Я не буду твоей куклой

Глава 3

The coachman, seated in his seat, wore a distinctive uniform, including a short black cloak and a black hat or helmet resembling a carnivorous bird, with a high collar beneath the hat. Only part of his pale face was visible.

After the coachman stopped the carriage beside Hack, he leaned down and said to him in German, "My master, the Count, has instructed me to take good care of you, sir!"

Then, to his utter astonishment, Huck found himself being grabbed by the hands and shoulders, lifted up, and placed into the half-open carriage. He sat there dumbfounded, watching the agile and clearly strong coachman carry his heavy luggage into the carriage.

Haq settled comfortably in the carriage, and the driver quickly draped a thick robe over him. A bottle that smelled like local plum wine was placed in his hand. Then, with a crack of the whip, his final journey began.

Around the advancing carriage, the hungry and mournful howls of wolves continued to echo from the darkness, as if the pack were following closely behind... Huck barely touched the bottle of wine.

The next two hours seemed to pass more quickly than before—but the coachman cracked his whip far less often—and by the end, Huck felt as if even the wolves were being left far behind. The road was narrower and more rugged than the one Beatrice had taken after boarding, winding its way through the mountains, sometimes circling cliff edges, sometimes plunging straight down through pine forests. All around remained completely dark, without a single farmhouse or ghusle to be seen.

Then, without warning, the building that Huck knew was his destination came into view, perilously close to the promontory. It was a huge, dilapidated castle, its tall, black windows utterly devoid of light, its jagged battlements silhouetted against the moonlit night sky.

A moment later, the carriage passed through a rock tunnel and emerged into the open courtyard of the ancient castle.

Shortly after entering the courtyard, Huck stood with his luggage at the foot of an old stone staircase. Above the staircase was a huge door with an arched dragon carved into the lintel.

As soon as Huck's suitcase was placed on the cobblestones, the carriage departed; the coachman, dressed in mysterious attire, swiftly cracked his whip across the backs of the two still eager horses. Huck found himself alone again, a feeling of bewilderment he had often experienced since leaving Paris.

Several minutes passed in silence. The courtyard, gleaming silver in the moonlight, appeared quite vast, from which several dark passageways extended, each with an arched dragon at its entrance. The door Huck now faced had neither a doorbell nor a knocker, and he felt his voice could not possibly penetrate the somber walls or the darkened windows.

The visitor's seemingly endless wait filled him with doubt and fear. He wondered, what kind of adventure was this? Was it customary for a solicitor's clerk to be sent abroad like this to explain a contract for the purchase of London property to a foreigner?

Harker quickly corrected himself. How could he still be called a solicitor's employee! Mina wouldn't like him so unconsciously relinquishing his former lowly position. Now he was a lawyer, and soon a partner in the firm—if all went well and this case was successfully closed—

Huck turned his head around because a sound like a small stone rolling down some of the castle ruins reached his ears. Immediately following the sound was a rustling sound, which led Huck to conclude that the stone must have been loosened and dropped by a scurrying mouse.

He's had enough.

He finally managed to pick up his luggage, straighten his chest, and step onto the bottom step. First, he heard the clanging of chains being pulled, followed by the clanging of the door latch being pulled off. The door above the steps suddenly opened, revealing a figure—just a dark silhouette against the faint light inside.

Then the person standing at the door raised his right hand. The ancient silver oil lamp, without the protection of a lampshade, had its flame flickering from side to side in the breeze blowing through the doorway.

The man was draped in a crimson robe from neck to toe. His disheveled white hair was combed back, revealing a full forehead and a stubble-shaven, yet extremely pale old face. His face and head were devoid of color—only his eyes were a cold, indigo blue.

“Welcome to the house!” the old man’s voice called out. His English was fluent, though Huck found his accent a little odd. “Come freely, leave safely, and leave behind some joy!”

Huck breathed a sigh of relief and put the heavy leather trunk back down on the steps. "Dracula...the Count?"

