52 Westmoreland Rd
Barnes
London SW
Jun 4th, 1902

"Dearest Jack,

I hope you are well and your work is not tiring you too much. I am sure I have been boring you lately with tales of uninteresting society gatherings, and I must confess I have been quite bored myself, but thankfully I have an interesting occurrence to report, which quite interrupted my "ennui".

London is still mourning our beloved queen, and as a result, despite the lovely weather, there is still little gaiety. However, the sullen humour does not seem to have dampened the spirits of some of my friends! You may remember I told you I had been invited to a little get-together at the townhouse of my dear friend Lady Elspeth Flashman? Well, that is where I met a most singular gentleman, of whom I shall now write. You must forgive my memory, if the details of our conversations are not exactly accurate. I have written down everything I could remember. Gracious, my epistles are turning into quite the little narratives, are they not?

I had become bored with the chatter and had gone to the verandah. Elspeth's gardener (a strapping fellow, quite admired by some of the younger ladies) has trailed some lovely scented honeysuckle over the woodwork, so it is an excellent out-of-the way place to sit and take the air. Imagine my surprise when upon arriving there, I found the wooden seat behind the door occupied by a most singular gentleman. Such startling blue eyes, such a deeply lined brow!

He looked up as I entered the porch, though I am sure I was very quiet. I wondered if he was some other guest of the Flashmans' who had similarly gone out seeking the peaceful scented veranda. I asked him so, and he replied that he had indeed come here seeking peace. In a manner of speaking. Ignoring his cryptic reply, introduced myself, and offered my hand. He looked at it as if it were some sort of wild animal before taking it, grinning and informing me that he was Colonel Sebastian Moran, formerly of the 1st Bengal Pioneers.(5)

Oddly, he then appeared to be waiting, clearly for some sort of reaction from me. At the time, of course, I had no idea who he was. I do not often read the popular press, you see, and the incident in question was some years ago, but I will come to that presently.

After not having given him the response he clearly expected, I informed him that I was delighted to meet him. This seemed to surprise him somewhat, especially when I seated myself beside him and admired the sunset. I was certainly not going to let the presence of another ruin my enjoyment of the evening! Thankfully, he was fairly quiet himself. However, he seemed restless and presently he spoke again and informed me I had chosen a most inopportune time and place to take the air, for he was certainly no person with whom a respectable lady should be conversing. Surprised, I informed him in no uncertain terms that there was no need for him to try and scare me in such a manner, and he need only ask me to leave if he found my presence discomforting. Dismayed, he asked if his name was familiar to me, or that of someone named 'Moriarty'. Of course it was not, and I informed him so. He seemed to be getting quite frustrated. He then insisted that I must know of Mr Sherlock Holmes, which was a name I had indeed vaguely heard of, but as I went on to tell him, I move in neither military nor legal circles, as you know.

He sighed and commented that he did not suppose it would matter at all after tonight. I enquired as to why, but he was most rude in response. I suggested it had something to do with the gun beneath his jacket.

I am not quite as unobservant or 'scatterbrained' as your father maintains.
He said something in a foreign language. It may have been Bengali or Hindi. I am not certain, but it was certainly a swearword. It seemed I had irritated a man with a gun. I must confess, I became quite nervous. At times, I wish I was not quite so impetuous. He d-mned and cursed some more in english and muttered that he was getting too old and something about wanting his 'Von Herder' back from those blasted police-wallahs because no-one ever spotted that when he was carrying it, unlike these 'blasted great revolvers'. I asked him who he intended to use the gun on, thinking I may as well be shot for a sheep as a lamb. He smiled quite disconcertingly and informed me it was the owner of the house, and possibly me if I continued being a meddling busybody and he should certainly have done so by now, if I had not arrived at that particular moment.

His rudeness was positively incensing me, as I am sure you and any respectable person would understand, and I became very rash, I am sorry to say. I positively forbade him from shooting Sir Harry, whose wife, I said, was a very good friend of mine. One does say some very silly things when under strain. Nevertheless, it seems to have been effective, for he sighed and sat back. He told me I was quite right, and he should have 'gone straight for Holmes the minute he got back to England' for 'the cunning drug-addled "badmash" fiend was probably watching as we spoke'. He then swore again and insisted his grudge against Sir Harry went further back and these things should be done in order.

