I wrote another piece of fiction, a bit of pulp-horror perhaps more appropriate in October than the first one was in March. Its a little longer than I’d hoped it would be when I started it – its a little over 6000 words – but I couldn’t squeeze it down any further. As it is, it feels Spartan and stripped down and in need of expansion to me, but its also probably too long for anyone here to bother reading. I understand! And am eternally grateful to those who take the time to actually read it. Thanks, I hope you enjoy.
The Debt
Dublin, 1988
“A Chinese man, in my bar!” said Mike Hogan loudly.
Kojima froze one step through the front door. He thought briefly of responding in kind and suggesting the speaker was British. Instead, he slowly turned and said, in his Oxford perfect English, “I am Japanese, you drunk Irish hick.”
“Are ye now? Well don’t take offense, lad, where there’s none intended. Nor would I ever say ye weren’t welcome. We don’t see many of your folk ‘round this side of the Liffey.”
“I can’t imagine why,” Kojima said, Poker-faced.
Burke chose that moment to step forward. “Prejudice can go both ways,” he said. Kojima inclined his head, whether in acknowledgement of the statement or of Burke’s presence, anyone could guess. “How about two pints of the black stuff, Mike?”
With two artfully poured drinks in hand Burke and Kojima retired to the back of the pub. Even in the middle of the day clouds of smoke and the chatter of pensioners, hangers-on, and men who had worked third shift and wished to slake their thirst before turning home filled the room. Kojima earned a few looks from the curious, but since Burke appeared to know him, none of the regulars were too rude about it.
The two men settled into the booth. Kojima, nearly sixty but looking half his age, without a hint of gray in his black mane and only the suggestion of laugh lines in the corners of eyes and lips, was broad shouldered and narrow hipped. He moved with a languid, dancer’s grace through the public house. Burke stood half a head taller than Kojima, who was not a small man, with an iron-gray leonine look, thick haired and thickly bearded. But his clear blue eyes had no need of glasses yet. He wore a beat up American army jacket, while Kojima, fresh from the airport, had a camel hair coat over a dark suit.
Glasses clinked and throats worked. “Thank you for coming,” Burke said.
Kojima nodded. “Could I do less? Besides, you know the old saying. ‘Ryu wa hitoridewa shinanu.’” A dragon does not die alone.
“I always ken that to mean we’re supposed to take our enemies down with us,” Burke said.
“Perhaps.” Kojima sipped. “I prefer to think of the Order protecting and defending its own. Brother to brother, sister to sister, arm in arm, together into the next life.”
“Wish I still believed in a next life.”
“Don’t get maudlin on me, Burke. We are old men, but not that old.”
Burke sighed. “How is retirement treating you, Hiro?”
Kojima looked his friend over carefully. “About as well as its treating you, I expect. You miss it as much as I do. Maybe more. You shouldn’t, you know. There are not many of us who make it to retirement age.”
“‘There are old warriors and bold warriors, but no old bold warriors,’ eh?”
“Indeed. Especially in our line of work. How many of your old squad get to bounce grandchildren on their knees?”
“Well, of my old squad, I am the only one left and I never had kids, so…”
“I do. I very much enjoy it. Every year that passes, as they grow older and the past recedes into the distance, I miss it a little less. I look forward to the day when I can celebrate their accomplishments instead of recalling my own.”
Burke drained his glass. “Maybe I shouldn’t have called you.”
“But you did. And I am here. Who else have you contacted?”
“I made four calls. You’re the only one who agreed to come.”
Kojima drummed fingers on the table, looking at Burke closely. “Two old men are not going to cut it, Burke. Even two wily old men such as we.”
“I have some cubs who will help,” Burke said defensively.
“And you’re sure it’s him?”
“Do you really think I wouldn’t recognize the thing that killed my Louis?”
Kojima bowed his head in an automatic, conciliatory gesture. “Of course not, I apologize.” He looked up. “After all these years, revenge is in your grasp. Though revenge is not a tenet of the Order.”
