Chapter Two
The next morning, before the sun had risen, Carl was awake. He crept down the back stairs of the abbey, absentmindedly picking at a loose thread on his worn, hand-me-down habit. He rubbed his face wearily; he had not slept most of the night, ever pondering the impending mission. He sighed. Van Helsing could tell him as much or as little as he liked, but his tenacity could not be swayed by any amount of questioning. He came to the end of the stairs, and the long corridor of the abbey wing was still in darkness, the thin windows that let in the dim, weak moonlight few and far between. He twisted around and reached into the small bag he had slung over his shoulder. He had very few possessions to his name, and not many were needed for the journey, so the bag was almost empty, save a journal and a tin containing a few provisions he had slipped out of the pantry. The big bags were waiting to be picked up from the laboratory, brimming with a cornucopia of complex and fearful weaponry. Pulling out a match, he lifted a lantern that hung over the archway of the stairwell and vainly attempted to strike the match on the cold damp wall. Giving up, he stuffed the unused match back into his sack, and started along the hallway, running his hand along the rough stone wall as a futile guide.
Nearing the end of the passage, he saw the cracks of the small office, adjacent to the laboratory were glowing, and warm candlelight seeped out from under the door. Seeing his mark, he left his wary position, clinging to the wall, and darted towards it, making the last few paces unguided. Reaching for the door handle, he gently pushed it ajar. Satisfied he was not about to receive a scolding for disturbing a morning's prayer, he stepped into the room and dropped his bag.
†
Sometime later, Van Helsing gaited through the doorway of the office.
He turned and tutted at the figure by the hearth, whose tousled strawberry-blond head was bent absorbedly over a hefty book, rested on his knees.
"Morning Carl." He called as he turned to warm his hands over the open fireplace.
However, the shape did not reply, and remained bowed over the volume, perfectly still, as though deep in thought.
"Carl? Are you alright?" he softly stepped over to the chair, and stood over him enquiringly.
"Carl!" Still not achieving any reaction, he yelled louder, and Carl moaned and jerked, rolling over onto his side in the deep wing chair. Squirming unconsciously until he was cosy, he fell back to sleep.
He stepped back, half amused and half impatiently frustrated, but unsurprised.
'Well, better not to let him get comfortable.' he thought, trying to justify his faintly cruel actions in waking his tired friend.
He stood behind the chair, and leant over him, take hold of either edge of the heavy open book on his knees. Then, as he moved back, he slammed the book closed with a bang, sending a thick cloud of dust up into the air.
Carl awoke with a violent yelp, his skinny limbs flailing as he jolted forward in shock. Composing himself, he glanced around the room in panic and waking confusion.
"Didn't you sleep last night?" Van Helsing asked.
Carl turned and brooded at him, before sighing and slumping back into his chair.
"No, actually I didn't. I was awake almost all night, worrying about this damn escapade you're dragging me on. And having to get up at the crack of dawn didn't help either. The sun isn't even up yet!"
"Everyone else gets up at this time you know! Breakfast is at half past five. They don't even set a place for you anymore! You're always up all night in the laboratory, you don't get up till late, and you never attend meals when they're set."
"Well I'm working for the good of mankind! I'm sure they won't mind me missing a supper a few times!" He rubbed his eyes and stretched up to flatten down his hair, pulling at it jadedly, causing it to flick out over his obtruding ears.
"Ready?" Carl recognized that this was not so much a question as a courteous command, but nevertheless he opened his mouth to protest.
However, unsurprisingly, Van Helsing was not looking for an answer, grabbing Carl by the hood and tossing him through the doorway. Carl turned to complain, but before he had the chance, Van Helsing flung his bag into his chest and started down the hallway.
†
Carl stumbled through the door of the cabin he and Van Helsing were sharing, swaying uneasily on his sea-legs.
"Rats!"
"What's wrong?" He asked, though not making any effort to sound vaguely concerned. Carl had a tendency to frighten himself by over-exaggerating.
"No. Rats! As in rodents. I went to find something to eat and there were rats in the storeroom!"
"Did you bring any food?" Van Helsing asked.
Carl rolled his eyes. "No. I didn't get that far. On account of the rats!"
"You fought vampires and werewolves and you're afraid of a few furry little animals?"
"Well I hardly battled them bare handed. And even if I had I'd still be terrified of them." Carl held, wobbling as the ship rocked and sliding onto the wooden chair at a desk in the corner. "Anyway that's not the point."
Van Helsing knew that Carl didn't really have a point, and was too tired to argue with him. At the desk, Carl pulled out a tattered map of Ireland and studied closely.
"Where do we get off?" he asked.
"There's a big port in Dublin. We'll most likely dock there."
"And how far is it to err…Moran from there?"
"About two days ride I'd guess. It's not far inland."
