Kronos, p.5
Kronos, page 5
Well, keep your bloody gob shut, then.
So, a hunchback – leaning forward so as he can fit – and a girl. Nice-looking girl, too, the sort that gets your britches sitting funny.
Aye aye, I think, what’s going on here, then?
The coach pulls to a halt and the door opens. I’m thinking it’s going to be some rich old toff, stopping off for a quick dose of salts or to have his stools stirred. They love all that, the rich ones, can’t keep their bum-holes covered. Instead, this soldier steps out. Well, I assume he was a soldier, he had a soldier’s jacket on … no, I didn’t recognise the regiment, Luke, we’re not all as obsessed with bloody soldiers as you … It was blue, with red bits on, doesn’t matter … He takes one look at me and his hand drops to his sword. What have I done? I wonders. Here I am minding my own business and some bugger’s got an eye to running me through.
‘Marcus,’ he shouts and I can’t say as he sounded like he was from this country, soldier or no. Remember that travelling salesman we had through here a few months back? The one with the glasses that made his eyes look the size of fly balls. Selling bottles of oil what he claimed would grow a leg back if’n it were hacked off by something. That’s the one. Remember his funny voice? Kept sounding like he was going to start singing the words rather than speaking them? Aye, well, it weren’t a lot like that but it was a bit. So he probably comes from somewhere nearby.
I don’t know where the salesman came from, Luke. I don’t know everything, do I? I’m just saying as this bloke’s voice was funny like the other’s was, that’s all. Just giving an example.
So, I’m thinking some foreign brute’s going to have me head off just because I happen to be between him and Marcus. Which don’t seem entirely fair but, as I say, the doctor did well by my Mary and if I had to fight his side I would. And yes, Dudley, I did still have the axe in my hands, that’s true, so I might not have done so bad.
‘Marcus!’ this fellow shouts again and that sword is out of its scabbard a little way and I’m thinking the doctor’s upset somebody for sure.
‘Dr Marcus lives here,’ I said, which in hindsight weren’t the cleverest thing to do if the poor old doctor had been hiding under the kitchen table waiting for this foreign killer to bugger off. Still, it were out now and you’d think the man would show me the time of day to at least acknowledge it, wouldn’t you? Not a flicker.
‘Marcus!’ he shouts again as if I ain’t said a word. Well now, manners like that you couldn’t doubt he were foreign. They just don’t know how to be civil, do they?
Well, yes, I suppose that salesman were all right but he was after something, weren’t he?
Money, Luke, he were after your money.
I know you ain’t got any but he didn’t, did he? He just saw someone with all the brain of a dead hare and thought he’d try it on. Anyway, can I carry on? Too kind …
I’m wondering whether I’m going to have to put that there axe in the foreigner after all when behind me the door opens and the doctor’s stood there, face like thunder. Oh Lord, thinks I, here we go.
Then, would you credit it, the pair sets eyes on one another and they’re laughing fit to burst, running up to one another and hugging like a pair of girls. So I put my axe down, thinking that maybe it won’t be needed after all which is just as well as the head on it’s as blunt as a bull’s pizzle and I’d have been pounding on ’em for half an hour afore they’d’ve lain still.
So Marcus and the foreigner goes into the house, still laughing, and I decide to see what’s what with the other two.
The hunchback begins unloading from the back but not before I catch a glimpse of some of what they’re carrying. They’s got bunches of some plant or another, all tied up. I’m thinking it’s medical, you know, seeing as they know the doctor, but the next thing I see is a bunch of sharpened wooden spikes. Now how would a sick man benefit from having one of those rammed in ’im, eh? And that’s not all, there’s a whole box filled with crucifixes, small ones, big ones, metal and wood. Either their the holiest folk I’s ever met or there’s something up.
