A/N Thank you all for the kind reviews, I really appreciate them! Here's
the second chapter.
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Gabriel van Helsing was in some respects a patient man, and in some ways, not. He could spend months chasing a single monster across a country, a continent, halfway across the world, even, and never be impatient for the kill. These things came in their own time. Being kept waiting in small, stuffy rooms, badly lit and containing terrible paintings, tended to wear him down, however, and he had soon left the lecture room when Carl did not arrive after a few minutes.
He wandered through Carl's laboratory, occasionally prodding things that looked interesting, hefting a crossbow here, cocking a rifle there, until one of the objects he was examining – an innocuous looking statue of the Buddha – exploded in his hand, burning his palm. He dropped it with a grunt of disgust, stuck his hands in his pockets and decided to go and wait for Carl after all.
The candle Father Michael had lit in the little office had gone out. Van Helsing had excellent night vision but even he needed some light to work with; he collected the lantern which had been left burning in the laboratory and held it high enough to illuminate the room.
What he saw filled him with alarm. Picked out by the flickering light, a small figure lay huddled at the far end of the room, beneath the painting of Christ, its face hidden in its hands.
"Carl!" Van Helsing crossed the room in two bounds and knelt beside his friend, gently pulling his hands away from his face. "Are you all right? What happened?"
Carl remained limp, his face deathly pale, his forehead awash with cold sweat...but he opened his eyes as Van Helsing leaned over him, tense with concern.
"Carl?" he was alarmed by the fear in his friend's wide blue eyes.
"Where is he?" the friar whispered, flushed with anxiety. He grasped Van Helsing's hand. "Where did he go?"
"Who? I saw no one."
"Of course you didn't," Carl muttered, with a sudden, half-hysterical gulp of laughter. His eyes darted around room, fixing here and there, and his hand trembled in Van Helsing's.
"He's gone," the smaller man said eventually, in a relieved sigh, but his face remained tense, his eyes fearful. Van Helsing watched him silently, uncertain how to respond. He had heard no sounds of a struggle in the lecture room, there was no sign of violence either in the room or on Carl's huddled, shivering form; no evidence at all of any assailant. Carl was nervous and imaginative; perhaps he had dreamed it.
"What happened, Carl?" he asked again, after a moment. "Could it have been a nightmare?"
"Yes, of course it was a nightmare," came the irritable, distracted response, "but now it's escaped from my mind and it's abroad here...in the flesh...I saw it!" he voice rose in pitch to an anguished cry, and he slumped back, looking thoroughly wretched, staring blankly at the opposite wall. Confused and helpless – and privately wondering whether Carl had sneaked out to the local public house again – Van Helsing squeezed his friend's hand comfortingly and made an attempt to help him to his feet. Only then did the friar actually look at him.
"Van Helsing...?" he murmured, his voice thick and strange, like a man emerging from a dream.
"Yes, I'm here."
Carl rubbed his head, looking confused. "How...how long have you been here?" he glanced around the room, still bewildered.
"For a few minutes," Van Helsing replied, with some relief – it was obvious now that his little friend had simply fallen asleep waiting for him, and fallen prey to some peculiar, lingering nightmare. Probably he had been eating cheese for supper again. "I think I must have frightened your monster away," he added, teasingly, "there's no one here now."
"Monster?" Carl smiled sleepily, glanced around the room again, and shrugged. "Yes, well...whatever it was, it does seem to have wandered off home, doesn't it?" Van Helsing pulled him to his feet and set the lantern on a table.
"What were you dreaming about?" he asked, curiously.
"Actually, I was going to tell you about that," Carl's smile faded; he looked worried again, shooting nervous glances around the small room; he seemed especially unnerved by the painting for some reason. But then, it was awful.
"I'm been having the same dream for several nights – or at least, dreams set in the same place," he began, in a tone which Van Helsing recognised well enough to know that this conversation was not going to be a short one. It would probably he first light before he even got to the reason he himself was here.
"It always begins in the same way," the friar continued. "I'm walking through a village, in the middle of the night. It's completely dark, and I'm heading towards a church; a rather ugly building, Gothic in design, I should think it dated from..."
"Carl, it's a little after one in the morning. Can you confine this narrative to something short of an epic?"
