Ill Met By Moonlight
Author's noteThe ruins of a Temple of Mithras dating from 240 AD were discovered in 1952 under the streets of London. It is still waiting to go to its new home, which is currently being built.
Chapter 7 - The Theatre
Before Poirot and Hastings set off for the theatre, Poirot pulled Hastings to one side.
'It will be very dangerous tonight, Hastings. Are you sure that you wish to accompany me?'
'Of course,' retorted Hastings indignantly. "I may have my faults but being a coward is not one of them.'
'No one would ever accuse you of being a coward, Hastings but it occurs to me that this is my mission, not yours.' The little man was very much in earnest.
'What sort of friend would I be if I left you to face these creatures alone?' Hastings asked. 'No, I'm coming with you, try and stop me!'
When they arrived at the theatre at five o'clock, they were met at the stage door by a little, wizened man in a shabby overcoat and hat.
'Evening, gents,' he said, tipping his hat. 'Miss Lemon said I would find you here.'
'I am very glad to see you so punctual, Percy,' responded Poirot. 'You have the item for me?'
'Indeed, I do,' Percy replied. 'And it's just as you ordered. Do you want to see it?' He started to delve inside a hemp bag he was carrying.
'No, no, not here!' cried Poirot. 'Come inside with us and show me there.'
Percy followed them through the stage door and Poirot stopped inside, a few yards from the door.
'But where are my manners? Captain Hastings, this is Percy Bloomstock, one of the best ex-forgers in the business.' Poirot's tone was admiring; he always respected excellence.
'You're too kind,' said Percy, blushing.
'And this, Percy, is Captain Hastings.'
'Pleased to make your acquaintance,' said Hastings although he was not sure that he was.
Percy rummaged inside his bag and pulled out a brown paper package. He proceeded to remove the paper and a gold goblet with a large red stone was revealed. The goblet, ravaged by time, would not have looked out of place displayed in a cabinet in the British Museum. There was a faded Latin inscription just visible along the rim.
'Excellent, Percy!' exclaimed Poirot. 'That is just what I wanted. I trust Miss Lemon has paid you?'
Percy beamed. 'She paid in advance, which I always appreciate. A pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Poirot, as ever.' He neatly folded the paper around the goblet and gave it to Poirot, tipped his hat again and exited via the stage door.
A few moments later, a tall, thin, grey haired woman with a weather beaten complexion, dressed in tweeds, came through the stage door, carrying a long canvas bag over her shoulder.
She hailed Poirot, 'Mr Poirot!'
'Lady Maud,' replied Poirot, bowing slightly. Once again he made introductions. 'Captain Arthur Hastings, Lady Maud Hattersley. Lady Maud, Captain Hastings.' They shook hands.
Hastings was intensely curious as to what brought Lady Maud to meet them there but was far too polite to ask. He wondered at Poirot bringing a woman to this dangerous situation. Poirot, read Hastings' mind, as he frequently did.
'Lady Maud has specialist skills that will be of great assistance to us,' he explained.
'Where do you want me to set up?' Lady Maud enquired.
'I think the Dress Circle would be best. Allow me to show you the way.'
They followed Poirot along the long, narrow corridors and up the winding, richly carpeted stairs leading to the dress circle.
Poirot led Lady Maud to the front row of the Dress Circle.
'Will these be suitable?' he asked.
'I think so. Let me fire a couple of practice shots to be sure.'
Lady Maud shrugged the canvas bag off her shoulder, opened it and drew out a large bow and a quiver of arrows.
'Lady Maud is an Olympic archery champion,' Poirot told Hastings.
'Yes, this won't present any problems,' she told Poirot.
The safety curtain was then hauled up. Several huge wicker baskets lay on the stage. Suddenly spotlights lit up the baskets and an unseen voice called out "Is this ok, guv?'
'Perfectement!' Poirot called down. 'Please leave immediately, now!' he commanded.
After the men had left, Lady Maud aimed and fired. An arrow sang as it flew through the air and landed, quivering in the lid of one of the wicker baskets. A second one soon followed. Lady Maud grunted with satisfaction.
'Now, I think that our little trap has been set and we now need to go to our posts,' Poirot instructed. Lady Maud, you are in the best position for your task?'
'Yes, Poirot.'
"Excellent. Then Hastings and I must go to provide the bait. Come with me, Hastings.'
They made their way to the stage. Poirot opened one of the wicker baskets before taking the goblet out of its coverings and dropping it in. He began to pull other objects out of the basket.
'You will oblige me Hastings if you will do likewise to another of the baskets.'
'What are we looking for?' asked Hastings.
'We are looking for something that looks ancient, an object that has been disguised as something else.'
