Chapter Text
The carriage came as something of a shock.
Kon heard it long before it reached the lonely Inn where he had waited for its arrival. The sharp retort of its passage was somewhat like the clap of metal-sheathed hooves over the stones of the village road, so when it at last rounded the corner in a cloud of metal limbs, Kon took a step back.
“What is that?”
“’Orseless carriage,” the old man in charge of the Inn’s animals told him disinterestedly. “Bit of an antique.”
“I’ll say.” Kon watched the carriage approach on spidery legs and wondered that it had survived into antiquity. Its gait was ungainly to say the least, although it did cover ground more quickly than horses might have. As it heaved and shuddered to a halt in front of the Inn, Kon had momentary thoughts of turning back.
The hooded man, obviously the driver, stood from his seat on the front, and before Kon had made up his mind to protest, his bags were swung up to the roof.
“Is this the carriage to V---?” Kon asked.
“He don’t speak no English,” the old man explained. “But if you climb up, he’ll take you where you need to go.” He turned to converse with the driver in the guttural language of the land, and Kon saw no other option but to do as expected, and mount the carriage.
Here he got his second shock.
His destination was an ancient castle, occupied by a man who preferred to keep his visitors to the absolute minimum, and was thus situated in as remote a township as could be imagined. Kon had already traveled far beyond the reach of trains and steamboats. To say he was surprised, therefore, to find that the coach was not empty but occupied by persons of rank, would be an understatement.
“Excuse me,” Kon said with astonishment. “Is this the carriage to V---?”
The young man glanced up from his paper momentarily. He was sharply dressed in a grey suit which even Kon, ignorant of European fashion, could tell was both stylish and of quality. He himself was dark haired, his hair just as smartly cut and presented as the rest of him and his features were sharp and not at all unpleasant. But for a sharpness in his gaze that belied intelligence, and a stubbornness about his chin, he might have been a gentleman of leisure. He couldn’t have been much different from Kon in age, but his attitude as he answered Kon’s question belied a self-composure and maturity remarkable in a youth. “It is.”
He did not seem inclined to comment further, and after sparing Kon a moment’s consideration, went back to reading his paper.
His companion matched him in style but was completely different in attitude. She was demurely dressed in a forest green dress befitting a young lady of modest years, and while she sat with her hands folded primly in her lap, Kon got the impression of high spirits, held in check with difficulty. She studied him with frank interest and while she wasn’t feminine enough to be thought pretty, she was interesting in her own right. Brown curls were gathered back in a ribbon and she seemed on the point of addressing Kon but a glance at her companion stayed her tongue.
Kon was at a loss how to proceed from there and as he deliberated, the carriage rumbled into life with a jolt that lost Kon his balance. He stumbled.
There was a squeak of laughter from the young lady, quickly muffled behind a fan and Kon took his seat opposite them, feeling vaguely insulted.
He might have been more charitably inclined if he’d realised that squeak was the last sound he would receive from either of his companions for an hour.
The interior of the carriage was enough to occupy Kon’s attention for a while. It was furnished like something out of a novel. The seats were large and deep, upholstered in leather, a little worn in places but belying a proud history. Panels of a rich, dark wood lined the carriage’s sides and velvet drapes hung beside the windows, outside which the landscape swayed past, sometimes alarmingly. Kon placed his hat on the seat beside him and wondered if he should loosen his collar.
His companion, still silently engrossed in his newspaper, made no allowance to travelling in his dress and Kon reluctantly decided to follow suit.
Fifteen minutes passed silently, and the only sounds in the carriage were the crisp shuffle of pages as the newspaper was turned, or the soft rustle of fabric as the young lady arranged her skirts. She fidgeted frequently, obviously restless, and Kon more than once caught her watching him. Every time he thought she must surely say something, however, she merely stared at him instead.
“Hello,” Kon said, breaking the silence at last.
She looked doubtfully at Kon and glanced at her companion.
Just because the gentleman spoke English was no guarantee the lady did the same. Kon addressed his next remark to him. “Are you travelers?”
Disinterested silence.
“Going far?”
Well, Kon thought sourly. Friendly bunch.
Noticing that the young lady made no attempt to distract her companion, Kon decided that he must indeed be heavily engrossed in his newspaper. He returned to studying the scenery, and stealing surreptitious glances at his companions.
Perhaps twenty minutes passed before a new sound broke the monotony of the carriage ride. It was a rhythmic, rather liquid sound, and it took Kon a minute or so to locate its source. The lady was chewing gum.
Kon stared. The contrast between the demure, almost doll-like, appearance of the young lady and the absolute coolness with which she met Kon’s stare, chewing gum with all the practice of a New York street urchin, was such that Kon wondered for a moment if he was imagining it.
The situation did not go unnoticed by the gentleman traveler, however. He fixed his companion with an icy stare.
She pouted back at him.
He frowned.
