Spear of Destiny Page 16

  ‘What about her head?’ asked Ethan. ‘She’ll lose a lot of heat if she goes out there bareheaded.’

  Ilona frowned, then pounced on the blanket, which she proceeded to tear in half.

  ‘Here,’ she said, ‘let me make a turban for you.’ She twisted the cloth round Sarah’s head, pulling it tight and tucking the loose end inside the fabric. It was bizarre, but a passable head covering.

  ‘What about feet?’ asked Ilona.

  Ethan realised that, without some sort of footwear, Sarah would end up with severe frostbite.

  ‘We could use the blanket,’ he said. ‘Tear it into strips…’

  ‘No, I have a better idea. We saw a pair of slippers in the first room. If they fit her, we can tie them with half the blanket to give more warmth.’

  ‘Sarah,’ asked Ethan, ‘how many people are in the castle? Do you have any idea?’

  In the short time that had passed since they found her, Sarah had started to come alive. The deadness had gone out of her eyes. She looked directly at Ethan and shrugged.

  ‘The one called Egon. The beast called Lukacs, who hurt me every time he raped me.’ She screwed up her eyes, fighting back tears. ‘Some others, maybe four. There was a woman who brought me a little food. An old woman, she won’t stop you.’

  But she could let out a yell and alert the others, thought Ethan.

  ‘Let’s get moving,’ he said. ‘The longer we hang about here, the higher the chances of someone coming.’

  They left the lamp burning and got Sarah into the corridor. She moved painfully, each step a reminder of what had been done to her.

  Re-entering the room they’d been in first, Ilona retrieved the slippers from the desk. They were fairly large, and as Ilona ran her hand over them, she realised they were leather, embroidered with a paisley motif. Sarah’s feet went inside them well enough, though they would hardly do to walk any great distance in. Ethan tore half the blanket into strips as Ilona had suggested and, as Sarah sat in the armchair, he bound her feet. She would not be comfortable, but if they could get her as far as the pony, she could ride the rest of the way.

  Moving as silently as possible, they headed back to the stairs, conscious that every moment that passed brought them closer to discovery. Ethan paused to replace the batteries in his torch, fumbling as Ilona gave him light from hers. Sarah was shaking, as if breaking out of the false security of the little room had exposed her to greater danger.

  Suddenly, as though it came from within the castle, a wolf howled and howled again. Ethan felt his scalp go cold. Beside him Ilona, who had taken Sarah’s arm and was helping her balance in her awkward shoes, shuddered. She had known wolves all her life, but had never come to love them.

  ‘Where am I?’ Sarah asked. Freed from the room, she was starting to come to her senses. ‘I know I’m not in England. But where is this?’

  Ethan told her, adding as much detail as he deemed suitable. Sarah listened, understanding his words, but finding no meaning in them. How could she be in Romania, in Transylvania? She had been at Woodmancote, there had been a fireplace with burning logs, Ethan had been locked in a dark place, a place that smelt of putrefaction. On the wall, Ilona’s torch caught a picture showing a skeleton with a long scythe. Ilona looked at it and caught Sarah’s gaze.

  ‘Tarokk,’ she said. ‘What’s that in English?’

  ‘Tarot,’ said Ethan. ‘It’s the thirteenth card of the Major Arcana. Death.’

  ‘How do you know that, Ethan?’ Sarah asked. There was something in her voice this time that sounded more normal. Almost as if she were teasing him.

  ‘An old girlfriend,’ he said. ‘She made all her decisions with the cards. We weren’t together long.’

  ‘I’m not surprised.’

  They made their way down to the principal landing at the top of the main staircase. Without warning, a light went on just above them, then another, then several at once, until the great hallway was flooded by electric light. Powered by a generator, the light was not particularly strong, and for several moments it flickered. But it was more than enough to capture them, as if spotlights held them pinned to a stage.

  For half a minute, nothing else happened. Then the wolf howled again, very close, and Ethan heard footsteps from the ground floor. Sarah pulled away from Ilona and shrank against Ethan’s side. He took his pistol from the holster and held it behind his back. Knowing what had been done to Sarah and what might equally be done to Ilona, he knew he wouldn’t hesitate to use it.