The man's pale, wrinkled face couldn't hide his agility; he immediately stepped down the stone steps to greet the newly arrived guest, bowed solemnly to Huck, and effortlessly lifted the heavy leather suitcase.

"I am Dracula, Mr. Huck. Welcome to the mansion. Please come in. The air is cold at night, and you should eat something and get some rest."

Huck climbed the steps. Then, he took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold.

Chapter Three

Upon entering Dracula's house, Huck attempted to regain custody of his luggage.

But his incredibly strong master refused. "No, sir! You are my guest. It's very late, so none of my men are here. Let me settle you in myself."

After the count locked and bolted the castle's front gate, he easily carried Huck's suitcase in one hand and still held the old oil lamp in the other, leading Huck up a winding stone staircase.

As Hark ascended the steps, he looked around with curiosity and appreciation. The interior of the castle, at least this part, seemed far more solid than its ruined exterior. The flickering lamp in Count Dracula's hand cast strange shadows on the strange statues, on the walls, ceilings, faded embroidered curtains, and ancient paintings, and also caused the medieval armor and sharp weapons to reflect light and shadow.

Huck again thought that the servants were clearly resting, and therefore he should shoulder the burden of his luggage, but his master's demeanor silently discouraged him. Count Dracula, though old, climbed the stone steps with light and tireless steps, leaving young Huck behind, struggling to catch up, panting.

At this moment, the white-haired old man didn't stop for a moment. He turned around and said cheerfully, "Come, tell me about the London property you bought for me!"

Huck secretly rejoiced that he had had the opportunity to think everything through earlier, and reported as he tried to catch his breath as he did so.

“Well, sir, I believe the biggest investment is the Caffè Estate. The name is undoubtedly a derivative of the French word for ‘four-sided,’ because the manor has four sides and is built according to the four points of a compass.”

His master turned to look, and Huck paused to catch his breath. Then he continued, “The property is about twenty acres, surrounded by a sturdy stone wall. There are many trees planted on the ground, making some parts a bit shady, and there is also a pond that looks deep and dark.”

"The mansion itself is quite spacious. I would say the oldest room was built in the Middle Ages because there is a very thick stone wall in one part. It hasn't been renovated for many years."

Count Dracula, patiently waiting for him, nodded thoughtfully. They climbed upwards again, passing seemingly perfect ancient Greek and Roman statues.

“I’m glad this house is old.” Finally, the count said, “I come from an ancient family. I would die if I were to live in a new house.”

When Huck finally reached his room, he breathed a sigh of relief. The room was brightly lit, and dinner was laid out on the table—single-serving tableware, including gold plates and cups, and several covered dishes; Huck quickly estimated that this antique tableware must be worth a considerable sum. In the large fireplace, a roaring fire, freshly added, flickered and chased away the chill of the Carpathian night. Like the rest of the room Huck had seen, the walls were covered with weapons.

The count closed the door to the hallway; then he walked through the room and opened another door to the bedroom. The bedroom was also bright and warm, thanks to a small fireplace with a fire burning.

The count put Huck's luggage in the bedroom and then prepared to leave, saying, "You've been traveling for so long, you must need to freshen up. Once you're ready, go to another room where you'll find the dinner that was prepared for you."

The light and warmth of the rooms, along with the host's polite welcome, had long since dispelled Huck's fear. Realizing he was half-starved, he quickly followed his host's advice.

When he returned to the living room, he found the Count leaning against the stone wall. Dracula gracefully gestured to the dining table.

He said to his guests, “Please sit down and enjoy your meal. I trust you will understand that I am not dining with you, as I have already eaten dinner.”

As the count spoke, he stepped forward and personally lifted the lid of a dish, revealing a delicious roast chicken. Huck quickly noticed cheese, salad, and a bottle of very old Taucai wine on the table.

