Dracula in London Part 13

Inspector Ames smiled. "Sounds the very thing." Very probably, he thought, there was nothing more pressing than the desire to get away from this place, but he could not blame Carfax for that, after such a grisly discovery. He would have patted the foreigner on the arm, but that would have been much too familiar a gesture. "What did Hitchin say you call this place-a long-term investment?"

Carfax paused in the act of leaving. "That's right, Inspector," he said with an expression that was not a smile, "so I did."

"Places for Act Two!"

Bradley H. Sinor

"Blimy, mate! You're out of your b.l.o.o.d.y mind!"

Liam Gideon stared down the length of his sword at the pale face that moments before had been a bl.u.s.tering, menacing figure.

"Crazy or sane, it doesn't matter," he said. "Because I am the one who has a sword at your throat. So I wouldn't be advising that you move too quickly or count on any help from either of your friends."

The pale-faced man's eyes darted to the far side of the alley where another man, dressed as shabbily as he, lay. This one was still breathing, but with two teeth dangling over the edge of his lip it was obvious he was coming to no one's aid. A second fellow lay on the ground, conscious, but not moving. A heavy black boot was planted across his chest. The boot belonged to a tall dark man, dressed in elegantly cut clothes, who the three had been attempting to rob.

"Now, sir," Liam said to the stranger. "I think it only right and proper that you make the decision about what to do with our friend, here. Should I run him through, perhaps cut him just a bit, say, remove certain portions of his anatomy; or should we just hold him and the others for the arrival of the police?"

"My first inclination would be to give them a long, very slow, very painful death. A public impalement might be a beneficial lesson to others." The man's dark eyes glittered with a strange redness to them. He spoke with the slightest hint of an accent, each word clearly, crisply, and evenly p.r.o.nounced.

It occurred to Liam that perhaps English was not his native language.

"It would be an interesting sight, but consume far more time than I am willing to give to it." With those words the man lifted his boot from the thief's chest and half turned away from him. Liam had the impression of someone who had done with a matter, though he did notice that the stranger never fully took his eyes off the three thieves.

Liam drew his sword away from the first man's neck. The other one scrambled to his feet, watching Liam and the stranger with the look of a trapped animal. A moment or two pa.s.sed as both men stood frozen, rain was.h.i.+ng across their terror-striped faces. Then theygrabbed their unconscious companion, dragging him down the alley.

"I imagine they will have quite a tale to tell once they hit the pub," said Liam.

"It is always wise to spread news of your prowess among an enemy. The story will grow with each retelling," said the stranger. "You never know how it might help you in the future."

"Hopefully, neither of us will have to deal with them again," said Liam.

"True, but with that sort of ilk it never hurts to have a reputation."

The stranger turned toward Liam. This was the first time he had had a chance to get a good look at him. His dark, somewhat disheveled hair, combed across the tops of his ears, gave him an almost feral look. There was something intense and controlling in his manner.

"Now, if I may inquire, who is it who stood to battle at my side?"

"Gideon. Liam Gideon, late of Dublin, Edinburgh, and parts beyond."

"Liam Gideon. I thank you for your a.s.sistance. It came at a most propitious time."

Liam had been minding his own business, hurrying to get back to the Strand Theatre on the west side of London. Pa.s.sing an alley, hearing the sounds of a fight, he turned and saw three men attack a lone figure. He had hardly thought about it before he was plunging into the middle of the melee.

"You were holding your own pretty well against these fellows. I suspect that you didn't need that much a.s.sistance from me."

"None the less, you chose to ally yourself with me in battle. That is something that among my people means much. So do not doubt that you have the grat.i.tude of Vlad Tsepes, Count Dracula."

"Thank you, Count. It wasn't that much of a decision for me. It was simply something that seemed needed doing. Something that I didn't think about, just did, my duty, and I am but a slave to duty," he said with a smile.

"A slave to duty?" Dracula looked at Liam oddly.

"Your pardon, Count. I was quoting a line from a play that I am in. It seemed fitting, somehow," said Liam.

"A play? You are an actor, then?"

"At times," he said.

"And what is this play?"