With movements of exaggerated reluctance, the young lady raised herself to the level of the window. Kon drew back his legs to make room for her skirts as she leaned out the window, raising her fan to mask her actions. She shut the window pane sharply as she returned to her seat, and Kon was sorry for the loss of the momentary distraction.
But the entertainment wasn’t entirely over. As the lady settled her skirts neatly, her companion set aside his paper momentarily. “Open your mouth,” he ordered briskly. He placed his hand on her chin as he leaned in to check that his wish had been fulfilled. Evidently satisfied, he released her a few seconds later and he returned to his newspaper, she to sulkily arranging her skirts.
That settled Kon’s deliberations over whether the two were traveling together, and speculations over their relationship. Such obvious closeness could only mean family, although the two were dissimilar enough that the relationship was not apparent at first glance. Still, there could be no other explanation for their obvious freedom with each other as the lady seemed rather young for marriage.
Neither spoke, and after witnessing such a familiar scene, Kon was even less inclined to start conversation.
Silence reigned once more, interrupted only as the young lady kicked her heels against the base of the seat, or the gentleman turned another page. Kon took to whistling absently as he watched the scenery whirl by.
At last, the gentleman turned the final page of his paper and folded it away inside his coat with solemn ceremony.
Now, thought Kon with anticipation, he must surely speak.
But instead, the young gentleman only straightened his cuffs and settled back languidly to observe the passing of the landscape outside.
Fifteen minutes of this was all that Kon could endure.
“I was told that Europeans were inclined to be somewhat reserved,” he said hotly. “But this is ridiculous.”
That earned him a raised eyebrow. “We haven’t been introduced,” the young gentleman explained simply.
Kon stuck out his hand. “Conner Kent,” he said. “I’m an under-graduate of Carnegie, Pittsburgh.”
The young man gave him a startled, measuring gaze and for a few long seconds, Kon was sure his overture had been rejected. Then the man returned the handshake with trademark briskness. “Timothy Drake,” he said. “The Wayne Foundation, London.” He nodded to his companion. “My sister, Beth.”
“How do you do,” she said.
Kon took her hand with considerably more warmth. “Delighted, Miss Beth.”
“You should call me Miss Drake,” she told him. “Because I’m the only Miss Drake present. If I had a sister, and she was here, you could call me Beth. But I don’t and she isn’t here so --”
“I think Mr. Kent gets the idea.”
Kon tried unsuccessfully to hide his smile. “You’ll have to forgive me,” he said. “I’m not yet used to your European ways.”
“Yes, I’d heard they did things differently in the colonies.” Drake settled back to watch Kon with interest. “Carnegie,” he said thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t be studying under Mr James Harper, would you?”
“Why, yes -- do you know him?” To say Kon was startled would be an understatement.
Miss Drake smirked at Kon as her brother continued. “You are an undergraduate of Carnegie, and you are traveling in parts known only for their inhospitality, their remoteness, and their backwater superstitions. There is nothing out here for either tourists or students save those same backward medival beliefs and it happens that your Mr Harper is something of an expert in them . . .” Drake spread his hands and shrugged. “It’s only logical.”
“I suppose.” Kon was still amazed. “I’m surprised you’ve heard of Prof Harper at all -- I mean, the department hardly gets enough funding as it is --”
“Not at all. His dissertation on the likely origin of the prevalent belief in lycanthropes was most enlightening, even if he did show a disappointing tendency to romaticise certain aspects of the myth.”
“You’ve read his paper on werewolves?”
Miss Drake poked her brother with her fan. “I rather liked that one,” she said. “He remembered the hairy palms.”
“Wait -- she reads that kind of --?”
“You would like it, but then you’ve always favoured sensationalism over solid facts,” Drake said dryly. “I suppose I should just be thankful that you bothered to pick up something that wasn’t one of your ridiculous penny dreadfuls --”
“Just because they’re not true doesn’t mean they’re not useful,” Miss Drake returned coolly. “You’re not going to get into the mind of the modern revenant from your dusty historic scrolls.”
“You’re not going to get into the mind of the modern revenant,” Drake said firmly. “Because such a thing does not exist.”
Miss Drake drew deep indignant breath. “Sightings! Confirmed by mass witnesses--”
“Gullible peasants repeating what they want to believe --”
“-- proof! Tombs disturbed --”
“-- looters, pillagers, medical students --”
“-- documented medical cases--”
“--illiterate ill-informed quacks who profane the very name of science --”
“You know,” said Kon, dazed. “Disregard my earlier statement. You two may sit in silence as long as you desire.”
They both glanced at him startled, clearly so caught up in their argument that they’d forgotten his presence.
“I do beg your pardon,” Drake said. “We have been most remiss in our manners.”
“As you can see,” Miss Drake explained. “We both share an interest in the preternatural. Tim is a most pugnacious skeptic. He refuses to accept anything but what he sees himself, and sometimes not even then. He lives to stamp out what he calls ‘backward superstitions,’ and refuses to accept any opinion but his own.”
