Bram Stoker's Dracula Page 17

  "Poor devil!" the professor muttered. "We must attempt trephination—to release the intracranial pressure. Quickly! It is our only hope of being able to talk to him."

  The lights the doctors had requested soon arrived, in the hands of silent attendants. Seward sent another assistant for surgical instruments.

  Moments later Renfield's heavy body had been laid out on the narrow bed where he ordinarily slept. When Seward's bag of medical instruments arrived, he selected from it a sizable two-handed trephine, a tool much resembling a carpenter's brace and bit. With an attendant now holding a lamp, and Dr. Van Helsing supporting Renfield's head, Seward used a small knife to make an incision, loosening a flap of scalp. Then he took up the trephine and began to bore a hole more than an inch in diameter in the back of the unconscious patient's skull.

  The trephine made a grating noise as it bit bone. Blood flowed freely from the semidetached flap of Renfield's scalp, soaking Van Helsing's clothing; the professor still gripped the insensible victim, in an effort to prevent some convulsive movement that could be instantly fatal.

  Within seconds Seward's efforts were rewarded when a disk of skull came loose, the bone startlingly white in the lamplight. The internal pressure was relieved with another gush of blood.

  The patient's body jerked, and for a moment Seward thought that he was dead. But then Renfield's eyes opened, and the physicians leaned close to hear what he might say.

  The first words were: "I'll be quiet, Doctor. Tell them to take off the straitwaistcoat. I've had a terrible dream, and it's left me so weak I cannot move… What's wrong with my face? It feels all swollen."

  Van Helsing said, in a quiet grave tone: "Tell us your dream, Mr. Renfield."

  "Dr. Van Helsing—how good of you to be here. Where are my glasses… ? He promised me—eternal life."

  "Who did?" Seward demanded.

  Renfield seemed not to hear. "But… it enraged me to think that he had been taking the life out of her. So when he came to my window tonight, I was ready for him… till I saw his eyes." The voice of the dying man was becoming fainter, and his breath more stertorous. "They burned into me, and my strength became like water…"

  Renfield's eyes closed again, his life seemed hanging by a thread. Van Helsing urgently commanded an attendant to go for brandy.

  Seward, losing control of his own nerves, had put down the trephining drill—it had done its job—and was shaking the helpless body.

  "Who do you mean by 'her'? Talk to me, man! Of what woman do you speak?"

  Renfield's eyes came open one last time. Obviously his strength was failing fast, and he could utter only a few more words.

  "Van Helsing… you and your idiotic theories. I warned Doctor Jack… The Master is here, and he feeds on the pretty woman. She is his bride… his destruction is her salvation… and I… I am free!"

  And with that his body spasmed and died.

  At the same time, lying upstairs in the guest bedroom, Mina and Dracula were tenderly, humanly, quietly, making love.

  Pulling away restricting garments, eliminating barriers, she whispered softly to him: "No one must ever come between us. I want to be what you are, see what you see, love what you love—"

  "Mina—if you are to walk with me, you must die to your breathing life and be reborn to mine."

  "Yes, I will. Yes…" She gave her assent freely, but without really grasping what the words implied. She was ready to do anything, anything at all, to be with him.

  Dracula stroked her hair, the smoothness of her back, her shoulders. He murmured: "You are my love, and my life. Always."

  Gently he turned her body, exposing her neck, kissing her throat softly.

  Mina moaned and made a tiny grimace of pain as he entered her veins. The pain intensified, at the same time transformed to pleasure, blurred into ecstasy.

  Releasing his grip on Mina's throat, an act that brought from her a little moan of loss and disappointment, Dracula sat up straight in the bed. He used his long, sharp thumbnail to open a vein over his own heart.

  And faintly now Mina could hear the voice of her true beloved murmuring to her: "… and we shall be one flesh… flesh of my flesh… blood of my blood…"

  Then, groaning in passion, he pulled her submissive head against his chest. "Drink, and join me in eternal life!"