I asked him if he intended to shoot half of London society. He laughed and said, 'perhaps later he would continue with Lestrade'. Another legal or military name that is unfamiliar to me. I told him I was sure he would be caught directly he started shooting, and besides, it was far too late now, as I had only to scream and I was sure people will come running. Then he should either have to fire on me, or give himself up.

He emitted a quite explosive laugh.

I was by now somewhat intrigued, the danger I was in on the verge of being forgotten. I told him that he had better start his tale from the beginning. I am sure I very nearly induced an apoplectic fit in him. I asked him to explain to me what dear old Sir Harry could have done to cause him to return to England from India. He retorted that he had not been in India. I said he could explain that in his story. He sighed and pressed a hand to his lined brow in annoyance. I informed him that I enjoyed a good story I could write to you about and (I am ashamed to admit my cowardice in this, but I thought I had seen a way out of the danger) I said if he told me a good story, I should allow him to walk away, gun and all, and I should not even inform anyone of his presence here. I was, of course lying. I intended to go to Sir Harry and the authorities directly, at first anyway. Otherwise, I said, I should scream, or be shot, which would bring everyone running. He said I was 'a quite dmnably impudent "memsahib"' and that if I was his wife, he should be advocating "suttee".

I agreed, and told him once again to begin with his grudge against Sir Harry. He stared at me with those disconcerting blue eyes of his. I simply smiled and waited, praying I would come out of this alive. Finally he sighed, and agreed, bemoaning that this was a ridiculous idea anyway and 'Big-d, he should never have listened to that appalling d-mned persuasive Alucard fellow egging him on...'

And here, dearest Jack, you have probably become as suddenly interested as I at the time. It could only have been the same person, to induce quite such a streak of swearing as Colonel Moran then painted the air blue with. I asked if this Mr Alucard was by any chance, a foreign gentleman, with a shock of black hair and very little taste in dress? He nodded and said that if we had met, then I had quite a propensity for running into dangerous rogues, which set me thinking, I should say. I said it was no fault of my own and this was only two so far, not including the diamond thievery in Tottenham Court Road and the costermonger I accidentally interrupted last week. I seemed to have put him in a much better humour, because he laughed quite heartily, and a little frighteningly. Then he immediately stopped and turned to me, saying that if I must know, Miss Seward, my friend's husband, 'dear old Sir Harry' was among the men responsible for selling him into slavery as a boy.

I will confide in you, Jack, that this did not surprise me. I had often suspected Sir Harry of being a bit of a scoundrel from the way he eyes the young ladies, and foolish things are often done in men's youth. I am sure he regrets his past misdeeds though. Colonel Moran continued in kind that he had 'nearly got him, back in '94, but that cocaine-raddled... Holmes got to me first with a chitrali's trick and sent me to college"' He then asked if I minded if he had a 'cheroot'. I must confess, his soldier's talk left me quite confounded. Uncertain, I said I did not. He then proceeded to produce from nowhere and light a foul-smelling cigarette. I withstood it and prayed him continue with his tale. He did so, shaking out his match and through a mouthful of cigarette. He really was a most uncouth fellow. He continued in kind.

'Well, off to college I went, of course. That'd be prison to ladies like you, memsahib. Thankfully I had a fair bit of paisa left over from what the Professor paid me. Enough for a decent lawyer anyway, enough to get me off hanging.' I thought this quite despicable, you understand, Jack and probably an indication of the decay of the legal system. He continued in this vein. There he had languished for some good few years, till along came some 'political cove'.. He said he had done some 'political work' in his day, and d-mned if he was keeping this all hush hush, the man had offered bail if he did some more, i.e. if he did a little shooting. Apparently their last team of 'politicals' had 'bought it' in 'that epidemic back in '99, remember, when they had to evacuate the city?' As you will no doubt understand, I was quite confused by this. Later, I realised he was referring to acting as a spy for the government, but undoubtedly you know that, and you will remember the evacuation. There were articles about it in all the journals. I do not know whether you were still in Europe at the time though.