“Beth, as you’re no doubt aware, is no scientist,” Drake said calmly. “She’ll believe anything, and is capable of creating a horror story out of a shadowy room and a creaking door.”
“Amazing that two siblings could hold such contrary beliefs,” Kon said.
To his surprise both merely looked knowingly at him.
“You’re an only child, aren’t you?” Drake smirked. “It shows.”
Kon found the look discomfiting and hastily changed subjects. “So what brings you to these parts?” he asked. “Professor Harper gave me to understand that this area is ripe with old beliefs -- hardly a fitting atmosphere for one of your views, Mr Drake?”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Miss Drake corrected him. “Tim doesn’t enjoy scoffing from a distance. He prefers to do his mocking of ancient custom and slandering of worthy people up front.”
“What my sister is trying to say,” Drake said dryly. “Is that I have made it my life’s mission to stamp out these beliefs wherever I find them and bring the light of science to the uneducated masses. As a matter of fact, I’m here on commission from the Wayne Foundation. A vampyre has been reported in the neighbourhood and I intend to get to the truth of the matter.”
“A vampire?” Kon straightened. “What -- really?”
“Vampyre,” Miss Drake corrected him. “Really.”
Kon was rather taken back by the obvious pleasure with which she pronounced this fact. He glanced at Drake. “And you’re willingly bringing your sister into this area, knowing that a monster may roam these lands?”
“I pity any vampyre who choses Beth for a snack,” Drake said with wry amusement and a fond tone -- the most brotherly words he’d spoken. “Besides, Beth would not have missed this excursion for the world.”
“I’m going to write about it for the Society of Seekers into the Supernatural,” Miss Drake said happily. “I’m sure it’ll be even more thrilling than my essay on the feeding habits of the Russian Witch.”
“Mr Kent doesn’t want to hear about the collection of rumour you call a magazine --”
“He’s Harper’s pupil, isn’t he? Of course he wants to hear about it. He’s on my side.”
“Mr Kent appears to be of at least average intelligence, which is more than enough to ensure that he sees the fallacy of such belief --”
As they seemed quite capable of carrying on in this regard for some time, Kon thought it excusable to interrupt. “As it happens, I have to agree with the lady,” he said. “I’ve . . . well, let’s just leave it that I’ve seen some things that can’t be explained by science, or at least, no science known to man.”
He expected scorn from Drake, or an exclamation of delight and further questioning from his sister, and was surprised at the look they shared. Considering, thoughtful but most of all . . . understanding.
“You’re a long way from home,” Drake said. “Do you have friends in the neighbourhood?”
Kon shook his head. “I have a letter of recommendation to Herr Luthor, an acquaintance of Harper’s. He hopes that Luthor will agree to put me up at his castle that I might use his library to further my studies. Failing that, I hope I can find an Inn or an hospitable local family --”
“We’re going to Castle Cadmus too,” Miss Drake said. “Isn’t that a lucky coincidence?”
“Hardly,” Drake said. “Anyone who travels these unfortunate paths are almost definitely bound for Cadmus. Luthor’s is the only holding of note around here.”
“Luthor’s the only reason there’s a carriage at all,” Miss Drake added, but Kon was more concerned with the fact of their destination.
“I understand that Luthor is a man devoted to the study of arcane ritual and belief,” he said cautiously. “Forgive my asking but --”
“How did a skeptic such as myself receive an invitation?” Drake seemed to appreciate the inquiry. “As a matter of fact, I’ve put my name to a couple of papers of my own. In seeking to stamp out these errant beliefs, I have become rather knowledgable in the arcane myself. As it happens, Luthor invited Mr Wayne, a man I regard as one of the foremost scientific minds of our time and a mentor to me, to investigate his vampire and avail himself of Luthor’s vast collection of books. Sadly, Mr Wayne could not accept, but I was fixed upon as an acceptable substitute and here we are.”
“Here we are indeed,” Kon said, surprised to find that the prospect of sharing the Drakes’ company a while longer pleased him. Even given their inhospitable mannerisms, the prospect of sharing a common interest with people near his age -- people enthusiastic and well-informed on the subject of their common interest no less -- was such a novelty to Kon as to outweigh any coolness on Drake’s part.
He said as much, and Miss Drake fixed upon the suggestion with alarcity. “Yes. Do let’s be friends,” she said. “You can help us investigate the vampyre.”
“Beth, Mr Kent did not travel all the way from America to indulge your childish whims,” Drake pointed out. “Let the man do his research.”
“As it happens,” Kon said, “I am here to further my studies and I can’t think anything Prof would approve of me doing more than charting the progress of a real live vampire.”
Miss Drake beamed at him, well-pleased, but that didn’t prevent her from correcting him. “Dead.”
“What?”
“Vampyres aren’t generally alive,” she said.
“I knew that.”
Drake watched the exchange with an amused smile. “I can see that the two of you will be fast friends,” he said. “But swapping theories on the source of V--’s trouble shall have to wait. We’ve reached the township.”