  She drank his blood. She came near swooning as her true lover's life ran into her.

  Then, an unexpected shock. The prince faltered at the height of passion and put her away from him.

  "What is it?" she demanded thickly.

  He said: "I cannot let this be!"

  Mina cried out: "Please—I don't care—make me yours—take me away from all this death!"

  But suddenly her prince had become bitter and remote. He said: "I lied, to you, to myself. The gift of eternal life is far beyond my power. The truth is, you will be cursed—as I am, to walk in the shadow of eternal death. I love you too much to condemn you!"

  "And I love you—" Mina once more pressed her lips against her lover's chest.

  At that moment the door of the bedroom burst open with sudden force, framing Van Helsing and the three other hunters, now all returned from Carfax. The professor actually fell into the room with the violence of his entry and had to scramble up from his hands and knees.

  Lamps held high in some of the intruders' hands, and light coming from the hallway beyond them, illuminated the couple embracing on the bed. In the doorway the four men froze, Van Helsing still on one knee. They were transfixed by the image of Mina, unclothed, with Dracula's blood around her mouth, her head posed in the very act of drinking from the vampire's veins.

  For a long moment there was silence. Then Harker, out of a deep well of desolation and despair, screamed his wife's name.

  She recoiled, pulling up the bed covers in an instinctive effort to hide her shame.

  At the same instant her illicit lover had undergone a convulsive physical transformation; it was in a grotesque form, midway between that of a human and of a giant bat, that Dracula, snarling with rage, flew to the room's high ceiling, then dove again to confront his persecutors.

  In a room now lighted through its window by the mounting flames of burning Carfax, the men attacked him wildly with their various edged weapons.

  Dracula, moving with inhuman speed, wrenched a saber out of the grasp of one of his attackers. Clutching this weapon in a hand that was more than half a claw, the prince parried and fought back, with superhuman strength and skill and quickness, that more than equalized the odds against him.

  Twice in those brief but seemingly endless seconds of violence he had the chance to kill one of his opponents—first Seward, then Quincey Morris—but each time Mina screamed and the life of one of Dracula's enemies was spared.

  Then Van Helsing, casting aside physical weapons and brandishing a raised crucifix, advanced on Dracula. Boldly the professor confronted his great antagonist, saying: "Your war against God is over. You must pay for your crimes."

  His enemy contemptuously threw down his saber. A voice, hissing but intelligible, issued from his deformed throat. "Young fool! You would destroy me with the cross? I served it, centuries before you were born."

  The vampire's grotesque forefinger stabbed its pointed nail toward Mina. His bestial eyes, gleaming red, challenged each of the men in turn. "She, your best beloved, is now my flesh, my blood, my kin, my bride! I warn you I will fight for her. My armies will fight for her, my creatures to do my bidding—"

  "Leave her to God!" the old man commanded. "Your armies are all dead, and we have met your beasts and do not fear them. Now you must pay for your crimes."

  Hissing again, Dracula stamped a clawed foot; the cross burst into flame. Van Helsing dropped it, and with his other hand splashed the vampire copiously from his flask of holy water. The liquid striking his monstrous flesh smoked and burned like acid, and Dracula screamed, recoiling. Even as he stepped back he straightened, to take a final, longing look at Mina.

 
As the men with weapons in their hands rushed at him again, he was transformed before their eyes into a man-sized column of rats, which squealed in a hundred inhuman voices and collapsed into a furry pile, the pile in turn flattening itself at once, dissipating into a scurrying black carpet, which in moments had vanished out of the room by every available means of egress.

  Silence fell; the enemy was gone, had escaped out of his hunters' reach. The men's weapons, physical and spiritual alike, hung useless in their hands, and they stared at one another with a horror approaching that of ultimate defeat.

  Mina still huddled on the bed, trying to cover her shame with bloodied sheets.

  "Unclean," she sobbed hopelessly, breaking down utterly at last. "Unclean."

