Victor Gischler - Vampire A Go-Go

Allen left this library and found the Philosophical Hall.

This library was even more impressive than the last.

The bookshelves rose fifty feet high on both sides, all the way up to a richly detailed ceiling painted-according to the guide-by Franz Anton Maulbertsch, depicting scenes showing mankind’s search for ultimate wisdom. The shelves towered over Allen, made him feel like a spec.

Books. Lots and lots and lots of books.

This wasn’t going to be easy.

Allen was considered by his professors to be an outstanding researcher. He could walk into any university library back in America, plop himself in front of a computer terminal, spend an hour getting the hang of the system, initiate a search, and walk out with anything he needed. The dust on these books was older than any library in America. Nothing appeared to be computerized, at least not at first glance.

Okay. Stop. Think. What’s the smart way to do this?

He went back outside, found a cart selling hot coffee, sat down with the guidebook. He devoured a brief history of the monastery. It had been founded in 1143, had been burned to the ground in the 1200s, and had survived Hussites and Communists. Allen paged through again, tried to find passages that involved the relevant time frame.

There wasn’t enough here. He needed a computer.

He finished the coffee and began asking directions. The same cop who’d hustled him off the bench pointed him toward an internet café. Allen thanked him and started walking.

Allen realized it was no longer Cassandra’s control that compelled him. It was his own curiosity. Whatever the vampire had done, it must have worn off with time and distance. He still felt the urge to investigate, the need to get to the bottom of… of whatever the hell it was that had taken over his life. Or maybe he was kidding himself. Maybe it was part of her spell that made it seem like it was Allen’s own will that propelled him forward.

It didn’t matter. He was going to solve this. He was going to get answers.

He circled the base of Petrin Hill to the east and veered south until he ran into a busy street and a cluster of shops, cafés, and other businesses. He followed the boulevard about five minutes until he found the internet café more or less where the cop had indicated. He ordered another cup of strong, black coffee and paid for an hour of web time. At the end of the hour he paid for two more and switched to espresso.

The monastery had its own website; it must have been a popular attraction, because there was an English-language option. Allen steadily worked his way through a more detailed history of the place. He borrowed a pen and jotted notes on a paper napkin.

He was narrowing it down, getting a workable plan together for finding his prize.

A man named Jan Lohel was abbot at Strahov from 1586 to 1612, which covered the time period in question. Perhaps they organized their materials according to the time at which they were acquired. Some collections might be attributed to particular abbots. Allen made a note.

It would likely be a handwritten manuscript, and in English. Narrowing it to works in English would help a lot. There! What was that? He hit the Back button and read more carefully. There was a special treasury room that housed rare volumes and fragile manuscripts. Any handwritten originals would be there. He was certain of it. Allen was a step closer.

He guzzled espresso, the excitement of impending discovery fueled by caffeine.

Allen poured over detailed summaries of a dozen historical anecdotes that seemed pertinent at first, but ultimately he scrolled on.

And then he had it. By 1603, a number of longtime residents of Prague Castle had left for good, including astrologers and alchemists. Many personal effects and written documents had been sent to storage in Strahov Monastery.

Allen knew the room he had to search, and he’d narrowed it down to the exact year.

Very soon he would be reading the last written words of Holy Roman Alchemist Edward Kelley.

This astrologer fellow is a complete ass , Kelley wrote in his journal. He’s almost as bad as Doctor Dee .

At least Roderick seemed to know his business better than that old fraud Dee had. For six weeks, Kelley had assisted the astrologer, working with the lenses and examining the stone from a safe distance, observing various experiments, many of which had been gruesome and dangerous. In no time at all, Kelley had been relegated to his typical duties of fetch and carry. Just like working for Dee all over again.

Except now Kelley felt he served two masters. Edgar sent his Society agents at least twice a week for progress reports. They frowned and crossed themselves upon hearing the details of Roderick’s vile experiments. Only occasionally did Edgar come himself, warning that soon the Society would need to make its move.

Kelley simultaneously dreaded and welcomed whatever the Society planned. On the one hand, he wanted this over, to be free of Prague Castle so he could leave and never look back. On the other hand, Edgar’s vague hints implied that the Society’s scheme involved sudden, blinding violence. Kelley was sure to be caught in the middle.

In the meantime, he kept the journal, partly so he could offer a detailed report when the Society agents checked up on him, but also because he thought somebody somewhere would need to know what had happened here. Anyway, his writings would probably be disregarded as delusional fantasy. Why bother? But he scribbled in the journal every day.

Kelley finished his morning entry, then slid the journal into its hiding place under his clothes chest at the foot of his bed. He walked the short journey through the castle courtyard, into the castle, and down the dark twisting steps to the dungeon, where he found Roderick.

Emperor Rudolph was there.

Kelley froze and began to back out of the chamber when Roderick looked up and spotted him.

“Ah, there you are, Kelley. Fetch a couple of bodies from the corpse room, will you? There’s a good man. Relatively fresh ones, please.”

Kelley’s shoulders slumped. “Okay. Give me a minute.”

He trudged the corridor, grumbling under his breath, until he arrived at a thick wooden door. He pulled it open on creaking hinges and went inside. Dark, only the flickering torchlight from the hall behind casting its dim orange light on the pile of dead bodies. The ones on top would most likely be the freshest. He grabbed a man that looked a bit on the thin side-easier to carry-and took him back to the stone chamber, passing under the sharp eyes of Roderick and the emperor. He arranged the man in a wooden chair ten feet from the iron box, then went back to fetch the next body.

A young girl with a good volume of red hair. Slight. She looked easy to carry too. He bent, grunted as he heaved her over his shoulder and lugged her back. As he arranged her in the chair, he froze, going cold, heart skipping a beat. He knew that face.

Oh, God. Bianca.

He had finally remembered her name. The young serving girl who had warmed his bed so many times. He hadn’t seen her in a couple of weeks, and the kitchen staff had told him she’d come down with fever. Bianca.

Kelley stood, backed away from Bianca, feeling leaden, like his skin was made of ice. He went back to Roderick, indicated the bodies were in position.

“What’s the matter with you, Kelley? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“It’s just… nothing.”

“Well, pay attention. His Highness has asked for a demonstration, and I mean to oblige him.” Roderick turned to the emperor. “Highness, there is still much work to be done before we reach our ultimate goal, but I believe you’ll be impressed with our progress thus far.”