"Hmm. Nice, quaint Irish town. Hopefully it won't be as fearsome as Transylvania." Carl said in nervous hope, thinking aloud to convince himself of his own thoughts.
"Well the demons don't reign freely like they did in Transylvania. But if the Order were right about half the goings on there, I'd say there'll be plenty to keep us busy."
Carl stared absently out of the porthole, his eyes drowsily following the hypnotic rhythm of the waves that washed by the side of the ship. He turned from the window and collapsed on the unstable wooden bed frame that was pressed up to the wall of the small cabin below the deck.
"So, why exactly are we going to Ireland? You've managed to evade bestowing any details so far." He said to Van Helsing, who was laid on the bed beside the one she was sat on, staring up at the ceiling.
"I've told you pretty much all I was told myself. The village has seen six murders and three disappearances in the last month. All of the bodies appear to have been subjected to some ritualistic torture, but nothing that the Order recognises. Probably because, for some reason left to us to discover, the rituals haven't been completed. Many of the bodies were found in or around the area of a large abandoned house in the north of the town."
"So were do we start, when we get to Moran? What's first?"
"Cardinal Jinette instructed that we should meet a man, who will give us more information." He said, pulling off his hat and setting it down on a table next to his bed.
"Who?"
"I don't know. Cardinal Jinette said he would know us; we just have to find the inn first. We dock first thing tomorrow."
†
Ducking timidly behind Van Helsing, Carl shuffled into the dimly lit inn. They were greeted by suspicious stares and a gruff murmur of inaudible whispers echoing from the dark corners of the tavern. The landlord stood behind the bar, unhurriedly drying a tankard with a moth-eaten rag. His eyes were fixed on the two strangers as they crossed the unnervingly silent common room. Carl felt his skin crawl under the smouldering, distrustful eyes of the inn's inhabitants.
Van Helsing pulled up a stool at a small round table near the bar. Carl followed his lead, setting himself down beside him. He pulled a bulky bag onto the table, and began to rifle through it's contents. A little too openly, he pulled out a small, but lethal looking crossbow and set it on the table, studying it closely for any damage it may have sustained on the rough journey. Van Helsing shot Carl a harsh and suggesting look, as did the barman.
He scowled at Carl. "We'll have no trouble here son."
"Don't look for trouble and you won't get any." grunted Van Helsing, watching him obliquely.
"It's 'Brother' actually." Carl put in boldly.
The barman straightened up haughtily, like a cat trying to intimidate it's adversaries.
"We've no call for strangers here. We don't want outsiders bringing trouble into our village." He glanced down at Carl's bag of weaponry warily.
"You'd better watch yourselves."
Van Helsing stood up sharply, leaning over the bar, coming face to face with the landlord.
"Really? I was just about to say the same about you."
Just in time, the tensely hostile moment was interrupted by the presence of a man, stepping up to the bar.
"Perhaps this is a good a time as any to introduce myself. Mr. Van Helsing I assume?"
Van Helsing turned to the man, looked him over for a second, then nodded. He looked quite young, although possibly only because he was contrasted so drastically with the rough, grey aged population of the bar. However his deep, emerald green eyes gave a different impression. He had light brown hair that scattered out in jagged tresses around the nape of his neck.
"Perhaps we should go somewhere a little less...er…would you like to follow me sir?"
The man set down some coins on the bar and began to walk up the narrow stairway at the side of the tavern. Van Helsing nodded to Carl over his shoulder, who gathered up the bags and started after Van Helsing.
On entering the small, dank room at the top of the staircase, the man lit some candles and stood by the grimy casement. Carl stood in the corner apprehensively peering out from behind Van Helsing's soaring figure.
"Well?" Van Helsing ordered. "You are the contact we were told about by Order aren't you?"
The man turned and nodded, offering his hand to Van Helsing as he introduced himself.
"Pádraig Heany." Shaking Van Helsing's averse hand, Pádraig sat himself on the edge a taut camp bed beneath the window.
Van Helsing received his gesture to do likewise, and sat down on a wooden stool opposite him.
He didn't wait for the man to speak again, and lunged straight to the point.
"So what are we doing here?"
"We're very grateful for your help Sir. We haven't had to involve the Order in our business for a long time, but regrettably that occasion has arrived. We appreciate-" Catching the intolerant look on Van Helsing's demanding face, Pádraig cut the prologue short.
"What has the Order told you?"
"Just the basics. Murders. Disappearances. Ritualistic practices. Possibly some kind of demonic ceremony. Although they're not sure what for. Irish myth isn't their speciality you understand. I think they were hoping you could fill us in."
Pádraig nodded. He took at deep breath and at length he spoke.
"It's a resurrection ceremony."
"Resurrection of what?" Carl enquired fretfully, afraid of the answer.
"Dorchadas." Pádraig replied.