  17

  By sunrise Mina's hysteria had passed, much to the relief of all the men who still stood ready to die in her defense. All physical traces of last night's horrific incident had been efficiently removed within minutes of the event; clean sheets and quilt had been provided promptly by a staff of servants well accustomed to medical emergencies at any hour. The victim had even slept a little, and by dawn appeared to be recovering—more or less—from at least the short-term effects of her ghastly experience. On that much Drs. Seward and Van Helsing, meeting in almost continuous professional consultation, could agree.

  Neither Mina nor any of the men with her had yet really discussed what long-term effects could be expected from her intimate contact with the vampire. The assumption made by all the men was that the intimacy they had observed had been forced by Dracula; and the unhappy woman had said nothing to contradict that idea.

  The immediate shock of the experience seemed to have been at least as great for Harker as for his wife; and in the case of her husband the degree of recovery was, in Seward's estimation at least, somewhat more difficult to judge. Harker, in the hours since his discovery of his wife in the vampire's embrace, had for the most part maintained a stoic attitude. Whether he had slept at all was uncertain. He had little to say to anyone, including his wife, and his eyes showed a distant, withdrawn look; his nostrils quivered frequently while his mouth was set as steel.

  The young solicitor was suddenly no longer young in his appearance; in a matter of hours Harker's face had become lined and sallow, and Seward was ready to swear that the man's hair had already turned gray at the roots. Without giving any explanation, or offering any comment on his actions to anyone, the outraged spouse had already exchanged his cane for a great curved kukri knife, an East Indian weapon from the big-game hunters' collective arsenal. He now carried this knife with him wherever he went, and had begun compulsively whetting and testing the blade.

  So far the Harkers were continuing to occupy the guest suite on the upper floor of the asylum. A sufficient number of spare rooms were available there to accommodate the rest of the party, and for the sake of convenience and solidarity Lord Godalming (to his friends still Arthur Holmwood), Van Helsing, and Quincey Morris had already moved in, or were planning to do so within the day.

  All of the men besides Harker had managed to get a few hours of fretful sleep. None could be granted more than that, because of the urgency of the situation.

  Van Helsing had undertaken to organize an expedition against Dracula's remaining properties elsewhere in the metropolitan area.

  One of these houses was considered by the professor to be of special tactical importance.

  "In all probability," the professor counseled his colleagues while standing in Seward's office before a hastily tacked-up wall map, "the key of the situation is in that house in Piccadilly. The count will have deeds of purchase, keys, and other things. He will have paper that he write on, clothing, he will have his book of checks. There are many belongings that he must have somewhere; why not in this place so central, so quiet, where he come and go by the front or the back at all hours, where in the very vastness of the traffic there is none to notice?"

  "Then let us go at once!" Harker cried. "We are wasting precious, precious time."

  The professor did not move. "And how are we to get into that house in Piccadilly?"

  "Any way! We shall break in if need be!"

  "And your police; where will they be, and what will they say?"

  It was Seward, thinking in a practical mode, who suggested waiting until regular business hours, and then employing a respectable locksmith.

  Harker, waving the huge knife he had adopted, urged: "Then in God's name let us start at once, for we are losing time. The count may come to Piccadilly sooner than we think."

  "Not so!" said Van Helsing, holding up his hand.

  "But why?"

  "Do you forget," he said, with actually a smile, "that last night he banqueted heavily, and will sleep late?"

  Mina, who had come into the room to listen to the planners, struggled hard to keep her brave countenance; but the pain overmastered her and she put her hands before her face and shuddered.

  It was plain to Seward, looking on, that Van Helsing had not intended to recall her frightful experience. He had simply lost sight of her and her part in the affair in his intellectual effort.

  When it struck the professor what he had said, he was horrified at his thoughtlessness and tried to comfort her.

  "Oh, Madam Mina! Dear, dear Madam Mina, alas, that I of all who so reverence you, should have said anything so forgetful. These stupid old lips of mine and this stupid old head do not deserve so; but you will forget it, will you not?"