Apparently he agreed, and the government fellow informed him 'it was a bit of rum do', or somesuch and that he should not be surprised if he saw things a bit out of the ordinary, but he maintained he was used to this, having spent some time around 'the Professor'. He had no idea the extent of this 'rum do', however. At this, I swear I saw the Colonel shudder. Shocking, is it not, that something could send a shiver down the spine of a man like him? I did wonder if I wanted to hear the rest of this story at that point, but I had gone this far, so it seemed best to continue, and besides, he seemed to be enjoying himself up until the rum.

Now I write this, I begin to wonder if perhaps I have been made privy to some great state secret? For prudence's sake, Jack, I shall ask you not to repeat what I discuss in these letters.

Colonel Moran continued that he was informed he was to use the pseudonym 'Tiger'. He seemed to find this appropriate, and grinned, and that he would be working with another political, who would be known as 'Dragon'. It all sounds positively chinese, doesn't it? They were to be a small team, for ease of travel and to go about under the guise of business partners looking to set up ventures in the East of the empire. This did not seem odd to me at the time. I had only heard the usual talk about the mutiny, and knew little or nothing of the region of Afghanistan, other than that we had fought a few battles there. As I said, I do not move in military circles. I feel quite embarrassed at my ignorance sometimes.

His release papers were signed, and within a day or two, he had met his associate, in some vaguely described location in Limehouse that I pray I never visit. He elaborated for several minutes on the wonderful guns he was provided with, Lee-Enfield-Metfords and Modified Bolt-Actions and Martinis and Webleys (though not, he bemoaned, his Von Herder), before meeting a man who from the description can only be our Mr Alucard (or rather, the Count!), although he was dressed a little differently (apparently he actually wore a top hat!). The Count did not speak at all, until they were alone, on a boat bound for the Mediterranean and then only to break totally with accepted protocol and inform the Colonel of his name (though he did not see fit to give either his true name, nor his nature). The Colonel apparently found this refreshing and did likewise, enquiring of Mr Alucard's reasons for taking up this mission. He replied, with a cryptic grin that he was being rented out to the British government in exchange for some peace of mind for a doctor friend of his.

This of course meant nothing to the colonel, but I became very worried for Dr Van Helsing. Unfortunately, at present, no-one is certain of his whereabouts.

Returning to the Colonel and our friend the Count (who spent a great deal of time below decks, apparently!), their journey across the Mediterranean was almost uneventful, apart from one incident in one of the Balkan ports (which the Count apparently insisted on referring to as 'Illyrian' and commenting wistfully that he was passing so close to home). Apparently, a young girl was found dead, shortly after the Count went missing for a few hours. I had to prevent myself asking if she had been exsanguinated. Colonel Moran was quite white-faced with anger at the incident and informed me, he had later found 'Mr Alucard' with a set of drunken Gypsies, who were treating him like a long lost cousin!

They proceeded to the Middle East, where they were met in Smyrna by a little Indian man. He greeted them with 'God Save the Queen'. Deplorably, neither were particularly cheerful about that sentiment, but replied in kind, nonetheless. He gave them their orders, and disappeared into the crowd.

It seemed there was a tribe of Northern Pathans who kept (as Colonel Moran put it) 'Disappearing' British officials sent to treat with them. The only survivor had ridden into Peshawar and fallen off his horse, gibbering about great sandy demons and horrible sorcerous "amirs". I can only guess that, finding themselves facing a supernatural enemy, the British government felt they should send a supernatural monster and a supernaturally good shot (if the Colonel's boasts are true) to find out the details of the matter and deal with it. This is turning into quite the adventure story, is it not? Perhaps I should write for those young boys' papers.

The journey between the Mediterranean and Afghanistan, by horse, caravan or train is perilous at the best of times, Colonel Moran said, but for them it seemed unusually uneventful. The night was full of noises, horrible screams and such, and he was under constant fear of attack from Ottomans and Arabs and Kaffirs and possibly Russians, despite the number of guns her late majesty's 'politicals' had provided him with, but no attacks came. They reached Afghanistan having experienced only a few minor skirmishes, which the Colonel quickly ended with his 'Martini-Henry' (a gun he informed me he had used in the Afghan campaigns and trusted implicitly over the newer Enfield models, of which more later). Mr Alucard, apparently did not participate, but remained under large hats during the day. I did not find this surprising, and neither did the colonel, who one assumes has met some rather singular fellows in his time!