Burke smiled grimly. “I am officially retired.”
*
The hotel attendant accepted Kojima’s cancellation with typical Irish good humor, wishing him well and actually offering to carry his bags out for him. Kojima demurred. Outside, Burke leaned against his blue Fiat Croma. When Kojima made to load his meager luggage into the boot, Burke said, “Back seat’ll do,” and opened a door.
Kojima set his two suitcases in the back and slid into the car. “How much ordnance do you have in your boot?”
“Enough,” Burke said as he eased into the Dublin city traffic.
Two hours driving found them north and west, deep within Ireland’s interior. Kojima enjoyed the trip. Rolling hills a dozen different shades of green flashed past, interspersed with picaresque farms or crumbling stone ruins. The sky shone a brilliant blue that faded to purple as evening descended. The two old knights spoke little. Burke, clearly, was distracted with thoughts of their mission. Kojima felt content to let him be so, figuring that details would come eventually. In the meantime, he watched the scenery.
They stopped in a little village with a name Kojima could not pronounce. Burke negotiated them a night at a little place at the outskirts of town. Dinner arrived on blue and white patterned china, thick steaks bleeding pink with golden brown potatoes on the side. Burke ordered whiskey but Kojima drank sparingly.
A squall greeted them in the morning, and they had trouble getting out of the village because of some sheep loose in the road, but with Burke roaring and honking the horn they soon had things sorted and were underway again. The rain was left behind and the sun shone overhead once more when Burke pulled off the main road. He turned down a siding, hidden behind one of those rolling hills, and took a left onto a track that looked like it saw more wagons than cars. Kojima only arched an eyebrow. Burke grinned in response.
Before long they came upon a gray, rusted Datsun Stanza parked by the side of the road. Three men lounged around the vehicle, sharing cigarettes and sandwiches. Burke parked behind them.
Kojima examined the three men through the windshield. They looked young, red-faced and grinning, hair cut short and a pair of them sporting scraggly mustaches. They wore blue jeans and t-shirts under long jackets, as though it were a uniform.
“These are not Fafnirs,” Kojima said.
Beside him, Burke nodded. “They’re on loan from up North. They know one end of a gun from another, I can tell you.”
Kojima sighed. They would need more than that against what they faced. But before he could say anything, Burke was out of the car and approaching the boys. Kojima stepped out after him, moving more slowly, eyeing the youngsters.
“Here’s yer man,” said one of them, blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth. “Mr. Burke you’re runnin’ late.”
“Not exactly Arkle, is he?” said another lad in the back, eliciting a chuckle from the third.
“There’s too many goddamn sheep in this country,” Burke said by way of explanation. He introduced Kojima to the boys, two O’Malleys and a Kelly. The younger O’Malley and the Kelly stared at Kojima while Burke and the older O’Malley walked to the back of Burke’s car. The door lifted and O’Malley loosed a low whistle.
“These’r some shiny toys, Mr. Burke. They look Japanese or somethin’.” O’Malley leaned around the car. “Is this your doin’, Mr. Kojima? I have some friends back in Belfast I’d like ye to meet, if so.”
Kojima shook his head. He long ago perfected the appearance of the inscrutable Asian that Westerners expected, so he was certain his disgust did not show in his expression. “I am as yet unfamiliar with the contents of the car,” he said.
“Is that right?” O’Malley said. “Ye better come have a look, then. Ain’t you a bit curious?”
Kojima allowed that he was. He ambled to the rear of the car, feeling a small frisson of uncertainty at turning his back on the other two boys. He trusted Samuel Burke, which extended a certain trust to the men Burke recruited for the operation. Kojima wasn’t happy about this situation, but he didn’t feel any real danger directed at him from any of the boys.
Burke stepped back so Kojima could examine the contents of the car closely. He saw three Lancer submachine guns, a miniature flamer, a heavy crossbow, two axes, a Fireball scattergun, a case for grenades, and two cases for Drake pistols. Kojima nodded. He could not suppress a flash of disappointment at the lack of armor, but he approved of the arsenal. He expected nothing less from a man like Burke.
