Rome, Italy

A week later, after the battle in Paris, Van Helsing the rode into Rome, a dark-cloaked figure upon a black stallion. He made his way to the Vatican, noting how strained it was in the area of the city's walls. The holy city had not been allowed its political immunities in full since 1871 when Rome had been seized by Victor Emmanuel. It was sad really, but at the least, things inside the walls were safe from attack.

He passed through the great gates and rode hard across the massive Piazza San Pletro, the tremendous open space in front of Saint Peter's Basilica. He was surrounded once more by history, by the past. Bells chimed as he passed the great fountains and the two semicircular rows of columns that surrounded the open space.

Bringing his horse to a slow trot, Van Helsing looked up at the basilica. For some reason, he had always felt so distant when here, so detached from the world. He knew the lore behind this place, the oldest and grandest church in all of Christandom, certainly the center of the Christian world in Europe. Saint Peter, one of the apostles of Christ, had suffered the Savior's fate on earth and was crucified, though he had, again according to lore, insisted on an inverted cross in his humility. In accordance with the lore of the Church, the basilica was said to have been built on the site of Peter's burial - on his very blood.

Reaching the stairs, Van Helsing brought his horse to a stop and dismounted. There was a friar there who took his horse, and he nodded his thanks. It was then, seeing the figure waiting for him at the top of the steps, that Van Helsing allowed himself a smile. It was a familiar figure, though Van Helsing had memories of when he was able to walk unaided on both his feet, and the cane he was now force to rely on was still unbecoming of the man.

"Quite a stir you caused in Paris, yah?"

"Nice to see you too, dad," Van Helsing replied in return greeting. He gave a laugh and walked over to give the man a heartfelt hug. "I thought you were off back in Amsterdam."

Abraham Van Helsing, the well known professor of philosophy, a master of knowledge on exotic diseases, and one time field agent of the Templar, nodded slightly as they ended the embrace. "Well, when the old home calls for you, you come home." He grinned and turned about, cane one step ahead of him, to lead Van Helsing into the basilica. "As I was the one who sent you the telegram, it should be no surprise that I'm here."

Entering into the church, Van Helsing and the professor crossed the polished marble floor. The light inside came from the clerestories, the upper portion of the walls holding the stained glass windows, and was intended to give a warm colorful feeling to those inside as they marveled at the wonder of creation and peace. However, Van Helsing felt neither.

Built in the shape of a cross, much like many great cathedrals of the era, there was a great dome at the center, painted by Michelangelo himself. The structure itself was several hundred feet deep, and regardless of how many people were in the basilica, there was always a strong echo. Right now, that echo was being used for the Gregorian chants of the monks.

In the past, Van Helsing had taken comfort in those chants, but now, they held little for him. The whole building seemed to be judging him, and finding him wanting. Even with the professor at his side, he was uncomfortable here now.

They came to an ornate confessional. Van Helsing looked the professor, who nodded, and stepped inside. He was already dreading this, because he knew well what was coming. However, still, he removed his hat and sat on the bench before making the sign of the cross. "Bless me, Father," he whispered. "For I have-"

"Sinned, yes, I know," came the harsh reply from the other side of the confessional. Van Helsing gave a wry smile and turned away slightly as the tiny partition door was opened on the other side to reveal the man listening. "You're very good at that."

Cardinal Jinette was unmistakable in his voice; angry, indignant, and disappointed. "We wanted him alive, not a river soaked corpse!"

"Well, not to split hairs," Van Helsing quickly shot back. "But he did try to kill me."

There was no reply, and for a moment, Van Helsing thought he may have won this fight. "You were fortunate that he did not try taking refuge in Notre Dame," was all the cardinal said. He huffed, trying hard to avoid thinking about the result of things if that had happened. "With your talent for destroying things, you might have ended up bringing the whole cathedral to the ground."