The one incident of note, according to the colonel, who turned a surprising shade of white at the mere recollection, occurred somewhere near the borders of Afghanistan. A small party of bandits with "jezails" (I am guessing this is some kind of native gun) attacked the caravanserai they were travelling with (unsuprisingly, such caravans are most obliged to have heavily armed men travelling with them). They formed a defensive ring and the Colonel began shooting. The gunfire was at its peak when a terrifying shriek split the night in two, like that of a man crying out in horrified agony. The gunfire from the bandit side abruptly stopped, and cries of 'Allah preserve us!' were heard, and the sound of running. The folk of the caravanserai were quite reluctant to leave the safety of their transport, much to Colonel Moran's disgust. He left them and ventured out into the night in the direction of the scream, his Martini at the ready.

What he found there, was apparently enough to terrify him even as he spoke to me, for he broke out in a cold sweat as he recounted, and certainly the though of it is enough to make me quite pale even now! A great black shape, somewhat resembling a dog, somewhat a flock of bats, and somewhat the very night itself (I do apologise for my melodramatic description, but I am quoting the Colonel here), loomed over the mutilated form of a dark skinned tribesman. As the colonel approached, the monster turned its terrible head towards him and fixed him with a piercing red glare. The colonel informed me that he had only seen such eyes once before: in Bengal he crawled down a drain to dispatch a man-eating tiger that had taken refuge there. The tiger was particularly intelligent. Apparently it had eaten two "ghee" salesmen and a "punkah wallah" by creeping up on them unsuspecting. The natives were claiming that it was a "rakshasa" demon, or perhaps a witch who had taken on the form of a tiger. As he crawled down into the pitch-dark drain, and found himself facing the man eater, who was eight feet from nose to tail, the tiger regarded him in a manner that made it quite clear it regarded him as a piece of moving meat: such was the gaze that met him on the Afghan border, as he faced that eldritch horror. They remained, man and monster, as so for some minutes, as the Colonel said he was used to staring down tigers. At times, if one stared at them for long enough, they would simply lope away. So, in time, did the monster, to his great relief. However, when he returned to the camp, he found Mr Alucard waiting for him, and as he approached to ask why the man had not joined in the battle, he found his companion regarding him with the self-same gaze.

It did not take a genius to perform the necessary mathematics. And by the manner in which he smiled and turned away, Colonel Moran swore that Mr Alucard simply knew when he had realised the truth of the matter.

I do not doubt that the Count can assume such a shape: he can only be a demon of some sort. I pray I never cross paths with him again. It seems there is no end to his evil ways. I am surprised that he was so quiet and meek around the Colonel, performing his depravities where they would not be witnessed. Perhaps he respected him, or was unsure of him? I do not know.

When at last they reached the Afghan-Indian borderlands, which as I am sure you are aware, are the tribal homelands of the Pathans, there was some deliberation. Their orders were to exercise stealth and caution in approaching the camp of the tribe (it was summer, and they had moved to the mountain pastures, which apparently would have made matters easier had they wished to approach quietly - there would be more places to hide). Colonel Moran did not like this idea: The Pathans, who knew the area far better than they did, would catch them easily, he said. Better to go to the chieftain as British envoys, heads held high, than spies. The Count agreed, as this suggestion seemed to appeal to his pride. Also, the Colonel said, if they were accepted as guests, the "pukhtunwali" (which is the code by which the Pathans live) would forbid them from harm for at least three days according to the custom of "melmastia". Even an enemy who came to the door of a Pathan asking for hospitality would be welcomed according to this code.

This they did, and eventually found themselves standing before the chieftain in his tent. The chieftain was a great strapping fellow, striking in looks and strong-jawed, with several missing teeth (the colonel's description was less flattering than mine!). All his people seemed to treat him with great deference, almost fear, bowing and scraping before him, and Colonel Moran (who thankfully spoke reasonable "pukhtun") said he found him quite disconcerting, but did not understand why until later. 'Mr Alucard' remained very quiet during discussions, perhaps to avoid the confusion his most un-british accent would have caused. It was accepted, indeed seemed to have been expected, that they had arrived to speak about matters political and they were offered fine food and drink and other such things. When at last they were left alone, The Count voiced his concern. He did not believe the chieftain intended to allow them to live beyond three days, nor did he believe the chieftain was all he seemed. The Colonel quite agreed and ventured to ask what the Count believed would be the best course of action. The Count said he was uncertain, as he had no experience with Afghanis, though a little with Mussulmen whom he did not trust as far as he could throw them. Colonel Moran suggested 'scarpering' there and then and returning with a selection of Her Majesty's finest. The Count added that intrigued as he was, he had no wish to remain among these Mohammedan pigs and would be quite happy to go.