‘Who’s your master, girl?’ I ask the young woman, giving her a bit of the old Clyde charm, you know? You can tell she likes it, she looks me up and down, getting a proper eyeful. No, she didn’t have to stand back! That’s it … I’m not carrying on unless Frimpton pisses off, I have had more than I can stand! No. I warned you. That’s that. No. Definitely not … why, thank you Bob, don’t mind if I do, thirsty work all this talking.
So, where was I? That’s right, the poor girl was just about falling in love with me after I’d asked who her master was.
‘His name’s Kronos,’ she says, ‘And he’s not my master.’
Yeah, I know that could sound sort of like she was brushing me off but you had to be there. It was much more, sort of, like she fancied me. Anyway, she couldn’t hang around, of course, so she carried on unpacking, leaving me there on my own by the coach.
Well, as I say, I’m a man who knows how to mind his own business but there was something up here so I thought as it was my duty to find out as much as I could. So, while the two of them were taking boxes into Marcus’s stable I opened the door of the coach and took a little peek inside. I told you how the windows was all blacked out so it was difficult to see inside there. I didn’t want to swing the door wide open and get caught out – I hadn’t forgotten about the foreigner’s sword and I was damned if I was going to have my innards on the cobbles for the sake of curiosity. One thing that hit me straight away, though, was the smell. It don’t matter how fine the coach looked from the outside, inside it smelled of damp and rot, like when the soil turns in autumn.
I don’t mind admitting I was of half a mind just to close the door and leave well be. I wasn’t sure I wanted to set eyes on what might smell that bad. Still, thinking of you lot, and of my duty to those hereabouts, I decided to risk a quick peek. And thank the Lord I did for you’ll never believe what I clapped eyes on in there …
Whose round is it, by the way? Better get another one in now, just to save time later, you know. What? It’s all right for you … you’re not having to do all the talking.
So, inside that dark coach what do you think I saw, eh? What do you think was the reason behind that low, dank smell? I swear I am dying of thirst here … having to recall the horrors I saw … why, thank you, Luke, you’re a gent, at least.
That’s the stuff. Fair gets the tongue working again, don’t it? What’s that? What was in the coach? Well, I’ll tell you right here and now: whoever this Kronos feller is we may grow to regret the day he decided to visit these parts. Inside that coach was …
Thirteen
Dr Marcus Breathes Easier
WHAT A RELIEF it is to have Kronos here at last. I confess there were a number of times over the last few days when I had wondered whether I had been mistaken to call on him. A man feels such a fool when forced to admit he is out of his depth. Or perhaps it’s just me … Still, there can be no shame in asking an expert when a situation arises that is outside the reach of your own skills. And nobody could doubt this was beyond the skills of anyone hereabouts. It was bad enough when it was just poor Petra, but when Ann was struck down too …
Oh … To look Barton in the eyes and admit that the same thing that had killed one must have killed the other. He hated me at that moment. And I can’t say I blame him.
‘You told me she was fine,’ he said and I had, of course – I’d told him exactly that.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ I admitted, ‘but she was when I examined her, she was in perfect health. Whatever’s doing this must have chanced upon her when she was in the forest.’
I could tell he’d been thinking the same thing. The animosity faded as he had his own suspicions confirmed and I went back to examining his sister.
Ann was by no means as badly affected as Petra had been. From what I could gather from Barton, she had retained enough strength after she was attacked to make her way home, falling at last once she was surrounded by those she trusted and loved. At least she died in company. There was no way Petra could have travelled that distance, though: when I had found her the act of talking had been more than enough to finish her. Either Ann was just naturally stronger or the attack on her had been less vicious.
I examined what was, to all intents and purposes, the body of an old woman. I might have been inclined to believe that the identification was a mistake were it not for the silver bracelet that hung loosely from her wrist. Her father explained that he had given it to Ann that very morning as a birthday present. Her birthday … How cruel God can be.