  Three men appeared from the side corridor Ethan and Ilona had come through. As they did so, another man started down the stairs they had just come down, and a fifth emerged from the other side. They were big men, dressed in some sort of uniform, all in black, with short hair. Ethan looked round quickly. The men were grim-faced; tough guys, men with powerful bodies built, not in gyms, but probably on the mountains surrounding the castle.

  Near the foot of the stairs, he recognised the man who’d come with Aehrenthal to Woodmancote, Lukacs. But it wasn’t Lukacs who grabbed his attention. It was the grey wolf straining at the end of a leash held in Lukacs’ hand and snarling at the intruders.

  Lukacs shouted something; whether a command or challenge, Ethan had no idea. Ilona translated.

  ‘He says his wolf has not been fed all day. He says it will tear your throat out and dine on the rest of you.’

  ‘Tell him to fuck off. And ask him where Aehrenthal is.’

  She did as he asked, but Lukacs’ only response was to laugh loudly, setting off the other men, who all seemed to find the whole thing amusing.

  Lukacs spoke again. On all sides, the portraits stared down, fully illuminated now. The flags seemed to drift in a world of their own, in a time distinct and proper to themselves. Ethan watched how the eyes of the castle’s ancestors followed them, showing neither alarm nor the rapt attention of a crowd intent on the shedding of blood. If the wolf attacked, these would be the Romans, inured to bloodshed, indifferent to death.

  ‘He wants you to send us down alone, Sarah and me,’ said Ilona. She was doing her best to put on a brave front, but this wasn’t what she’d expected when she agreed to take Ethan to the castle. Beside her, Sarah was quivering and hunching down, as if by shrinking she might avoid detection.

  ‘Tell him it’s finished,’ Ethan said. ‘Tell him there will be no more rapes. Tell him that if he presses me, someone will die, that I have no time for him, that I consider beating and raping a woman a capital offence. We walk out of this castle, we go back to Sancraiu, and we all live happily ever after. Make sure he understands that.’

  Stumbling, Ilona conveyed Ethan’s message as best she could. Lukacs grinned all the time she was speaking, his eyes fastened on Ilona’s face, as though he was sizing her up. Then the grin vanished and was replaced by a look that might have turned sugar sour.

  In the next second, he whispered something to the wolf and let slip its leash. It bayed as it bounded forward, and in two leaps it was on Ethan, its jaws open, its fangs exposed ready to shear through his neck.

  Ethan shot it once through the head and a second time as its body reared up, striking it through the chest. Still moving, it crashed to a halt on the stairs directly in front of Ethan, its eyes lifeless now, its tongue lolling, red and wet, from the corner of its dripping mouth.

  Ethan had never learnt how to fight a wolf. But during police training he’d been given a day’s instruction on what to do when a fighting dog attacked, or how to handle a man with a pit bull terrier on a leash. There had been a simple rule: don’t look at the owner, keep your eye on the hand holding the leash. And that’s what Ethan had done.

  Calmly, he turned to Ilona.

  ‘Tell him the next bullet is for him. If he lets us go, the only victim here will be the wolf. If not, he can only blame himself.’

  Killing the wolf went to Ethan’s head. He had come within half a second of having his throat torn out, and here he was, alive and holding a gun in his right hand.
He almost grinned at the absurdity and thrill of it. Without thinking, he started down the steps, keeping the Beretta pointed at Lukacs. The cartridge still held eighteen bullets. Knowing that gave added edge to his confidence.

  He was halfway down when he heard a cry behind him, followed by a second. He swivelled and saw that the two men who’d been standing on the stairs above them had hurried down and grabbed Sarah and Ilona. They had knives in their hands, and were holding them to their captives’ throats. Lukacs shouted something from below, his voice angry.

  ‘Put the gun down, Ethan, or he says they will kill me and hurt Sarah.’

  Ilona’s voice was weak with fear. Next to her, Sarah had passed out. Ethan looked round desperately. They were trapped. Even if Ilona could break free and make a run for it with him, Sarah would still be here.

  ‘Ilona,’ he started. ‘Tell him I’ll drop the gun if he lets you go first. You’re only a guide, you have no other connection to this.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘They will rape me first. And after that…?’

