-witted, sir? I suspect a sharp mind is at work behind his limited English.”

      “Nonsense,” growled Van Helsing. “The man is a fool, and a liability to this mission. And I shall be instructing the Prime Minister to convey my opinion of their man to the Russians as soon as we return.”

      “I’m sure you are correct, sir.”

      “As am I, Henry. As am I.”

      After little more than twenty minutes, there came the heavy thud of metal on wood, and the three Russians dropped to their knees and began clearing the dirt away with their gloved hands. Van Helsing got to his feet and walked over to where Bukharov was standing, observing his men.

      “Will remains be good condition still?” he asked Van Helsing, who shrugged.

      “How on earth should I be able to tell you that?” the old man replied. “The elevation and the climate are certainly suitable for preservation, but I won’t know for certain until I see them.”

      Under the canopy, two of the Russians inserted metal bars along the front edge of the coffin, and slowly applied their weight to them. With a long, high-pitched creak the coffin that had carried Dracula across Europe, and which had become his final resting place, lifted slowly into view. The men pulled it forward so its bottom edge lay on the lip of the hole they had dug around it, then joined their comrade at the rear of the canopy. Silently, they gripped the end of the box that still lay in the ground, lifted it and pushed it forward.

      The dark wooden coffin slid out of the enclave of rock like a ship being launched from a dry dock. It rolled across the loose surface with the three Russians at its rear, and came to a halt before Van Helsing and Bukharov.

      “Henry,” said the Professor, and the valet stepped forward.

      Carpenter inserted a thin metal bar under the lid of the coffin, and applied pressure to the lever. There was a moment’s resistance, before the lid separated from the box, and slid to one side, exposing a narrow sliver of pitch black. The Russians approached and took three corners of the lid, as Henry Carpenter took the fourth. Then slowly, taking great care as they did so, they lifted it clear of the coffin, and placed it gently to the ground on one side.

      Van Helsing and Bukharov looked down.

      Lying in the coffin, clad in the brown jacket and trousers he had been wearing when he died, was the skeleton of Quincey Morris. His bones were bright white, and the cowboy hat resting above his skull gave the gruesome tableau a comical feel, as though his mortal remains were a stage prop in some macabre play. On his chest lay his bowie knife, where Van Helsing had placed it before they closed the coffin lid, eleven years earlier.

      Beside him was a large mound of grey powder, much of it piled against the sides of the coffin and in the corner nearest the two gravedigger’s feet. This was all that remained of the first vampire, the cruel, ungodly creature that had tormented Van Helsing and his friends, and had sent Lucy Westenra to damnation.

      The Professor crouched painfully, examining the joins between the sides of the coffin and the base. They appeared solid, as he had expected; this wooden vessel had been built to carry its occupant across much of the European continent, unharmed.

      “Joins are good,” grunted Van Helsing. “That should be all of him. Put the lid back on and fetch down the canvas.”

      Henry Carpenter and the Russian aides hoisted the coffin lid back into the air, and carried it delicately back towards the box. At the last second, before the lid was re-sealed, Van Helsing darted a hand into the coffin and pulled the bowie knife out. He didn’t know why he did so – he just knew that it seemed important. He attached it to his belt, and stood back as the Russians hammered fresh nails into the lid, sealing it tight against the elements. One of them went to the cart and came back with a thick square of folded green canvas, which he spread wide on the loose ground. The coffin was lifted and placed in the middle of the green square, which was then folded up and over the wooden box. Nails were driven in to hold it in place, then a long red candle was lit, and hot wax was applied to every open fold, sealing the parcel airtight. Finally it was lifted on to the cart and lashed down with thick lengths of rope.

      The men mounted their horses, and Van Helsing walked his alongside Bukharov’s, who was watching his men make final preparations to leave.

      “I understand you wish to accompany us back to London, to observe the examinations. Is that correct?”

      “Much correct,” replied Bukharov, a look of great excitement on his face. “Very much correct, Professor.”

      “Very well. Whether I allow that will depend exclusively on the condition the remains are in when they arrive at Constanţa. You would be well advised to communicate that to your men.”

      Van Helsing spurred his horse onwards, and Bukharov and Carpenter followed him. Behind them, the Russians began to haul the cart back towards civilisation.

      The journey back to Constanţa was significantly quicker and less comfortable than the journey from the port had been. When they arrived back at the port town, shortly before dawn, men and horses alike were exhausted, but Van Helsing paid no attention to their suffering. He drove straight to the docks, left Bukharov and the Russians with his valet, and boarded the ship the British government had chartered for the journey, the Indomitable. He ordered the captain to make ready for sail, then descended the gangway to instruct Carpenter to oversee the loading of the remains on to the ship. The valet was

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