Huck's appetite was immediately whetted. He ate and drank—limiting himself to two glasses of wine—while chatting with the Count about the unusual things he had seen on his journey. Dracula remained standing by the fireplace, looking quite at ease. He listened with interest to Huck's account, occasionally offering explanations for events or customs that puzzled Huck.

As soon as Huck finished his dinner, he got up and took a cigar offered to him by his master, and lit it with a small piece of wood from the fireplace.

A slight sound outside the window made Huck turn his head and notice that the sky was beginning to lighten. Huck felt that at this moment, everything was enveloped in a strange stillness; but as he listened, he heard once again the howling of many wolves, seemingly coming from the valley below the castle.

Upon hearing the sound, Dracula's eyes lit up. He said calmly, "Listen to them—children of the night, what a beautiful melody!"

Although Huck tried his best to be polite, he felt very sleepy and only murmured a few words.

The Earl smiled knowingly at him. “We are in Trinity, and Trinity is not England. Our ways are different from yours, so you will see many strange things. My ancestors fought against the Saxons and Turks on this land for centuries. There is hardly an inch of this region that has not been stained with the blood of patriots and invaders!”

He paused for a moment, then said in a more composed voice, "You can go to any place in this castle, except for the locked rooms, which you certainly wouldn't want to go to anyway."

“I believe it, sir…” Huck paused, his curiosity piqued, and blinked to shake off his sleepiness. “Count Dracula, the face on that embroidered curtain behind you… is it your ancestor? I think it looks remarkably like you…?”

“Ha, yes.” The old lord turned his head and examined the human figure on the embroidered curtain with satisfaction. “The Dragon Knights, an ancient organization, my ancestors swore to protect the church from all enemies.”

He then turned to Hack, flashing his white teeth. "Alas... the relationship between the Knights and the Church has not been entirely successful..."

Hark winked at him, unsure of the meaning behind his use of the word "success" and his slightly wicked smile. "I believe the members of the Knights are all good believers, even you—"

"We are the Dracula family!" the Count roared, his eyes seemingly turning red. In the next instant, he grabbed a weapon from the wall—a Turkish scimitar.

He brandished his sword with his right hand. "We, the Dracula family, have the right to be proud! We are the ruling family! What demon could be greater than Attila? And Attila's blood flows in our veins!"

He brandished his scimitar in the air, causing Huck to flinch nervously, even forgetting his cigar. Dracula then pointed with the tip of his scimitar, emphasizing the proud face of the warrior on the embroidered curtain. "His glory is my glory!"

His sudden burst of intense energy quickly dissipated. Dracula's shoulders slumped. He wearily reached out and slung his scimitar back into its hilt on the wall.

He gazed into the distance and said in a much gentler voice, “These days, blood is too precious. The glory of our great family has become a legend.”

He turned slowly and weakly toward Huck, utterly helpless. He added, "I'm the last one."

Hark bowed, still stiff from the shock. At least he no longer had to struggle to stay conscious. "Count, my ignorance offended you, please forgive me."

Dracula bowed and accepted his apology. "It is I who should ask for forgiveness, my friend. I have not had... a guest for a long time. Years of mourning for the dead have also weakened me."

However, a strong energy slowly returned to his appearance, and a smile appeared on his face again.

"Your employer, Mr. Hawking, praised your talent repeatedly in his letter. Come, tell me more about the mansion you bought for me!"

Half an hour later, the meeting between the buyer and the agent moved to another brightly lit room. Here, they laid out various documents, including the transfer certificate and legal statements, on a large table. On the wall next to the table hung a large map of London and the surrounding area. Huck had just pinned several photographs to this map, showing the mansions Dracula had just purchased through his lawyers, and marked ten locations on the map with red circles.

Dracula, with an old quill pen and a bottle of ink, had just finished signing the last document that required his signature.

As he signed, he said, "I've always wanted to visit London, to immerse myself in its cultural vortex and trends, to share in its life, its changes—its deaths—"

After saying the word "death," he pushed the signed contract to Hack, asking Hack to fold it and stamp it with a hot wax seal.