“Your retirement plan?” Kojima said.
“Yer looking at it,” Burke said. He closed the boot. “Satisfied, O’Malley?”
The younger man nodded, a fierce gleam in his blue eyes. “Can’t wait to give ‘em a spin.” He cast his cigarette on the ground and immediately fished out another one. “We took a gander at the house earlier. Looks deserted, like no one’s been there in weeks. You sure about this feller hidin’ out there?”
Burke smiled thinly. “I wouldn’t have dragged you lads all this way, let alone wasted Kojima-san’s considerably more valuable time if I were not dead certain, O’Malley.”
O’Malley looked Burke over. He lit his cigarette and smiled. “Fair enough.” His eyes rolled upward. “Sun’ll be up for hours yet, when do ye want to make yer move?”
“Now would be the best time,” Burke said.
O’Malley frowned. He seemed about to say something, but paused, sucking on his cigarette thoughtfully. At last, he nodded. “As they say, it’s yer dime, Mr. Burke.”
*
The boys followed Burke and Kojima in their Datsun. The sun shone high and bright as Burke drove down several more country roads, following muddy tracks pitted with puddles. “These boys are terrorists,” Kojima said.
Burke stared straight ahead. “You said yerself that they two of us couldn’t do it on our own.”
“I meant more dragons. We’re walking into a leech’s den. Even at noon, that is not a place for the uninitiated. I don’t care to be shot in the back by panicked children, Sam.”
“They know their business, Hiro. You and I will take lead and they will follow. O’Malley will keep them in line.” He smiled, looking away from the road briefly. “Trust me.” Kojima sighed.
By one in the afternoon they reached their destination: an old stone gate bordered on both sides by a tall, overgrown hedgerow. Burke pulled in front of the gate and exited the car. Kojima followed as the Datsun came to a halt behind them. Burke approached the gate and pushed it open. “It’s not locked,” he said, a note of bewilderment in his voice.
Kojima’s hackles rose. He looked around, scanning the area. A dirt path lead through the gate up to the front of a long, tall house made of gray stone crawling with ivy. Across the road another hedgerow, this one clearly cared for, bordered a field where mellow looking brown cows lazed in the sunshine.
“I don’t like this,” Kojima said.
O’Malley approached. “Told ya it looked abandoned, Mr. Burke. Yer sure yer man is holed up here?”
Burke nodded. “I’m sure. I’ve checked and re-checked the financial records. This estate was bought by a foreigner four months ago.” His eyes met Kojima’s. “An alias, but one alluding to our last encounter. He’s using the name ‘Malaiskaya.’”
“Sounds Russian,” O’Malley said, frowning.
Every instinct in Kojima’s body urged him to abort the mission. The empty looking house, the open gate, even the placid cows, all set off alarm bells. Was that genuine concern, learned paranoia, or the fear of an old man afraid to look Death in the eye? “He’s here, Hiro. I know it,” Burke said.
Kojima closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He sensed wet grass and earth, the stink of cattle, the acrid stench of cigarette smoke, the hum of insects, and the sound of an approaching lorry. Kojima looked up and saw a delivery truck trundling down the road, axles bobbing on the muddy surface. He tensed but the lorry just rolled past them, the driver barely registering their presence by the side of the road.
Kojima turned back to Burke and the boys, all of them watching him. “Shoganai na,” he said. It can’t be helped. “I’ve come this far,” he said. “Might as well take a look around.”
Burke clapped his hands and laughed. He pushed the gate open all the way and slid behind the driver’s seat once more. “Kanshashite orimasu, Kojima-san,” he said softly to Kojima as he aimed the car through the gate. Kojima recognized Burke’s sincere expression of thanks with a quick, respectful bow of his head, his mind working. His uneasiness did not lessen, but Sam Burke needed him now.