"If you insist," Carl replied. He grinned, though a little uneasily, and he jumped every time the lantern flickered, or some soft sound came to their ears in the quiet little room. "I make my way to the church, and always in the window I see the same figure," he went on, then paused.
"Well?" Van Helsing said impatiently. "What figure?"
Carl shivered, glancing around again as though he expected someone to be listening. "The Priest!" he whispered, eventually – then looked chagrined when Van Helsing burst into laughter.
"A priest? You've been having nightmares about a priest? Are you afraid Cardinal Jinette is going to make you take full orders, or something?"
Carl looked annoyed for a moment, then seemed to relax a little, as though he found Van Helsing's amusement comforting. He smiled weakly.
"This place is full of priests," he muttered, "it's difficult not to develop a horror of them. Hail-Marying here and Our-Fathering there – as though the rest of us had no piety...damn them." He briefly flashed the mischievous little grin Van Helsing had become fond of, then shrugged in a self-deprecating manner.
"Perhaps I am over-reacting," he said, "probably being silly. But the dream was so powerful, so...intimate...it disturbs me. I feel as though it means something."
"It probably does. Means you eat too much supper."
Carl rolled his eyes. "I do wish you'd take me seriously. I have the uncomfortable feeling that something is going to happen."
"You said a moment ago that it wasn't important," Van Helsing pointed out, a little wearily.
"Yes, but...when I came downstairs to find you just now...I could have sworn I saw someone. Something. A figure...I thought it was you. And the next thing I remember is you poking me."
"I thought you were dead."
"That was no excuse to poke me. How did you think it would help? Anyway...perhaps it was all just a dream. I haven't slept very much in the last week. I might even have been hallucinating...sleep deprivation can lead to hallucinations, I've read. I wonder if some kind of chemical in the brain is released, which, when combined with a component of certain dairy products..."
"Carl."
"Yes?"
"Stop talking."
"I do beg your pardon."
Van Helsing stretched himself, then dropped into a chair and rested his booted feet on the table. Carl tutted at him, but sat as well, looking a little sheepish now about his earlier panic.
"What did you want to see me about?" he asked, politely, steepling his fingers like a prissy schoolmaster.
"I need a weapon," Van Helsing replied, relieved to have finally reached the topic of his visit. Carl, however, looked unimpressed.
"And you woke me in the middle of the night to tell me this."
"You're usually pottering in your lab until the small hours..."
"I do not 'potter'. I 'create'," replied to friar, with a sniff. "Would you like it if I described your various un-coordinated death-defying leaps as attempts at ballroom dancing?"
"I didn't mean to offend you," lied Van Helsing, amused at his gentle friend's irate response, "and I apologise for disturbing you so late. All right?"
"Fair enough, I suppose," Carl huffed, "what's the urgency, then?"
"I need to leave for England by the first ship tomorrow morning."
"Oh, how nice! Will you be going to Oxford, because they have lots of quaint old public houses and a number of charming..."
"It's not a vacation, Carl, nor an opportunity for you to indulge your habit of collecting barmaids."
"I was going to say 'libraries', the friar replied, but his eyes sparkled with mischief. Then his face fell as he took in Van Helsing's words.
"What do you mean, my habit of collecting barmaids? Not that I have one," he added, quickly.
"You're coming with me."
"Oh, not again! I had quite enough adventure in Transylvania, thank you very much, and I've no desire to repeat the experience. I do wish you people would leave me to what I do best."
"Barmaids?" Van Helsing teased. "I need your expertise, Carl," he went on, more seriously, "and our passage on The May Queen to Dover is already arranged. I'll explain on the way."
"Oh, damn it all to hell and back, twice!" Carl swore, unhappily.
"You're getting better at it," he friend remarked, with a rare grin.
"At what?" the friar sulked.
"Cursing."
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A/N Heh-heh. Carl's going to have plenty to curse about. Sorry there was no action in this chapter, hope it wasn't too boring. I was trying to build up plot, develop character interactions, etc. but forgive me if it became an indulgence for my verbosity. Oh, and excuse my self-indulgence in writing about Oxford but they do say,' write what you know' – and the only alternative is Wolverhampton. And the pubs aren't as good there – neither are the barmaids for that matter. Er...comments?!
