Anno Dracula: One Thousand Monsters by Kim Newman

Author:Kim Newman [Newman, Kim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fiction, sf, horror, kindle
Publisher: Titan Books
Published: 2017-10-23T23:00:00+00:00

* * *

The ground moved under him, shockingly.

His knee exploded. Had he been shot again?

No. It was just pain, coming back like the tide.

‘God’s ’oly trousers, I felt that in my water,’ said Dravot. ‘The worst quaverin’ yet.’

The fog of fancy was shredded. What had been so vivid – imaginings sharp as life – unravelled like an ancient tapestry hauled from a tomb. Exposed to light, it rotted like some vampires at dawn. Threads came apart, colours faded to grey. The picture was gone.

Music had played – stirring, martial, inspiring, devotional. Now he heard only the bark of distant dogs…

He was looking at Dorakuraya’s bleeding chest. He didn’t know why.

The blood-trickle zigged and zagged as the vampire swayed, shifting this way and that. He knew how to roll with the tremors.

Inside the warehouse, coffins toppled. Someone groaned and swore – suffering sudden, uncomfortable awakening. A lantern crashed and broke near Dravot’s boots. He stamped out the fire.

Jarred from a dream, Kostaki tried to recapture details. It was a sketch on pond water. He thought he remembered Lady Geneviève’s face. It melted.

‘Like ice in the spring…’

Where had he heard that before? Recently?

No – it was lost, all gone. He had forgotten something as important as his own name. He felt the absence like a missing limb or a lost eye.

He scratched his moustaches – then remembered they were gone. He patted his shaven pate. It felt wrong, again.

He leaned back to steady himself. The wall he touched was shaking. Nothing could be trusted. This was worse than the worst storm at sea.

‘You’ve popped your dicky buttons, chum,’ Dravot told Dorakuraya.

The Japanese vampire refastened his clothes. Blood rivulets – dull red, not shining gold – soaked into cotton.

‘Brother Taki, are you with us?’

Kostaki couldn’t speak, but saluted. What was it? What couldn’t he remember? Moments ago, it was clear and bright in his mind. Or was it long since gone? What was it? A woman, perhaps? And Dracula – always Dracula.

The world lived under Dracula as once it lived under God.

The ground stopped shaking. Water was gushing somewhere near – a broken pipe? In the warehouse, a newly awakened sleeper complained in Low German.

Dorakuraya was gone. A patch of bare earth, a hole in ground mist, showed where he had stood.

‘There’s a fellah with a predisposition to mystification,’ said Dravot. ‘Not ’ot on the ’ow d’you dos and fare thee wells… pops up and pops off like a surprise attack. And what’s all that standin’ to attention and givin’ the dead-eye stare about? Tell you what, Brother Taki, I’ll bet ’e’s a shrimp who uses stilts to look down on us. Notice you never sees ’is feet for fog. Much mischief is concealable under a cape. But ’e’s left ’is rubbish behind.’

Kichijiro lay face down. He had fainted with terror.

‘What do you suppose that oogle-eyes malarkey was about?’ asked Dravot.

Kostaki shook his head. He had no idea.

‘A queer quacker,’ said Dravot, ‘our Mr Dorakuraya Nemuri or whateversuch ’e calls ’imself. A strange duck.

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