Burke parked the Croma at the front door. The Datsun appeared shortly thereafter, the other vehicle having paused so the younger O’Malley could close the gate before ferrying him up the drive to the house. Seen up close, the mansion possessed an aging solidity that impressed Kojima. Somewhere between a castle and a farmhouse, it had peaked gables and gargoyles, high windows covered in shutters, and everywhere sheets of green ivy winding up the stony surface. Two green doors with brass handles and knockers served as entrance.
Burke popped the boot open and began doling out weaponry. The boys accepted the submachine guns eagerly, though were surprised when Burke handed them each an electric torch as well. He buckled on a belt with a holster for a pistol and a loop for an axe, then took both flamer and shotgun for himself, slinging the former over a shoulder. Kojima accepted a pistol and axe of his own and took up the crossbow. O’Malley eyed that closely, even as Kojima fitted a sharp wooden bolt into the mechanism and cranked it into the cocked position.
“Just going right into the parlor, then?” O’Malley said around the cigarette dangling from his lips. His hands moved almost independently, examining the Lancer and gaining familiarity with the gun. He popped the clip off, looked it over, and clicked it back into place.
“Aye,” Burke said. He hefted the shotgun in one hand and a torch in the other and climbed the shallow steps to the front doors. He paused. Kojima rummaged in the boot for a handful of grenades before slamming it shut and following. He came up beside Burke and saw the gap between the doors. They exchanged a look.
Kojima brought the crossbow stock to his shoulder as Burke used the barrel of his scattergun to push the right door open. It creaked loudly. Burke nudged the other door open with a foot, training his gun on the darkness within.
Nothing happened. Burke looked to Kojima again. Kojima inclined his head slightly. Behind them, one of the boys laughed nervously.
Burke led the way, waving his torch around into every corner. The floor had a black and white checker pattern, stained and weathered, but no hint of furniture in the front hall. Two doors led off to other side. A set of stairs led up to the second floor and behind that, a hallway led deeper into the house.
They moved slowly, Burke and Kojima leading the way, checking each room on the first floor. They lingered long enough to pull down heavy drapes and throw shutters open, letting afternoon sunlight flood each chamber through the windows, in which every pane remained intact. They found no inhabitants. No furniture either, just bare floors and walls. A study filled with empty bookcases. A kitchen without appliances or even a stove.
An eerie stillness pervaded. No hum of insects reached them here, nor sign of any other vermin. Dust lay thick upon every surface and they left tracks as they walked through the house.
“There’s no one here,” the younger O’Malley said when they all returned to the front hall. “This is a goddam waste of time.” All three of the young men looked at Burke, cradling their Lancers.
Burke seemed not to hear them. “No sense checking upstairs, Hiro, you think? Our quarry will be underground, as far from the light of God as he can get.”
“Cellar door in the kitchen,” Kojima said. He looked from Burke to the young men. “Maybe you three should go.”
“What, no,” Burke started to say, but the older O’Malley looked at Kojima sharply. “An’ why’s that, Mr. Kojima?”
“Can you feel it? This place is unnatural. We are not hunting a man, we are hunting a thing. A thing which should not exist.”
Kelly spat his cigarette on the floor with a scatter of sparks. “I’m not taking any fairy bullshit from a foreigner. We may be Irish, Kojima, but we ain’t idjits.”
The crossbow shifted in Kojima’s grip. “This isn’t a fairy. I might be holding a horseshoe wrought of cold iron instead of a crossbow that fires wooden stakes if it were. There’s a vampire somewhere in this house, Mr. Kelly.”
“A bloody vampire?” Kelly laughed, the same nervous laugh from before. “I’ve had enough of this shite, let’s get outta here Ned.”
The elder O’Malley held up a hand, forestalling his friend. To Kojima, he said, “You don’t look like a man who jokes in such poor taste, Mr. Kojima. You or Mr. Burke. Do you really think Christopher Lee is lurking around hereabouts?”
“Yes,” Burke said. His voice was cold but his eyes flamed with hatred.