Gabriel van Helsing was in some respects a patient man, and in some ways, not. He could spend months chasing a single monster across a country, a continent, halfway across the world, even, and never be impatient for the kill. These things came in their own time. Being kept waiting in small, stuffy rooms, badly lit and containing terrible paintings, tended to wear him down, however, and he had soon left the lecture room when Carl did not arrive after a few minutes.
He wandered through Carl's laboratory, occasionally prodding things that looked interesting, hefting a crossbow here, cocking a rifle there, until one of the objects he was examining – an innocuous looking statue of the Buddha – exploded in his hand, burning his palm. He dropped it with a grunt of disgust, stuck his hands in his pockets and decided to go and wait for Carl after all.
The candle Father Michael had lit in the little office had gone out. Van Helsing had excellent night vision but even he needed some light to work with; he collected the lantern which had been left burning in the laboratory and held it high enough to illuminate the room.
What he saw filled him with alarm. Picked out by the flickering light, a small figure lay huddled at the far end of the room, beneath the painting of Christ, its face hidden in its hands.
"Carl!" Van Helsing crossed the room in two bounds and knelt beside his friend, gently pulling his hands away from his face. "Are you all right? What happened?"
Carl remained limp, his face deathly pale, his forehead awash with cold sweat...but he opened his eyes as Van Helsing leaned over him, tense with concern.
"Carl?" he was alarmed by the fear in his friend's wide blue eyes.
"Where is he?" the friar whispered, flushed with anxiety. He grasped Van Helsing's hand. "Where did he go?"
"Who? I saw no one."
"Of course you didn't," Carl muttered, with a sudden, half-hysterical gulp of laughter. His eyes darted around room, fixing here and there, and his hand trembled in Van Helsing's.
"He's gone," the smaller man said eventually, in a relieved sigh, but his face remained tense, his eyes fearful. Van Helsing watched him silently, uncertain how to respond. He had heard no sounds of a struggle in the lecture room, there was no sign of violence either in the room or on Carl's huddled, shivering form; no evidence at all of any assailant. Carl was nervous and imaginative; perhaps he had dreamed it.
"What happened, Carl?" he asked again, after a moment. "Could it have been a nightmare?"
"Yes, of course it was a nightmare," came the irritable, distracted response, "but now it's escaped from my mind and it's abroad here...in the flesh...I saw it!" he voice rose in pitch to an anguished cry, and he slumped back, looking thoroughly wretched, staring blankly at the opposite wall. Confused and helpless – and privately wondering whether Carl had sneaked out to the local public house again – Van Helsing squeezed his friend's hand comfortingly and made an attempt to help him to his feet. Only then did the friar actually look at him.
"Van Helsing...?" he murmured, his voice thick and strange, like a man emerging from a dream.
"Yes, I'm here."
Carl rubbed his head, looking confused. "How...how long have you been here?" he glanced around the room, still bewildered.
"For a few minutes," Van Helsing replied, with some relief – it was obvious now that his little friend had simply fallen asleep waiting for him, and fallen prey to some peculiar, lingering nightmare. Probably he had been eating cheese for supper again. "I think I must have frightened your monster away," he added, teasingly, "there's no one here now."
"Monster?" Carl smiled sleepily, glanced around the room again, and shrugged. "Yes, well...whatever it was, it does seem to have wandered off home, doesn't it?" Van Helsing pulled him to his feet and set the lantern on a table.
"What were you dreaming about?" he asked, curiously.
"Actually, I was going to tell you about that," Carl's smile faded; he looked worried again, shooting nervous glances around the small room; he seemed especially unnerved by the painting for some reason. But then, it was awful.
"I'm been having the same dream for several nights – or at least, dreams set in the same place," he began, in a tone which Van Helsing recognised well enough to know that this conversation was not going to be a short one. It would probably he first light before he even got to the reason he himself was here.
"It always begins in the same way," the friar continued. "I'm walking through a village, in the middle of the night. It's completely dark, and I'm heading towards a church; a rather ugly building, Gothic in design, I should think it dated from..."
"Carl, it's a little after one in the morning. Can you confine this narrative to something short of an epic?"