And so, under cover of the night, they made ready to escape. It is not too difficult to escape from a tent, thankfully. As they left the camp, a strong wind rose up, and blasted sand into their faces and out of the night, a terrible voice asked them in pukhtun where they thought they were going.

The Count apparently responded to this by, to the Colonel's horror, dissolving into a cloud of bats, and was promptly buffeted and thrown around in the swirling sandstorm, which was beginning to shave the skin off Colonel Moran's face and hands. The sandstorm informed them in the chieftain's voice that it was "al-afreet", the indestructable, son of a "marid" of the Caspian shoreline and that the infidels' monster would be scattered to the four winds for daring to insult his hospitality by running away. By now, the Colonel was sick of being sandpapered. He took shelter behind some nearby rocks, as out in the storm, a pulsating cloud of blackness fought against the howling wind. It seemed the situation was quite hopeless. He took stock of his resources. There were his guns, and there was Mr Alucard. He racked his brain for a solution and finally remembered being informed by an old Uzbek rifleman that "djinns" and their greater cousins the "afreets" were vulnerable only in the form of a man, and then only to holy things. He hunted through the equipment that had been given to him and found what he was looking for. At first, he had thought the politicals foolish for providing him with silver and gold bullets, as these were essentially useless for doing any damage. It was then he noticed that some of the gold bullets were engraved in arabic, namely with "suras" from the "koran" (I do not know if I have spelled this correctly). It seemed this was his only hope.

He stepped into the storm (noting that the cloud of black bats was burgeoning more strongly against the wind) and called the name of the afreet-chieftain, invoking the Pathan customs of honour and bravery and crying shame upon his intention to harm a guest. He challenged the chieftain's honour in attacking enemies clearly weaker than him and insisted he fight him on level ground, in human form. The storm dropped immediately and coalesced into the chieftain, who promptly drew a sword and informed them in a rage that even in this weak form he would easily defeat them, and charged. The black cloud coalesced into the form of Mister Alucard, directly in his way. The sword sliced through the count's form as if it had been air! Colonel Moran seemed to scarcely believe this himself, as he glanced at me as he spoke, as if asking if I thought him mad, and added that he did not care if I did not believe him, he had seen all these things with his own eyes. I neither confirmed nor denied this. I did not think you mad, Jack, when you told me of the Count and poor Miss Westenra, and I do not think him so either.

The Colonel found himself surrounded by blackness, which promptly informed him to do whatever he was planning before the chieftain found his way through. He needed no persuasion, and loaded the most suitable and modern of his guns, a Short Magazine Lee-Enfield (apparently a prototype fresh from the workshops!(6)) with the golden bullets. He did not expect much of his shot, as the soft metal of the bullets would undoubtedly deform on firing, but nevertheless, he lifted the rifle to his shoulder. The blackness around him shifted, revealing the chieftain a scarce few feet away from him and to the left. He moved, aimed and fired before the man could react. The bullet pierced his heart and was followed by several more in close succession. He froze, astonished, before crumpling to the floor, at which, the count fairly came apart with his eagerness to pounce upon the prone chieftain and maul him, lapping and consuming and destroying (the very thought makes me shiver). Then, more to the astonishment of his attacker than anything, the chieftain's slaughtered form crumbled into a pile of sand, which sank and spread out until it was nothing more than part of the ground, leaving the Count spitting grit out of his unholy mouth.

After having returned to his normal form, he broke into hearty laughter and clapped the Colonel on the shoulder, commending him on an excellent fight and a devious bit of trickery. Having dispensed with all pretence, he informed him that he was the best human hunter he had ever seen. Colonel Moran apparently seethed internally at the condescension and said nothing, but gave none-too-pleased looks, which only caused the Count to laugh harder and bare his fangs, before insisting the Colonel showed him how those metal objects that shot fire worked.