  She took his hand and, looking at him through her tears, said hoarsely: "No, I shall not forget, for it is well that I remember. Now, you must all be going soon." Mina, having called upon reserves of strength, was evidently in control of herself, and of the situation—for the time being. "Breakfast is ready, and we must all eat that we may be strong."

  Midmorning found Seward, Quincey Morris, Lord God-aiming, Harker, and Van Helsing—all five of the men in fact—in London.

  On the train going in, Holmwood had said to his companions: "Quincey and I will find a locksmith." Looking at Harker, he added: "You had better not come with us, in case there should be any difficulty; under the circumstances it wouldn't seem so bad for us to break into an empty house. But you are a solicitor and the Incorporated Law Society might tell you you should have known better."

  Harker, his figure today wrapped in a cloak to conceal the sheath of the huge knife he wore at his belt, protested that he wanted to share all the dangers and difficulties.

  Godalming shook his head. "Besides, it will attract less attention if there are not too many of us. My title will make it all right with the locksmith, and with any policeman that may come along. You had better go with Jack and the professor and wait in the Green Park, somewhere in sight of the house."

  "The advice is good!" said Van Helsing. And the matter was so arranged.

  At the corner of Arlington Street and Piccadilly, Van Helsing, Harker, and Seward dismounted from their cab and strolled into the Green Park. The day was gray but dry and mild.

  Quietly Harker pointed out to his companions the house on which so much of their hope was now centered. The edifice, at 347 Piccadilly, loomed up grim and silent in its deserted condition, among its more lively and spruce-looking neighbors. The three sat down on a bench with a good view of the property and lit up cigars.

  The minutes seemed to pass with leaden feet.

  At length they saw a four-wheeler drive up to the house. Out of it, in leisurely fashion, stepped Lord Godalming and Morris; and down from the box descended a thickset workingman with his rush-woven basket of tools. Morris paid the cabman, who touched his hat and drove away. Meanwhile Lord Godalming was pointing out to the locksmith what he wanted done.

  The workman took off his coat leisurely and hung it on one of the spikes of the railing near the entry, saying something to a policeman who just then sauntered along. The policeman nodded acquiescence, and the man kneeling down placed his bag beside him. After searching through it, he took out a selection of tools.


  Then he stood up, looked into the keyhole, blew into it, and turning to his employers, made some remark.

  Lord Godalming smiled, and the man lifted a good-sized bunch of keys; selecting one of them, he began to probe the lock, as if feeling his way with it. After fumbling about a bit, he tried a second, and then a third. All at once the door opened under a slight push from him, and he and the two others entered the hall.

  The three watchers in the park sat still, Harker puffing furiously on his cigar while Van Helsing's had gone cold altogether. They waited patiently while the workman, holding the door partially open between his knees, fitted a key to the lock. This he finally handed to Lord Godalming, who took out his purse and gave him something. The man touched his hat, took up his tools, put on his coat, and departed; and not a soul, save the three men in the park, had taken the slightest notice of the forcible and illegal entry thus effected.

  As soon as the workman was gone, Harker, Seward, and Van Helsing crossed the street and knocked at the door. Quincey Morris immediately let them in. Quincey, too, was now smoking a cigar; because, as he explained, "the place smells so vilely."

  Keeping all together, in case of attack, the men moved to explore the house. In the dining room, which lay at the back of the hall, they found eight boxes of earth. With the tools they had brought the men opened these receptacles, one by one, and treated them to deny them as refuge to the count.

  On the great dining-room table lay a little heap of keys, of all sorts and sizes—it was an easy assumption that they would be likely to fit the doors of Dracula's other London houses.

  Lord Godalming and Quincey Morris, taking from Harker's own records accurate notes of the various addresses in the east and south, took the keys and set out to destroy whatever boxes they could find there.

  The other three settled down, with what patience they could, to await their return—or the coming of the count. They paced the uninhabited rooms, or sat gingerly upon the edges of dusty chairs.