“Where’s the crosses and holy water and garlic, then?” O’Malley said. Kelly snorted and crossed the hall to the front door. The younger O’Malley looked ready to follow, but lingered by his brother.
“Not all folklore is equally true,” Kojima said. “A wooden stake to stop the heart, an axe to remove the head, and fire or sunlight to destroy the remains. That’s all we really need. We know from experience.”
“You and Burke are a pair of fearless vampire hunters, yeh?” O’Malley said. He lit a cigarette, his hands trembling just a little as he did.
“Not fearless, admittedly,” Burke said. “But yes. We kill monsters. Mostly vampires, but other things as well.”
The five men stood in utter silence for long moments. O’Malley looked hard at both Burke and Kojima, but when neither of them blinked his own eyes fell and he moved backward. “This is shite,” Kelly said. He stepped outside into the sunlight. “I’m keeping this grease gun, though, fer wastin’ our time, Burke.”
O’Malley looked up. “These guns ye gave us are loaded with live ammunition. If this is some kind of prank, you’re dangerously close ta having it blow up in yer face.” He breathed slowly, then turned to the other boys. “Wait in the car, Kelly. You too, Danny.” When his brother and friend protested, O’Malley shook his head and waved them back. “Wait for me. I’m gonna see this through. If, say, sunset comes and I haven’t come out yet, ye can go. But wait that long at least.”
While Kelly and the two O’Malley’s argued, Kojima turned to Burke. He looked equal parts annoyed and resigned. “Cellar?” Kojima said.
Burke nodded. “No sign of familiars or ghouls of any kind. I don’t have to tell you that’s peculiar, but we could probably have used their firepower down below. What’s done is done, I suppose.”
“I worry they would be more liability than asset if something truly irregular appeared,” Kojima said. “There’s no need for them to die pointlessly.” They left the bickering trio and returned to the kitchen, alive with dancing dust motes in the slanting rays of afternoon sunlight.
Kojima gripped the handle of cellar door. Cool metal against his skin, colder than it should be in the light from the newly opened windows. He lifted the latch and pulled the door open, stepping back as he did so. Burke swept the cavity of the open door with his shotgun. A narrow set of stone steps led down into darkness. A fat spider dangled from a line into view, hanging briefly in the middle of the doorway.
Burke ducked under the spider and swept down the stairs, leading the way with torch and gun extended. Kojima followed, fumbling at his belt for his own torch.
Behind him at the top of the stairs he heard the clatter of boots on stone and glanced back briefly. All three boys came after them, the elder O’Malley in the lead with shoulders squared and a grim set to his mouth. Behind him his brother and Kelly looked bewildered.
At the bottom of the steps they found a landing and turned into a wine cellar with walls of gray stone blocks, stacked shoulder high with racks coated in dust and cobwebs. Burke and Kojima combed the room with their torches, but they saw nothing moving. Burke looked askance at his friend. “Just the one spider did all this, then?”
“I’ve seen stranger,” Kojima said. Burke nodded. So had he.
They found a low door in a back corner. Made of wood, painted black, and only about five feet high, it could be easily missed in the darkness if you weren’t looking for something like it. Burke tried the latch, but this time the door was locked. Kojima slung the crossbow on his shoulder and handed his torch to the younger O’Malley. “Be useful,” he said. Startled, the boy took it.
Kojima bent down and eyed the latch. He produced his picks from his coat’s inner pocket and went to work. The mechanism was simple, probably as old as the building itself, and gave itself up quickly. At the metallic click, Kojima rose and collected his torch. The O’Malley boy looked at him in wonder.
Burke darted through the door. Kojima moved quickly to catch up to him. “Burke,” he said, and his friend caught himself, slowing.
He offered Kojima a weak grin. “It’s like I can smell ‘em, Hiro. He’s close and he’s not escaping this time.”
“We are walking into a carefully prepared trap, Samuel. Use some caution.”
Burke colored. After a moment he nodded, looking away. “You’re right, of course.” He took a deep breath, then coughed.