On the return journey, the Count's stolid humour seemed to have melted away. He spent the journey teasing and baiting the Colonel in a most irritating manner about his incarceration, and tricking him into revealing his past, before insisting that it would be a great dishonour to a hunter of his calibre if he did not avenge himself on his enemies directly he returned to England. Colonel Moran did not find himself disinclined to agree, despite his wearyness from the years in prison. It seems the Count is the one who drove him into taking steps against Sir Harry! Although perhaps I give him greater credit than he deserves in the matter.

That aside, the Colonel then asked me, quite politely if, as his story was now finished, he would be permitted to 'make good his escape'. I agreed, although by now I had quite forgotten about the gun, so intrigued was I. As he spoke, he produced a cheap silver cartridge pen and a card from the pocket of his jacket and wrote something on it. After I had assented, he made a small bow and presented the card to me, Before turning on his heel and stepping from the veranda and making his escape across the moonlit garden into the night. Upon the paper was an address. I placed the card in my purse and thought nothing more of it, then I returned to the party, where I spent the rest of the evening in idle chatter. In all honesty, I was not altogether certain that I had not fallen asleep on the veranda and dreamed the whole conversation!

Now I must leave off, for I have filled several pages with this letter already. I hope it entertains you suitably. I remain, as ever, your loving aunt.

Miss Anna Seward"

-----------------------------------

Royal London Hospital
Whitechapel Road
London E
Dec 18th 1899

"Dear Aunt Anna,

Please forgive the shortness of my letters, as I rarely have long to write. I hope you, father and mother are well. I read you last letter with intrigue and more than a little worry. I certainly hope the entire matter was a dream, although it seems too vivid to be so. Your Colonel is quite correct when he says you have a talent for running into dangerous rogues. You have clearly had a lucky escape. I have not been able to make contact with Dr Van Helsing, despite repeated efforts, and I pray for his safety. If as your letter suggests, he is still in the country, he must have hidden particularly well. Otherwise, matters are much as normal here at the hospital.

Hoping your uncanny luck will continue,

Your nephew,

Dr John Seward"

-----------------------------------

52 Westmoreland Rd
Barnes
London SW
Jun 4th, 1902

"Dearest Jack,

Do not trouble yourself over the shortness of your letters, I understand that you are very busy. It seems I was not dreaming at all. Out of curiosity, I wrote a letter and sent it to the address Colonel Moran gave me and he has replied, explaining that after our discussion he went directly to the political gentlemen he mentioned to report back. They were quite surprised and had clearly assumed him dead. Apparently Mr Alucard had not been seen since the two of them parted when the ship they were travelling on came into port in Southampton, but it was assumed he had returned to the person he referred to as his 'master'. I wish now I had had the presence of mind to ask the Colonel in my letter to find out, if he could, the whereabouts of Dr Van Helsing. The gentlemen informed him he was free to go, as long as he kept a low profile and did nothing 'stupid'. Better that they do not know, I suppose! Strangely, I do not think he will do anything of the sort. I am not altogether certain why he has given up on Sir Harry or that other fellow, but after he had explained the above, he commented that 'there are far worse monsters on this earth than either him or the professor' and he felt himself 'quite outclassed and dispirited'. I do not know what to think of this matter at all.

I remain as ever, your loving aunt,

Miss Anna Seward"

-----------------------------------

Royal London Hospital
Whitechapel Road
London E
Dec 18th 1899

"Dearest Aunt Anna,

It is no wonder you drive father to distraction, when you so freely and easily give an insane criminal access to your home address! I only hope you are correct about your colonel's behaviour. If you find any reason whatsoever to believe you are not, I urge you to move to safer premises at the earliest opportunity, and please, under no circumstances attempt any further conversation with this fellow!

Your (deeply concerned!) nephew,

Dr John Seward"

-----------------------------------

52 Westmoreland Rd
Barnes
London SW
Jun 4th, 1902

"Dearest Jack,

I am touched by your concern for my safety, but really, you are beginning to sound very much like your father. It cannot be healthy. As it happens, the Colonel and I have already been conversing to great extent, and have developed quite a fondness for each other. In fact, we intend to marry as soon as possible, which as you recommended, should dispense with any vulnerability I may have to beings such as our friend the Count. It is all quite humorous, is it not?

Your father is, of course, absolutely livid.

Despite any appearances to contrary, I remain your loving aunt,

Miss Anna Seward."