"If you insist," Carl replied. He grinned, though a little uneasily, and he jumped every time the lantern flickered, or some soft sound came to their ears in the quiet little room. "I make my way to the church, and always in the window I see the same figure," he went on, then paused.
"Well?" Van Helsing said impatiently. "What figure?"
Carl shivered, glancing around again as though he expected someone to be listening. "The Priest!" he whispered, eventually – then looked chagrined when Van Helsing burst into laughter.
"A priest? You've been having nightmares about a priest? Are you afraid Cardinal Jinette is going to make you take full orders, or something?"
Carl looked annoyed for a moment, then seemed to relax a little, as though he found Van Helsing's amusement comforting. He smiled weakly.
"This place is full of priests," he muttered, "it's difficult not to develop a horror of them. Hail-Marying here and Our-Fathering there – as though the rest of us had no piety...damn them." He briefly flashed the mischievous little grin Van Helsing had become fond of, then shrugged in a self-deprecating manner.
"Perhaps I am over-reacting," he said, "probably being silly. But the dream was so powerful, so...intimate...it disturbs me. I feel as though it means something."
"It probably does. Means you eat too much supper."
Carl rolled his eyes. "I do wish you'd take me seriously. I have the uncomfortable feeling that something is going to happen."
"You said a moment ago that it wasn't important," Van Helsing pointed out, a little wearily.
"Yes, but...when I came downstairs to find you just now...I could have sworn I saw someone. Something. A figure...I thought it was you. And the next thing I remember is you poking me."
"I thought you were dead."
"That was no excuse to poke me. How did you think it would help? Anyway...perhaps it was all just a dream. I haven't slept very much in the last week. I might even have been hallucinating...sleep deprivation can lead to hallucinations, I've read. I wonder if some kind of chemical in the brain is released, which, when combined with a component of certain dairy products..."
"Carl."
"Yes?"
"Stop talking."
"I do beg your pardon."
Van Helsing stretched himself, then dropped into a chair and rested his booted feet on the table. Carl tutted at him, but sat as well, looking a little sheepish now about his earlier panic.
"What did you want to see me about?" he asked, politely, steepling his fingers like a prissy schoolmaster.
"I need a weapon," Van Helsing replied, relieved to have finally reached the topic of his visit. Carl, however, looked unimpressed.
"And you woke me in the middle of the night to tell me this."
"You're usually pottering in your lab until the small hours..."
"I do not 'potter'. I 'create'," replied to friar, with a sniff. "Would you like it if I described your various un-coordinated death-defying leaps as attempts at ballroom dancing?"
"I didn't mean to offend you," lied Van Helsing, amused at his gentle friend's irate response, "and I apologise for disturbing you so late. All right?"
"Fair enough, I suppose," Carl huffed, "what's the urgency, then?"
"I need to leave for England by the first ship tomorrow morning."
"Oh, how nice! Will you be going to Oxford, because they have lots of quaint old public houses and a number of charming..."
"It's not a vacation, Carl, nor an opportunity for you to indulge your habit of collecting barmaids."
"I was going to say 'libraries', the friar replied, but his eyes sparkled with mischief. Then his face fell as he took in Van Helsing's words.
"What do you mean, my habit of collecting barmaids? Not that I have one," he added, quickly.
"You're coming with me."
"Oh, not again! I had quite enough adventure in Transylvania, thank you very much, and I've no desire to repeat the experience. I do wish you people would leave me to what I do best."
"Barmaids?" Van Helsing teased. "I need your expertise, Carl," he went on, more seriously, "and our passage on The May Queen to Dover is already arranged. I'll explain on the way."
"Oh, damn it all to hell and back, twice!" Carl swore, unhappily.
"You're getting better at it," he friend remarked, with a rare grin.
"At what?" the friar sulked.
"Cursing."
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A/N Heh-heh. Carl's going to have plenty to curse about. Sorry there was no action in this chapter, hope it wasn't too boring. I was trying to build up plot, develop character interactions, etc. but forgive me if it became an indulgence for my verbosity. Oh, and excuse my self-indulgence in writing about Oxford but they do say,' write what you know' – and the only alternative is Wolverhampton. And the pubs aren't as good there – neither are the barmaids for that matter. Er...comments?!