They removed objects, examined them and then put them to one side. This continued for some time. Hastings found it interesting to begin with but it soon grew tedious. Poirot's remark about providing the bait also began to prey on his mind. He started to strain his ears for any noises backstage. Could he hear some faint noises?
Suddenly Poirot made an exclamation and plucked the goblet out of his basket.
'Regard, Hastings!' he said loudly. 'I believe that we have found the Jewel of Mithras!' He held it aloft. The red jewel sparkled in the light as he turned it around.
Suddenly, three figures emerged from the shadows. Spike was holding a struggling young man and Drusilla was close beside him, smiling. At the same time, there was a 'phfwt!' the sound of an arrow flying through the air. Spike instantly thrust the young man in front of Drusilla. An arrow struck the young man in the chest. A horrifying scream echoed around the theatre. Drusilla staggered back from him; the tip of the arrow had gone right through him to graze her chest but she was still alive. The young man staggered to the side of the stage and collapsed. Spike moved lightning fast and pulling Hastings to his feet, held him by his throat in front of him, a human shield. Spike then quickly stepped in front of Drusilla to protect her too. He transformed into the monster.
'Any more tricks and he gets it, understand?' he shouted.
'Hold your fire!' yelled Poirot.
Hastings was finding it difficult to breathe but was not struggling against the vampire.
'Let's see if we can do a deal,' said Spike. 'Let's trade, the goblet for your friend. Hand it over.'
'What do you want it for?' asked Poirot.
The vampire sneered. 'Not to bring about world peace, that's for sure. Now, are you going to hand over the goblet or am I going to have to kill your friend? Your choice.'
'Don't give it to him, Poirot,' Hastings croaked, completely forgetting that this was not the real Jewel of Mithras.
The vampire tightened his hold on his throat, causing Hastings to start to black out.
'Keep quiet,' he ordered. He turned to Drusilla, 'How about dealing with that nuisance in the circle, precious?' he suggested.
Drusilla's face transformed from a sweet young girl to the monster with yellow eyes.
'For me? All for me?' she asked breathlessly and springing from the stage to the pit below, she sped away, quick as a flash, up the aisle.
'Run, Lady Maud!' shouted Poirot.
He turned to Spike and held out the goblet. 'Here, take your prize but spare my friend.'
Spike manoeuvred Hastings towards Poirot and snatched the goblet with his spare hand.
'Thanks,' he said, sinking his fangs into Hastings's neck. Blood splattered onto the floor, pooling into the bottom of the goblet. As Poirot watched in despair, Spike spat out a bloody mouthful and let go of Hastings who crashed to the floor, behind him, onto a pile of discarded props.
'Did I mention that I was a bad sport?' he asked. 'Oh, naughty me.'
Spike stood there laughing at Poirot, enjoying the moment, and savouring it. Poirot knew that he had every intention of killing him and, plunging his hand into his coat pocket, pulled out a glass vial of holy water, twisted the cap and launched the contents at Spike like a grenade who dodged rapidly back and caught only a couple of drops. However, while doing that, he flung out his hand at a lazy angle and some drops of blood escaped the goblet and splashed onto Hastings and the props.
'Missed me!' Spike taunted behind a large damp patch on the stage as steam rose from the newly acquired holes on his jacket.
Suddenly Poirot noticed a peculiar thing. There was a glow coming from the heap of theatre props on which Hastings was lying. It grew stronger and stronger and then spread out and coalesced to form the ethereal shape of a young man, naked apart from a thong, a cloak and a cap. The young man was crouching. He reached to pick up a battered looking sword from under Hastings, who groaned as he did so. Poirot knew he needed to keep Spike distracted.
'Be so good as to satisfy my curiosity as to what the Jewel of Mithras is before you kill me, please?' he requested the vampire.
Spike laughed again. 'Nosey little swine, aren't you? Well, for your information, Mr Penguin, this little cup is the key to world domination. No more skulking in the shadows for vampires. This will put us permanently at the top of the food chain, right where we belong.'
'What a terrible idea,' Poirot dared.
He could see the young man circling behind Spike. Just then a scream rang out in the auditorium.
Spike chuckled. 'That's my girl. Good old Dru. She comes across as a bit ditsy but she's one of the most bloodthirsty vampires you'll ever come across. You'd never think to look at her that she was a convent schoolgirl, now would you? And she was so afraid of vampires before she was sired.'
Poirot felt a twinge of pity for the young girl that Drusilla had been.
The young man now stood behind Spike with the sword raised and squared his eyes on the two men.
'Who has woken Mithras by spilling warrior's blood on my sword, the Jewel of Mithras? Who profanes this sacred site of Mithras? Who has shed the blood of my warrior?'
Poirot pointed at Spike. 'He has,' he said simply.
