Necroscope

'Case?' Dragosani queried. 'What case are you talking about?'

'The case of Bela Ferenczy's sudden death when his coach and horses were hurled into a precipice by an avalanche in one of the high passes! News of the "accident" got swiftly back here; the old man's Szgany retainer took Ferenczy's sealed will to the local registrar; the will was posted without delay, showing that the Ferenczy house and grounds were to pass to a "cousin", one Giorg, who had, apparently, already been appraised of the situation and his inheritance.'

Dragosani nodded. 'And of course this Giorg Ferenczy later turned up and took possession. He would be - or he would appear to be - younger far than Bela, but the family resemblance would be unquestionable.'

'Good!' Giresci barked. 'You follow my reasoning precisely. Having lived here for fifty years, which would normally make him an old man, Bela had decided it was high time he "died" and made way for the next in line.'

'And after Giorg?'

'Faethor, of course,' Giresci scratched his chin reflectively. 'I've often wondered,' he said, 'if I had not killed

him on the night of the bombing - if he had survived that night - what his next incarnation would have been? Would he have shown up after the war in some new Ferenczy guise, to rebuild the house and carry on as before? I think the answer is probably yes. They are territorial, the Wamphyri.'

'And so you're convinced that Bela, Giorg, and Faethor were all one and the same?'

'Of course. I thought that was understood. Didn't he tell me as much himself, when he raved of the battles at Silistria and Constantinople? And before Bela there was Grigor, Karl, Peter and Stefan - oh, and the Lord knows how many others - all the way back to Faethor Ferrenzig the princeling and probably beyond! This was his territory, do you see? He held bloody dominion here. And in the olden times, as princelings or Boyars, my God but the Wamphyri were fierce about their holdings! That was why he joined the Fourth Crusade, to keep olden and future enemies off his lands. His lands, you understand? No matter what king or government or system is in power, the vampire considers his home ground to be his. He fought to protect himself, his monstrous heritage, and not for a mangy pack of scummy foreigners out of the West! You've seen the defaced Crusader cross on the reverse of my medallion - hah! When they dishonoured him he scorned them, spat on them!'

'And have you actually traced his name that far back? To Constantinople, I mean, in 1204?' Something of his awe of the vampire - or his envy? - was evident in Dragosani's voice.

Giresci cocked his head a little on one side; 'Dragosani, how's your history?'

'Hardly brilliant. Fair, I suppose.'

'Hmm! Well, many names came down from the Fourth Crusade, but you'll be hard put to find a Ferenczy or Ferrenzig amongst them. He was there, though, be sure of it! How do I know? Well, it's possible that you're talking to the world's foremost authority on that particular bloodbath, and I've discovered things which I'm sure many other historians have overlooked. Of course, I had the advantage of knowing what I was looking for - my objectives were specific - but in the process of tracking down the vampire I've naturally covered a deal of extraneous ground. Man, I could write a book on the Fourth Crusade - certainly from Hungary to Constantinople! And talking of Constantinople: Lord, what a hell that must have been! What a battle! And sure enough, right there in the thick of it - wherever the fighting raged fiercest - there was this man and the brutish horde he commanded. He was there too when the city fell, when he and his band of mercenary berserkers rampaged, utterly out of control. Yes, and his excesses spread like a cancer; the entire army joined in; they raped, pillaged and massacred for three long days...

Tope Innocent III had called the Crusade; now, aghast at what it had turned into, he was unable to regain control. The Crusaders had vowed to take the Holy Land, but Innocent and his legate were obliged to absolve them from that vow. He as good as washed his hands of the affair; but in secret communiqués he exercised what little control remained to him, ordering that those directly responsible for "gross acts of excessive and unnatural cruelty" must gain "neither glory nor rich reward" for their barbarism but that "their names shall not be mentioned, nor shall they be offered respect or high regard".

'Well, no need to look far for a scapegoat: a certain "bloodthirsty Wallach recruited in Zara" would fit the bill nicely. Nor was he blameless. At first the Crusaders had honoured and elevated him - perhaps, secretly, they'd even envied or feared him - but now he found himself stripped of all honours and disgraced, and his name was stricken from all records. In return he scorned them for their duplicity, and defacing the sigil of their campaign -the cross on his medallion - he took his band and went home, proud and fierce under the banner of the devil, the bat and the dragon.'

Dragosani chewed on his lip for a moment before saying: 'Let's assume that to all intents and purposes all of this is true, or at least based on the truth to the best of your knowledge. Still there are several important questions remaining to be answered.'

'Such as?'

'Ferenczy was a vampire. A vampire takes victims. When the hunger is on him he'll kill as ruthlessly as a fox kills chickens, and just as thoughtlessly. Yet it seems his sheet was clean. How could he possibly live here through all those centuries without once arousing suspicion? Remember, Ladislau Giresci, the blood is the life! Were there no cases of vampirism?'

'Around Ploiesti? None - not one - not as long as they've kept records, so far as I can discover.' Giresci smiled grimly and leaned forward. 'But if you were a vampire, Dragosani, would you take victims right on your own doorstep?'

'No, I don't suppose I would,' Dragosani frowned. 'Where, then?'

'North, my friend, in the Meridionali itself! Where else but the Transylvanian Alps, where all vampire stories seem to have their roots? Slanic and Sinaia in the foothills, Brasov and Sacele beyond the pass. And none of them more than fifty miles distant from Ferenczy's house, and all shunned for their evil reputations.'

'What, even now?' Dragosani feigned surprise, but he remembered what Maura Kinkovsi had had to say on the subject three years ago.

'Stories linger down the years, Dragosani. Especially ghost stories. They take no chances, the mountain folk. If you die young up there and there's no simple explanation, it's the stake for you for sure! As to actual case histories: the last child to die of a vampire's bite did so in Slanic in the winter of forty-three. Yes, and she was buried with a stake through her heart, like a great many 'innocents before her. What? There had been eleven that year alone, in the villages around!'

'In forty-three, you say?'

Giresci nodded. 'Oh, yes, and I see you've already made the connection. That's right, it was just a few months before Ferenczy died. She was his last victim, or at least the last we know of. Of course, with the war going on he'd be far less restricted, his victims more readily disposed of. He may well have taken many we don't know about, people who simply "went missing" during air-raids in the countryside around - and there were plenty of those, believe me.' He paused. 'Any more questions?'

'You said that those towns you named were up in the mountains, fifty miles from Ploiesti. That's rough country; the ground rises rapidly, through two thousand feet in places; so how did Ferenczy do it? Did he become a bat and fly to his hunting grounds?'

'Folklore says he has that power. Bat, wolf, wraith -even flea, bug, spider! But ... I think not. There's no hard evidence anywhere to be found. But you ask, how did he get to his kill? I don't know. I have my own ideas ... but no proof at all.'