Through the small door was a narrow corridor with a low ceiling, only inches above Kojima’s head. Only Kelly walked without any slouch, and they all had to walk single file. The right hand wall was made of the same gray blocks as the wine cellar, but the left was rough-hewn stone, dug right out of the earth. The ground felt like hard-packed dirt. Before long, as they walked, Kojima began to feel a slight incline, a feeling confirmed when they found another set of stairs winding deeper down under the earth.
“This is… what are we even doin’?” Kelly said from the rear.
“You’re welcome to go back to the surface at any time,” Kojima said. He looked back. Kelly’s face looked ash gray in the light of the torch. They boy shook his head and gripped his gun tightly.
The stairs curved around like a corkscrew, delving deeper underground, then opened up into a larger hallway, at least ten feet wide and nearly as tall. An underground spring or river lay nearby, for the walls wept moisture and cold seeped into the air. Kojima felt the cold settle into his bones. His knees and back began to ache, reminding him that he was not as young as the boys that followed them.
The walls were smooth with perfect ninety degree angles, meeting an equally flat floor without any seeming grade at all. “Who built this?” the elder O’Malley asked, looking all around. His breath frosted in the air.
Burke and Kojima examined the walls and the floor. “Romans?” Kojima asked. Burke shook his head. “Nemedian, I think.”
“If I remember my old gran’s stories, that would mean you are full of shite,” Kelly said. He seemed to have regained some of his belligerence with the opening of the larger passage. “This is got to be some old family crypt, probably no older than the 18th century.”
Kojima nodded. “If you say so.”
“Hey,” Burke called. His torch found a gap in the wall. A room branched off from the hall, and indeed it seemed to hold some kind of sarcophagus. A huge stone block sat in the middle of the room, incised about three quarters of the way up from the floor to indicate a lid. An image of a bearded man in repose lay etched on the surface, clad in a tunic and mail and holding a sword and some kind of plant in his crossed arms. “Mistletoe, I reckon,” Burke said, his breath fogging. “Druids.”
Kojima let his torch play across the walls of the room. Other images lay etched into the surface of the stone. Not chiseled or carved, but seemingly burned into the surface of the walls directly. Tall figures with terrible weapons waging war against gigantic creatures of monstrous appearance, variously depicted with a single eye, or a single leg or arm. The monsters wielded huge mattocks and forks. Rolling hills topped with rings of stones and earthen forts overlooked the scene.
Kelly looked at the tomb and the walls and shook his head, backing out of the room. The younger O’Malley clung to his brother like a shadow, never straying further than a foot or two away from him. All three boys held their guns at the ready.
“Those lids’ll scrape loudly when they open up,” Burke said to Kojima, who nodded. Part of him expected the dead to rise as well, but they had seen nothing in the house that moved save for that single spider. Kojima doubted that the creature they hunted remained at the site. He had fled long ago, taking all his servitors and protectors with him. He checked the crossbow in his hands, however, knowing from experience that cold temperatures could affect the mechanism. It was very cold in the tomb and Kojima preferred to be ready for trouble.
They heard Kelly gasp from the corridor. The two O’Malley’s rushed out to check on their friend. Burke and Kojima exchanged a look, before Burke hefted his shotgun and followed the boys.
Kelly stood a few feet further down the corridor. He aimed his torch towards another gap in the wall but the light wavered, as the hand holding it shook. In the electric glow Kelly’s pale face looked bone-white, dark shadows like bruises under each eye. “I saw somethin’ movin’ in there,” he said slowly and quietly, as if forcing the words out.
The elder O’Malley looked shaken at Kelly’s appearance and reaction. “Rats?” he said, but his suggestion sounded more hopeful than anything.
Burke and Kojima swept past the boys. The ache in his knees and lower back were forgotten as Kojima brought the crossbow to his shoulder. His shoes whispered across the smooth floor. Burke aimed the shotgun with one hand and his torch with the other. They saw a doorway, exactly like the other, and beyond that another small chamber. The sarcophagus here was shattered into large blocks, however. Dust and chunks of stone lay scattered across the bare floor, though a path had been swept through the middle of the chamber.