  He saw her slump, as though she too had passed out. The man holding her grabbed her more tightly, trying to redistribute her weight. His knife dangled in front of her throat. A light bounced back from its blade. The knife moved.

  Ethan saw the blood before the movement, or at least that was how it seemed to him afterwards. Suddenly, there was a lot of blood. An artery pumped a bright red stream into the air. Blood splashed on the floor and on a heraldic shield. Flecks streaked the face of an ancestral portrait. There was no sound, as if this was a silent film suddenly brought into a world of colour.

  After the spurt of blood, he saw the man’s hands loosen their hold, then saw him jerk back, leaving Ilona upright, her bloodied hunting knife still clutched in her right hand.

  Have you ever used a knife like that before? It’s an ugly-looking thing. You could spit an ox with it…

  She had taken it from the long pocket on the outside of her trousers, the knife with the eight-inch blade, and she had slumped, making her attacker move off balance, before striking up into his groin, and again up and up until she met bone, then sideways. Ilona had hunted from the age of seven, she’d last been in the forest two weeks before. This was the first time she’d killed a human being. As yet, she felt no pang of conscience.

  A couple of feet away, the other man kept a tight hold on Sarah. He had a knife like his brother, the first man, and he’d killed several human beings with it, including a child and two women. Despite this, he was nervous. He was under strict instructions not to harm the woman he was holding; she was important to Egon, she could be stripped and played with, but she was never to be hurt. Only Egon could do that, by himself or with Lukacs’ help. He decided she was too feeble now to run away, so he dropped her and turned, intending to take revenge for his brother, who was bleeding his life out across the stairs.

  He unsheathed his knife, a World War One bayonet, and faced up to Ilona. He was much bigger than her, but not that much older. His feet were braced for a quick lunge that would disable her knife hand and throw her off balance. He felt agitated by his brother’s death, but counted slowly, rocking now on the balls of his feet, narrowing his eyes, letting his breath come slowly, calming himself, easing himself into the first move, getting ready to spring and thrust. Ilona held her ground, but she knew he would overpower her the moment he jumped. She had hunted, but she had never been a fighter.

  He bent his knees for the leap. Ethan shot him, two taps in the temple. More blood on the stairs, red streams of it on Sarah, her hair flecked with it, his great bulk swaying, twisting, crashing to the ground.

  ‘Ask him where Aehrenthal is,’ Ethan told Ilona. She was still shaking. Ethan was grim. His voice showed no pity. Something about Sarah had lit a fire in him: her condition, the way Aehrenthal and his men had taken a beautiful, intelligent woman and reduced her to a cowering shadow of herself. He’d dealt with rape victims many times in his career, women of all ages, even children; but something had been done to Sarah that seemed singular to him, and forlorn, as though she had lost herself in the process, or had become another thing, a used thing.

  Ilona could not deny him. Controlling her voice, she put the question to Lukacs. He did not laugh this time. He bided his time, as though a less flippant answer was called for. At last, he grunted out several sentences. Ilona nodded.

  ‘He says this man Aehrenthal’s not here, that you’re wasting your time. He also says that if you want to leave here alive, you have to drop your gun, and I have to put my knife down. He says you have stepped into deep waters. Waters you will drown in. He says you must leave Sarah here with him, if he lets you go. She knows too much, he says.’

  ‘Tell him he must understand that I didn’t come this far just to leave Sarah behind. I will use the gun again, tell him that.’

  Ethan wondered how many more staff Aehrenthal kept at the castle, and asked himself how long it would be before someone else came running, drawn by the gunfire.

  Calling his remaining companions to his side, Lukacs started up the stairway. He snarled and said something clipped in Hungarian.

  ‘He says he has raped your woman a dozen times before, and now he intends to rape her in front of your eyes before he kills you.’

  Ethan kept a close eye on Lukacs. Was he hoping that he and his friends would intimidate Ethan and the two women, that they would just back off?

  Lukacs had other thoughts in his mind. The last thing Ethan expected was for a man of his bulk and slow-wittedness to move so quickly. Before Ethan had a chance to react, Lukacs threw himself up the stairs, tearing past Ethan, who fired late and wide, and hurling himself onto Sarah. He grabbed her round the neck, leaving her arms free, turning her to face Ethan and serve as a shield. She seemed like a child next to him. As he held her, he shouted at Ilona, and she translated rapidly in a broken voice.