"Alright. Earl, you are now the owner of the Kafi Manor in Puffre."

Huck moved to the map on the wall, pointing to one of the photos he had just pinned up. The photo showed an old stone house.

Dracula nodded.

Hack turned the round table. On the table were many unstitched photographs, mixed in with other documents.

“I’ve also brought some photos of other mansions—Sir, please forgive my curiosity, but as your solicitor in London, I know it might be helpful—why buy these ten houses scattered around London? Is it some kind of investment strategy to increase the market value of these properties? Or—?”

Meanwhile, Dejira had moved closer to the table, her gaze shifting from the map to the table, and she froze for a moment, unsure if she saw the thorn.

His hand twitched convulsively—clearly an involuntary reaction of extreme shock—and touched the ink bottle, causing the solidified reddish-brown ink to spill out and flow across the table.

The count, with his long fingernails and hairy palms, used the ink to rescue a photograph even faster, and held it high.

Hark stared at his face, shocked again—for a split second, he felt as if he were looking at a corpse. Dracula was completely absorbed in the photograph in his hand.

The count's lips moved, uttering a whisper, the tone slightly different.

“The luckiest person in the world is the one who has found—true love.” He finally raised his blue eyes and looked at Hack.

Confused by all this, Huck stared at the photograph in the count's hand in bewilderment, then quickly searched his inner pockets.

“Ah—I think you’ve found her—Mina. I thought she was lost; it seems her photo must have been mixed in with the others—we’re getting married as soon as I get back to England.”

As he spoke his last words, Huck suddenly turned to look at the open doorway, which led to a dark corridor. Huck thought he could hear the rustling of women's clothes and the faint sound of women's laughter.

However, the sound might just be an illusion, a mischievous gust of wind, or the squeaking and scurrying of mice within the ancient walls. Dracula showed no sign that he knew anyone else was present. He carefully found a clean spot on the table and placed Mina's photograph there.

To start a conversation, Hark asked, "Sir, are you married?"

The count, still staring at Mina's photograph, answered the question very slowly.

“I was married…it seems like a long time ago. Sadly, she died.”

I'm so sorry.

“But perhaps she was lucky. My life was… miserable.” He carefully picked up Mina’s photo again and handed it to Hack. “She would undoubtedly have been a devoted wife.”

Huck muttered awkwardly and tucked the photo away in the bottom of the inside pocket of his coat.

Dracula rubbed his hands together, then suddenly became businesslike again. "Now, my dear friend, you'd better write a few letters. Your friends will undoubtedly be happy to know you are safe and sound, and will long to return home and reunite with them."

"My lord?"

"Why not write now, at least two letters. One to your future partner, Mr. Hawking, and another to... anyone you love. Tell them you'll probably be here with me for about a month."

Huck was quite surprised, but he suppressed his disappointment. He asked timidly, "Do you expect me to stay this long?"

“I hope so.” Those strange blue eyes turned cold. “No, I won’t accept your refusal. I need you to tell me a lot—about London. About England and its people.”

He noticed Huck's reluctance and insisted, "When your master, your employer—let's call him Mr. Hawking—promised to send someone here on his behalf, our understanding was that my needs must be met. I'm not stingy, am I?"

The sharp-fingered hand pushed several sheets of paper and envelopes on the table forward. Huck noticed that the papers were very thin, and whatever he wrote could be easily read even after being put into the envelope.

However, he felt that he had no other choice under the current circumstances, so he could only nod and accept it.

Dracula smiled, once again displaying his charming demeanor. "But you must be very tired. I, as the host, have been so negligent; your bedroom is all ready. You can sleep in as late as you like tomorrow. I have to go out and won't be back until the afternoon; sleep well and have sweet dreams!"

So Huck retreated to his room and wrote in his notebook that he felt "as if I were in a dream. I was doubtful, I was afraid I was thinking strange things I didn't even dare to admit myself. God help me, even if it's just for my loved ones!"