On the opposite wall, driven into one of the carvings, two silver loops projected outward. A length of chain was threaded through them, with each of the opposite ends being fastened to a silver manacle. The metal glinted brightly in the light from the torch, but it was the figure wearing the manacles that demanded their attention.
He lay slumped on the floor, arms stretched high by the chains, legs splayed out. Naked but for a pair of black sweatpants, he was thin to the point of emaciation. Extremely pale skin, almost translucent, showed a tracery of blue veins beneath the surface, but all the muscle was nearly gone. Each rib could be individually identified in his trunk, the sternum clearly visible. A thick mane of black hair almost obscured the face, save for gaunt cheekbones and a red slash of a mouth. In the torch’s electric light, the figure’s eyes gleamed phosphorescent like an animal’s.
Then the red lips parted. Kojima saw the flash of elongated canines and settled the stock of the crossbow against his shoulder.
“Took you long enough,” the figure said. The voice was raspy, but deep, as if dredged up from the lightless depths in which the figure sat. No fog of breath accompanied the words. “Two weeks I have starved myself, waiting for you. The thirst is powerful and I do not know how lucid I will remain. But I can quell the beast long enough to properly welcome you.” The red lips curled upward. “Hello, Samuel. Hello, Hiro. You look so very old.”
Burke stood speechless. The scattergun hung forgotten in his right hand, the left holding the torch upon the vampire. Kojima scanned the rest of the room but saw nothing else inside it. He stepped back and swept his torch across the rest of the hall, but its light was swallowed by the gloom.
“There’s no one else here but us, Hiro,” the vampire said. “The only trap I have laid is for myself.”
“Why?” Burke said, voice shaking. “What is this?”
The vampire’s hands fluttered inside their manacles. “Trussed up like a Christmas goose, laid out as an offering to the dreaded Fafnirs.” The glowing eyes bored in Burke’s. “It is what you have wanted these long decades, isn’t it? Well, long for you. Those years were gone in the blink of an eye for me. When you get to be my age, Samuel, when you can recall Carthage before she was salted into ruin, when you have trod the world’s shadowed stage for thousands of years and watched empire after empire rise and fall and wither into dust… a decade or a year is much the same thing. A century! Why just the other night Favre gave Paris to Bismarck, and I dined on German soldiers out of pique.”
“You’re insane,” Burke said. His voice was little more than a hiss.
The vampire nodded. “Time leaves its scar even upon the undead. Ten thousand nights I have hunted and I have drowned in rivers of blood. I am strong. I am fast. I am cunning. My enemies never saw me coming, and there were few indeed who could stand against me at my worst. Not your precious crew of dragon knights, at any rate. Each of them died hideously, broken in body and mind before I slaked myself upon them. Your dearest heart was among them, Samuel. That’s why I picked you.”
“Picked… me?”
“You don’t really think you saw me by chance, do you? I allowed it to happen. Satan’s breath, I made it happen. Thirty years I have waited to have another chance at you, letting you age like fine wine, but now you’re so old and dull I had to give you a nudge to even look up and see what was before you. But it worked. Here you are.” The glowing eyes shifted to Kojima. “And you brought a friend.”
“We are going to kill you,” Kojima said. His words were steady, unaffected by his uncertainty and fear. There was something he was not seeing, something dangerous and alien. His shoulders ached from holding the crossbow and he desperately wanted to pull the trigger, but this was Burke’s operation. His vengeance.
The vampire’s teeth glinted. “That is the plan, Hiro.”
Burke shuffled forward. “You want us to do it?” he said. As he advanced, the light grew brighter and revealed more of the vampire. His face, hidden by the shadows and long hair, became more visible. The glow in his eyes dimmed. He looked almost human, and now able to read the vampire’s expression better, Kojima saw both hunger and despair in the vampire’s eyes. “Why?” Burke said, taking another step and raising the shotgun.