  ‘He says he will kill her, that he’ll break her neck. If you don’t put the gun down he won’t hesitate to do it. He means it, Ethan – he’ll kill her if you don’t throw the gun away.’

  But Lukacs didn’t kill her. He didn’t get the chance. Sarah killed him instead, easily and almost instantly. The long bayonet had been dropped right next to her hand, and she had taken it into her possession, weighing it against death. As Lukacs took hold of her, and while he was barking out threats to Ilona, Sarah grasped the knife in two hands and rammed it upwards into his naked throat, and harder again past his chin, and again in a gesture of utter contempt so that the blade pierced through his brain and exited at the back of his skull. Like an ox at slaughter, his legs gave way and he fell to the steps an inhuman thing, past all cruelty. The two men who’d entered with Lukacs hadn’t the stomach to attack, but fled precipitately back into the castle.

  Ethan went to Sarah now. She let the blade fall from her hand. She was done with it now, done with it and the men who’d brought her here and raped her.

  ‘Take me out of here, Ethan,’ she said. ‘Take me home.’

  17

  Dracula

  Sancraiu

  Early morning

  Ilona guided them back through the cold night. Without her jacket, she shivered beside Sarah in the darkness. The forest was devoid of light. Barely visible, tall trees stretched their arms together to blot out the light of the moon and stars. Behind them, near enough to make it seem possible they would catch up any moment, came the howling of wolves.

  Sarah had grown weak, and her fear was turning to panic as they struggled through the forest. Her legs buckled under her several times. Ethan and Ilona took it in turns to hold her upright and move her along as quickly as they could.

  ‘Let me stay here,’ she said, again and again. ‘I’ll be all right. I’ll just lie down and sleep. I think it’s better, don’t you?’

  Ethan explained that if she slept she would die, and she answered as if that was just what she wanted.

  They used their torches to pick out a path, and bit by bit the h
owling faded. At one point, Ilona veered from the path, leading them across the slope. It was harder for everyone to walk, but she kept them to it. Ethan lost track of time, and he knew Sarah knew nothing of where she was or how much time had passed since her capture.

  By and by they came to a little cabana, a hunter’s lodge. The door was open, and it was as cold inside as out.

  ‘We’ll be safe here,’ said Ilona. ‘No one will come here.’

  ‘What about our friends up at the castle?’ asked Ethan.

  ‘Not at first,’ she said. ‘Perhaps later, if they find you haven’t gone through Sancraiu. Don’t worry about that. I’ll speak to some people in the town; if anyone comes asking questions, they’ll all swear that you and a strange young woman were in Sancraiu this morning, and they’ll say you drove on to Bucharest.’

  With the windows shuttered and the door firmly fastened, Ilona lit several oil lamps before putting logs on a large open grate and lighting them with dried moss. The pine logs sputtered and spat for a time, then the flames began to work their way into the wood. The spitting sounds continued, but now they were matched by a more satisfying sound, of flames gaining strength.

  While Ethan helped Sarah huddle on a stool by the fire, rubbing her hands in his and covering her with blankets he found in the little sleeping room, Ilona busied herself preparing food. There was a little metal stove, and it was quickly stuffed with logs and set ablaze.

  ‘I’m afraid there’s only tinned food here, and some dry things,’ she pronounced. ‘Everybody contributes something. It’s kept here in case of emergencies. We all know these shelters will be fully stocked.’

  Tinned or dried, it scarcely mattered. The food cupboard was full. Ilona put water in a pan and set it on the hob. She lifted out packets of Knorr soup labelled as Bors Magic. After that, she found a joint of ciolan afumat, which she described as ‘smoked ham on the bone’, several jars of beans with ham, a jar of beef goulash, and two jars of sausages with beans – fasole boabe cu carnati. It was all hearty food, just the sort of thing Ethan could imagine big Transylvanian hunters shovelling down their craws after shooting a bear and hauling its carcass back to headquarters. They would find it hard to starve here.