Spike spun and by a feat of athleticism that Poirot had only ever seen equalled by a limbo dancer, swayed back to avoid the flashing blade. He then sprang away. Mithras strode towards him. Spike suddenly darted to one of the half full wicker baskets and pushed it hard at Mithras. It careered towards him and Mithras leapt out of the way before the basket carried on and fell off the edge of the stage with a great crash into the orchestra pit below. Mithras continued to advance and Spike looked round wildly for a weapon. Then he ran to the other basket and pulled out a wooden staff. He swung it hard at Mithras' head. Mithras jumped back and then back again as Spike swiftly reversed the direction of the staff. Then, just as quick as Spike, Mithras' sword sliced the staff in half. Spike, looked at the remaining half in his hand and then hurled it at Mithras. It hit him hard and he flinched but then, amazingly, recovered very quickly. Before a startled 'Bloody hell!' could escape Spike's lips, the steel of the blade sliced into his neck and severed his head in one smooth, swift movement,
The head toppled to the floor closely followed by Spike's body. The goblet crashed down from Spike's hands and clanged to the floor, rolling across the stage. Another scream rang out in the auditorium and Drusilla sprang from the Circle to the floor below. She ran up the aisle and flew onto the stage where she collapsed down and cradled Spike's head in her lap.
'Spiky!' she murmured. 'Oh, my sweet Spike, my wonderful William the Bloody, what have they done to you? How can I live without you, my fierce lover? Who will protect me now from the demons in my mind? Who will chase the whisperers away?' She looked up. There was a patch of bloody blisters by her mouth, on her face and a streak of blood across her chest. She momentarily transformed into a young girl before turning back to the monster. Just after that, the head and body of Spike exploded in a cloud of dust, which covered Drusilla.
'Another creature of the night!' exclaimed Mithras.
He strode over to her, sword readied. Although she could have fled and could have clawed her way into the darkness, Drusilla did not move.
'No more whispers in the darkness,' she murmured.
He swung his sword. Drusilla's head fell to the floor with a thud and Poirot turned his head away for an instant. When he looked back, Drusilla was just a cloud of dust motes floating to the floor.
Mithras turned on his heel and approached Hastings, who was now lying in a pool of blood. He bent down and eased him onto his lap. Hastings moaned.
'Quiet, my brave warrior.' He kissed Hastings on the forehead and placed his hand over his bloody neck, partially hiding Spike's vicious assault. To Poirot's amazement, the wound grew smaller and smaller until it vanished. Then the pool of blood underneath Hastings also disappeared. Hastings opened his eyes and looked up into the face of Mithras.
'Until we meet again,' said Mithras. He laid Hastings back down and looked at Poirot.
'The Jewel of Mithras I take back with me to await a time when mankind has honour and valour enough to bear it.' Holding the sword tight in his grip, Mithras vanished.
Poirot rushed over to Hastings and felt for his pulse. It was beating strongly.
'I say, old chap,' came Hastings' voice, 'would you mind helping me up? I don't feel quite at my best.'
Poirot extended his hand to Hastings and helped him up. He could feel tears trickling down his face, which he mopped up with his pristine white handkerchief.
'Steady on, Poirot,' urged Hastings, surprised.
Glancing away, Poirot remembered the young man who had taken the arrow to his chest, and rushed to his side. He lay there motionless. Poirot examined him but was sorry to find no signs of life.
'How is he, Poirot?' Hastings asked behind him.
'I am afraid, mon ami, that he is dead.'
'Damn shame. Any idea who he was?'
'I suspect that he was the young assistant stage manager that Mrs Bradbury spoke of. I fear that Irene has more suffering to bear.'
A strong female voice boomed from behind the two men.
'Well, Poirot, what have I missed?'
Poirot's head whipped round. Lady Maud was standing at the front of the stalls, looking rather dishevelled.
'Lady Maud, you are alive! I am overjoyed!' he exclaimed.
'I don't mind telling you, I thought that filly was going to get the better of me but thanks to you, I had my trusty old family bible with me and a large cross around my neck. When she bent to bite me, her mouth came in contact with the cross and she screamed something out about her mouth burning and staggered back. I used the opportunity to give her a good battering with the bible and make my escape.' She brandished the Bible, a large one with metal shoulders and a heavy silver clasp.
'I say, what's happened to Captain Hastings? There's bloodstains on his collar and shirt!'
Hastings looked down. 'So there is, Lady Maud. I'm not actually sure. Poirot?'
Poirot looked at the two heaps of grey dust lying on the stage; all that remained of Spike and Drusilla.
'It is a most fantastic story,' he replied carefully, 'and perhaps, best told outside the theatre. Let us go back to my flat for some refreshments after this most trying night and I will tell you all.'
THE END (or is it?)
If Spike and Drusilla die in the 1930's, then how can they be around in the1990's? Good question. Perhaps a certain doctor in a blue box might be able to answer it…