“I told you,” the vampire said, in the tone of a teacher frustrated with an obdurate student. “I am old. Too old. My mind is beginning to fracture. Too many memories, too many nights strung together. Too much death. So much of it at my hands. I am weary of the world and my place in it. But I am of the Flesh Eternal, Samuel. My ka would not just let me walk outside on a sunny day and end it. I would instinctively burrow beneath the earth and hide and wait for darkness.
“I could not just while away here in the ancient catacombs alone. The thirst, the overpowering thirst, which even now enflames my bones and agonizes my throat, would drive me hence to sup upon some callow cowherd or publican. So I locked myself here, in chains which can hold even a vampire.” He yanked now at his manacles and made as if to spring up, but he was weakened by hunger and held fast by his bonds. He slumped, defeated.
Splutters and curses echoed behind Kojima, interrupting the rosary that, until that moment, the three boys had apparently been reciting. For a moment Kojima feared he would be accidentally shot in the back, but the three Belfast lads were too out of their depth to act. Kojima suppressed a sigh of relief, but quietly slid to the right of the doorway and out of the line of fire.
Burke stepped closer. “No,” he said.
“Excuse me? I am at your mercy, Samuel Burke. The despoiler of your fair Louis, an abomination out of myth and fable that your kind is sworn to destroy. How can you stay your hand?”
Burke ignored him. He looked back at Kojima. “Charges,” he said. “I have enough explosives to seal this tomb. Leave him buried here.” He turned back to the vampire. “Forever.”
The vampire blinked and licked his red lips. “The chains will not hold me forever, Samuel. I will dig my way free.”
“I don’t think so. I think you’re too weak even now. Haven’t had a drop in how long, you said? And you’ll only get thirstier and weaker, down here in the cold and the dark with all the other dead things. Entombed for all time.”
The vampire found his strength then, lurching upward on his feet, snarling and snapping like a hound, eyes flickering to life with eldritch light. The chains held and Burke had judged the distance right. Only flecks of spittle struck him. A grim smile spread across Burke’s face.
The snap-thunk of the crossbow echoed in the small chamber and the vampire staggered back, a foot of sharpened wood projecting from his breastbone. His face slackened and his body slumped backward against the smooth, carved wall. The glow in the vampire’s eyes faded. Burke whirled towards Kojima. He did not raise his shotgun and point it at Kojima, but his posture showed that he could with little effort.
“What did you do that for?” Burke said, his voice rising. The words bounced off the walls.
“Careful, Mr. Burke,” the elder O’Malley said. Both Kojima and Burke turned and saw a Lancer pointed dramatically at Burke. Burke lowered his shotgun further, but did not relinquish it.
Kojima nodded at O’Malley and set the crossbow on the ground. He lifted the axe from the loop on his belt and hefted it, feeling the weight. Kojima stepped past Burke and, taking the weapon in both hands, took a mighty swing. With a wet sound the vampire’s head fell to the floor. Ichor spilled from the wound, glistening blackly in the light from the torches. “You asked me here to kill a vampire,” Kojima said to Burke. He tossed the axe aside and pulled one of the incendiary grenades from his belt. He pulled the pin and dropped the grenade into the vampire’s lap.
Kojima danced back as the vampire flared up like kindling. The room filled with blinding light and the sour stench of dead flesh roasting. Black smoke curled upwards, pooling on the ceiling. Burke stood and watched with unblinking eyes, tears staining his cheeks, as the corpse burned.
Kojima paused long enough to retrieve the crossbow before departing. He did not look back.
*
Above, in the waning afternoon light, Kojima stowed the weapons in the boot of the car. Ned O’Malley approached, his boots crunching on the gravel. He held the Lancer slung over one shoulder. “Mr. Kojima,” he said, “I was wondering. How does a body join that brotherhood of yours?”
Kojima took a deep breath of fresh, clean air and smiled.