My thoughts turned to plague – as a medical man’s often does these days. Was it possible that I was wrong in thinking they had been attacked? Was it not more likely that they were the victims of disease? A wasting disorder that withered the flesh on the bones? If so, I couldn’t begin to know how to cure it. Should the Sorrells – and myself for that matter – be confined to our dwellings? Locked up with a red cross on the door to show that we were unclean? If that were the case then certainly it was a matter for me, not for Kronos. And yet …
And yet. Despite what might have been weighty evidence to the contrary I did not think it was a medical matter. If pressed for a reason, I could only think back to the sensation I had felt when I had noticed Ann standing there in the forest, transfixed by the fate of her friend. It had been an awareness of the unearthly, a taste of evil.
Many doctors lose sight of God and of affairs beyond the body. In their daily dealings with the worst corruption that flesh can attain they leave the notion of spirit behind. For me – while I have certainly seen sights so terrible that they will haunt me all my days – my work has done the opposite. I have seen the face of God reflected in the eyes of every dying man I have attended. I have seen the hand of God in every miraculous escape from death. I am a good doctor, I have saved many lives, but I have done so with God at my side.
And if one believes in God …
I left the Sorrells with all the apologies and commiserations I could offer and returned home. I hadn’t dared hope that Kronos would arrive so swiftly and, when I heard the sound of a coach outside my door, I assumed it was a visiting patient. As much as it may be my livelihood I did not feel in the least bit inclined to offer a consultation.
Then I saw him, and the years had barely touched him – a surprise given the accounts I had heard of his lifestyle: I welcomed him with open arms and, as I looked at his face, I realised that he was not quite the same man I once knew. There was a darkness in his eyes, a look of pain that his smile, however broad, never quite touched.
I led him into the house and poured us both a glass of wine.
‘I didn’t imagine you would be here so soon,’ I admit, once we are seated.
‘You were lucky,’ he says. ‘We just happened to be passing our home for a night. Had you written any later it could have been months before we received your message.’
‘Then fortune may be on my side after all, however much it may seem to the contrary.’
I tell Kronos all that I have seen, plus what I suspect and fear. It’s a valuable experience to be able to let go of it all. Only by doing so do I realise quite how much I have let the weight of events bear me down.
‘You know what it is that plagues you here,’ he says, once I finish my story. ‘Or you wouldn’t have written to me.’
‘I wrote to you because I needed to write to someone,’ I tell him. ‘There was nobody else that I could think of.’
Kronos smiles. ‘You believe so many things without question,’ he says. ‘For example, in the power of your herbs to heal or your leeches to purify. And yet you will not believe the obvious facts that stare you in the face.’
‘The tools of my trade are proven every time I save a life,’ I reply. ‘I don’t give my belief without some evidence.’
‘It’s a vampire,’ he replies, ‘and I shall kill it for you.’
‘A vampire …?’
I know of the legends, of course, and I have heard stories of my friend’s work across the country. He is right that I suspected something of the sort. That trickle of blood from the mouth just before both girls died, that sense of evil …
‘There are more types of vampire than you can imagine,’ he says. ‘Those who feed off blood, those that eat the flesh of a man or drain his sexual energy. I have even met a vampire who feeds off dreams, scaring its victims to death with visions so terrible that their souls cannot stand it.’
Kronos gets to his feet and looks out of the window where his friends are still unpacking their belongings.
‘Here,’ he continues, ‘you have a vampire who feeds off youth itself, draining the life force from its victims and leaving them empty shells, like corn husks, cast aside.’
‘It’s unbelievable …’ I say, though deep down I believe every word. How ridiculous it is, this fight between the head and the heart. Why must we always rage against what our instincts tell us?
‘It’s a fact, and like a wolf preying on a village it must be routed out and killed.’ Kronos smiles. ‘Lucky you know me, eh?’
Finally, his belongings are stored in the stable. I offer him rooms in the house but he insists they will be perfectly comfortable outdoors. I can tell that his companion, Grost, is somewhat saddened to hear this and resolve to ensure that he has my spare bed should he wish it. At least this will offer Kronos and Carla some privacy! It’s explained to me that she is new to their party, having been collected en route, but if I know Kronos it will only be a matter of time. He always was a man of appetites and never seemed to have any difficulty in satisfying them.