"The Pirates of Penzance by Gilbert & Sullivan.""Gilbert & Sullivan? I am new to London, recently arrived from my native Transylvania, so I'm afraid that I am unfamiliar with either of these gentlemen. I must admit that they sound more like a law firm than playwrights."

"A law firm? That's novel," laughed Liam. "They are the creators of the most popular operettas in the last dozen years."

"Indeed? I may have to seek them out," he said. "That may, perhaps, explain your sword. Seeing a young man carrying one is a common thing in my homeland. But here in England, except for military ceremonies, I have seen none."

Liam held up the sword for his friend's inspection. Its surface was s.h.i.+ny as a teapot, the grip emblazoned with a dozen brightly colored stones amid Celtic knotwork.

"At first glance, it does appear to be a formidable weapon," said Dracula.

Liam could see that the Count had discerned the blade's true nature.

Liam cupped his left hand and sharply slid the edge of the blade along it. Then he turned his palm where Dracula could see it. Both men were smiling and not surprised that the flesh was uncut. "I'm afraid I couldn't have done much real damage to those three. It's a prop intended for the character of the Pirate King."

"The thing is, our enemies didn't know that. Their own imaginations were very potent weapons against them."

"Thank you, Count. Our company manager asked me to pick up a replacement for one of our princ.i.p.als, who broke his this morning. Since it was only a slight detour from where I was going, I was glad to do it." Liam pulled out his watch and flipped the cover open.

"d.a.m.n! I was due at the theater a full ten minutes ago. I'm sure that Mr. Bunberry will be snarling like a banshee!"

"Fear not, friend Liam. I am in your debt. You have stood to combat at my side. So I shall not abandon you. I will accompany you and explain about the delay to this Mr.

Bunberry," he told Liam.

"Thank you, Count, but that isn't necessary."

"I feel it is," observed Dracula. "Besides, along the way you can tell me more about this Gilbert & Sullivan."

By the time Liam and his companion reached the theater, what had begun as a light rain had turned into a torrential downpour. As they rushed up to the stage entrance, Liam noticed that the new advertising poster had been put in place.

GILBERT & SULLIVAN'STHE PIRATES OF PENZANCE.

A SPECIAL LIMITED RETURN ENGAGEMENT.

A theater in the midst of rehearsal a few days from opening night could resemble chaos personified. That evening the Strand was no exception. Yet to Liam's experienced eye there was an almost musical order to the whole scene, though he imagined Count Dracula found it quite confusing.

An entirely new operetta, Utopia (Limited), the first by Gilbert & Sullivan in some years, was scheduled to open in October.

Yet at the last minute the decision had been made to reprise Pirates, using the group of actors who had been touring with it for well over a year and only recently returned to London.

"It is a matter of publicity, Liam," observed Alexander Bunberry, the company manager. "We will still open with Utopia in October, but a brief reprise of Pirates can only help to generate interest."

"Liam! Liam Gideon! Where the h.e.l.l have you been! I expected you back by half past four!"

The voice belonged to a tall skinny man, with muttonchop sideburns that seemed to cover half or more of his face. He came charging toward Liam from behind a huge Greek column that was part of the Pirates set. He seemed to be on the edge of pure fright. Hands were constantly in motion, pointing this way and that or flipping through the pages of a libretto that had seen better days.

"I'm sorry I was delayed, Mr. Bunberry. It couldn't be helped," said Liam.

"Couldn't be helped! You know that Everett is screaming that he can't rehea.r.s.e unless he has his new sword," said Bunberry.

"I well know all his complaints, sir," said Liam.

"Then why were you dawdling about! I'm still expecting him to fall in the pit deliberately, just to spite me!"

"I doubt that."

"Sir, Mr. Gideon was not as you say it, dawdling about," said Dracula.

"And who would you be?"

"I am... Count Dracula." Dracula's eyes fastened on Bunberry's. Neither man blinked.

"Had it not been for the timely intervention of Mr. Gideon when three thieves were attacking me, I would have found myself in a grave situation. He did the only thing that aman of honor and duty could do."

Bunberry stood there for a moment, his eyes gla.s.sed over, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead.

"Well, if it was something like that I can understand the delay," he said. "Just get that sword to Everett. The old hen will be fretting his life away, sure that his performance will be ruined and his career over, until he gets it. Then run down to the costume shop. They need to measure you for your new Frederic costume."

At that, Bunberry whirled on his heels and headed off in the direction of the pirate s.h.i.+p set that filled much of stage left. Just before he got there, a large fat man that Liam didn't recognize, dressed in a tailored waistcoat with a top hat and cane in hand, stopped him. The two men began to speak in whispers.

"I expected him to be quite a bit more vehement about the whole thing," muttered Liam.

"Perhaps it was something I said," mused Dracula.

"Look, you blinking Irishman. If you don't stand still, Effie is going skewer that pretty little b.u.m of yours with a very long needle!"

With those words ringing in his ears, Liam made a conscious effort not to move. If Effie Ferguson made a threat, she meant it. Looking somewhere between thirty and sixty, she was the absolute mistress of the Strand Theatre costume shop. She had the reputation of being able to make a gunny sack, four b.u.t.tons, a flower, a skein of thread, and some gla.s.s beads into the fanciest ball gown. Facing the mirror, Liam could see the woman's hands moving swiftly, marking with a long piece of chalk on his pants leg. Then she produced a rather formidable-looking shaving razor and slid it along the cloth from the back of his knee to his ankle. He could feel the cloth parting, but never once felt the touch of the metal.

"You just tell me what I need to do, Effie, and I will do it."

"Now, that's a good lad," she told him. "We want you looking only your best, now, to go on for Their Highnesses."

"Highnesses? What are you talking about?"

Effie chuckled but did not look up. "Now tell me, Mr. Liam Gideon, are you trying to say that you don't know about our 'guests' for opening night?"

Liana drew a breath and forced a smile. He had played this little game with Effie before. "No, Effie, I don't. So would you please share that information with me?"

"Well," she said. "I suppose if they had wanted you to know someone would have mentioned it to you.""Perhaps. Or perhaps everyone thought that everyone else had told me. So why don't you tell me?"

"Maybe I should. After all, it isn't often that poor little common actors get the chance to perform for the high and mighty likes of 'themselves,' now do they?"

"Yes?"

"It seems that opening night we will have some people in the audience that will bring all of the 'right' sort of society as well as the commoners in."

"Who in h.e.l.l are you talking about, woman? Is St. Patrick himself coming to see the show?"

A sharp pain drove its way into Liam's calf. He could barely keep from moving, knowing that Effie would do much worse if he did.

"No, you Irish gobas.h.i.+t, it isn't St. Patrick, nor is it Grace O'Malley or even Finn MacCool! Trust an uncivilized Irishman to think of those insignificants in a case like this,"

she said.

"Insignificants! Strike me, woman, there are moments I wonder about your sense of who is or isn't important," Liam said. "So, now, who would it be, if it isn't those noteworthies?"

"Simple; it is himself, Albert Edward, Prince of Wales and heir to the throne of England, who will be gracing these premises on opening night. Seems that he and his wife think that seeing a performance of Pirates would make a grand way to spend her birthday,"

Effie said.

"I suppose they're renting out the entire theater? Just an intimate little gathering of 1,500 of their closest friends," said Liam.

"No, they aren't renting out the entire theater, you Irish idiot. You don't think Bertie has that many friends?"

Another pain shot through Liam's calf to punctuate Effie's words. There was a muted chuckle from the costume mistress.

"Woman, you enjoyed that!"

"Me? Of course I did. Now, stand still!"

"I wanted to stop in and wish you good luck, Liam," said Dracula.

"I appreciate the sentiment, Count. But I really wish you hadn't said it."

"What?"Liam smiled. Explaining theatrical traditions to non-theater people was something that every actor had to do now and then. He led Dracula into the Strand Green Room. The Green Room, which was painted a mottled brown, was a large lounge in the back of the theater where actors and stagehands could take a few minutes and relax. Why it was called the Green Room Liam didn't know. As a matter of fact he had never been in one that was green; it was just another theatrical tradition.