We dine simply and Grost tells me stories of their time together – something he very much enjoys doing I can tell. Of course, I would like to think that his tales are subject to exaggeration but the events of the last few days rob me of that small comfort. So it is that, on retiring to bed, I am quite unable to sleep. Looking out of my window at the shadow of the forest, lit solely by the moon and the stars, it seems to me a place of horror. How many times have I ridden through those ancient trees? How often have I marvelled at their beauty? It now seems to me a wonder that I ever escaped the dark canopy with my life.
Sleep takes some time to come.
Fourteen
Carla Asks More Questions
MARCUS SEEMS NICE. It will be good to help him. Some people follow their fathers into a livelihood, some just happen on a way of keeping food on the table. Marcus is different: his saving lives is important to him – you can tell by how much guilt he carries around. I wouldn’t want to live like that. I have one person’s death on my conscience and that is quite enough.
Kronos has decided that we can all sleep in the stables. Which is very gracious of him, I must say. Not that I’m uncomfortable, admittedly; the straw makes for a soft and warm resting place. Still, I would have liked the choice of a bed, as, I’m sure, would Grost. Marcus has invited him inside, I think, but he doesn’t like to leave me alone with Kronos. Which is silly. I am perfectly capable of defending myself. Besides, Kronos sleeps in his coach as always – no bed of straw for him.
It would seem that we are on the trail of a vampire already. One that drains the life from women. I remark that we call one of those ‘a husband’ where I come from but nobody seems amused.
They take all this very seriously. While Kronos can seem a bit full of himself I decide to rein in my inclination to mock for Grost’s sake. I would not want him to think I was laughing at him.
‘So,’ I say to him, while we’re completely failing to fall asleep, ‘what happens now?’
‘Well,’ he replies, straightening the eye mask he likes to wear to keep out the light, ‘now we have to try and track the creature. Most vampires masquerade as normal folk so it’s a case of finding out who it is and then we can deal with them.’
‘But surely it should be obvious? They can’t walk around during the day, they have big teeth …’
‘No, no, no,’ Grost replies, waving his hands in the air. ‘It’s never that simple. Well, not often, anyway. Most vampires have an intolerance to sunlight, yes, but it’s only a specific breed – a nightwalker – that can’t step out in it altogether. Usually, with a bit of protection, say a hood or a cloak, they can teach themselves to endure it.’
‘And the teeth?’
‘Only bloodsuckers need fangs. From the sound of this type there’s no need for it to puncture the neck so why would it have the tools to do so? Think about birds … some have long beaks so that they can poke them into the trunks of trees to feed on ants and beetles, some have short, sharp beaks to tear open the bellies of rats, some have spoonlike bills so that they can scoop fish from the sea. Nature gives you what you need.’
‘But vampires aren’t natural.’
‘Well, that depends on your definition of natural, doesn’t it? It’s an animal that exists, just as we do. You can blame the devil for it, by all means, but that doesn’t really help.’
‘But they’re not born, are they?’
‘No,’ Grost answers. ‘At least, I don’t believe so. The condition spreads more like a disease. A disease that can alter the physical structure of the sufferer so that it can thrive. Ingenious, really.’
‘You sound as if you approve.’
‘Oh no!’ He lifts his eye mask and looks over at me. ‘They’re the most terrible creatures you can imagine. There is a world of difference between being impressed by something and liking it. For instance, I think scorpions are amazing creatures – I wouldn’t want one anywhere near me, though.’
‘Fair enough,’ I reply. Grost is so sweet when he gets worked up. ‘So how do we plan on tracking it, then?’
‘Ah,’ he replies, ‘that is rather difficult, it has to be said. There are a few methods that I’ll happily show you tomorrow. The only sure way of getting your hands on a vampire, though, is to catch it in the act.’