"Just the Rose Window," came his snappy remark. Such a round of bantering was common place between him and Cardinal Jinette. Even now, he could hear the professor trying not to laugh. That brought him some joy; at least someone agreed with him on the matter.

Jinette glared at him through the wooden mesh. "I wish you a week in Hell."

"It would be a nice reprieve," Van Helsing shot back. To be honest, he was getting tired of this. He hadn't been able to get a good night's rest in weeks now, and every time he got back from an assignment, Jinette was quick to send him right back out into the field.

"Don't get me wrong," the cardinal said, finally seeming to calm down. "Your results are unquestionable. But your methods leave much to be desired." He paused a moment, now giving Van Helsing a look of displeasure. "Just a month ago, you almost destroyed every glass window in the church in Dublin."

Oh, that assignment. Yes, Van Helsing remembered that well enough. "It's not like Mister Hyde gave me many options," he retorted, hoping to regain some victory in this verbal fight. "So it's not my fault that I can't go there anymore."

"Not your fault! They have wanted posters all over Ireland for you!"

He didn't need to be reminded of that. It was the reason that the Order now had a team of field agents specifically for all of Ireland. "You think I like being one of the most wanted men in Europe? What do you think it does to the professor's reputation and name, why don't you and the Order do something about it!"

The mesh was flung open, and Jinette pushed his face toward Van Helsing's. "Because we," he stated coldly, "do not exist."

If that's how it was, then so be it. "Then neither do I," he replied, standing up to leave. He threw open the door of the confessional and walked out before Jinette could react, but it was the professor who stopped him.

"You know well you can't win these fights like that," he said, his eyes gesturing in glance to the cardinal. "My boy, need I remind you why you are here?"

Van Helsing sighed as the professor nodded to Jinette. The cardinal pushed a lever in his box and opened up the back wall of the confessional to reveal a stone passageway leading downward. It was then that Abraham Van Helsing continued while Jinette headed down the passage. "When I found you seven years ago on the steps of this church, bloodied, battered, and half-dead, without a memory of who you are or where you come from, it was clear to me that you had been sent with a purpose from God, to do His work."

"Why can't He do it Himself then?" Van Helsing replied.

The cardinal snapped about, nearly ready to explode at that moment. "Don't blaspheme!" he hissed from in the passage doorway. "You already lost your memories as penance for past sins!"

Professor Van Helsing waved his hands for both men to calm down. "Please," he said, now heading into the confessional and the passegeway that lay within. Van Helsing took the chance to follow the professor, being he wasn't in the mood to deal with Jinette right now.

"Seven long years, I have looked on you like a son," the professor continued as he slowly walked down the stairwell, heading deeper into the bowels of the basilica. "I gave you a name, and a purpose, one that you have most definitely carried out well. For that, I thank you."

"You could have given me a first name," Van Helsing replied sourly. Still, there was a smile on his lips. He couldn't get angry with the man he'd thought of as his father for the last several years, not after this long. Abraham had taught him everything he knew, taken him in when others would have thrown him back out.

The professor smiled. "You know well that you already have one," he said calmly, but there seemed to again be that tone of amusement. "You just need to remember it. Until then, I suggest you continue to heed your calling."

They came to the bottom of the stairs, now entering into a massive underground cavern that rested deep under Saint Peter's Basilica. The armory was enormous, and yet was still only a tiny part of the great subterranean universe that sprawled out beneath the Vatican City. This was the heart of the Order of the Templar, sworn to battle the greatest evils.

As usual, the armory was bustling with activity. Roaring fires that, as the heat hit him, felt to Van Helsing like the wrath of God being harnessed. Every great religion, Christian and otherwise, was represented here, from Jewish rabbis to Muslim imams. And they all had united, despite theological differences, to be part of the fight against darkness. Even now, Van Helsing could see the results of that cooperation. In the corner, Christian monks worked the bellows, stoking the fires while Chinese Taoists forged red-hot blades.

And there was a war going on. Van Helsing had just been on the front lines of it a week ago, and now, he was back at headquarters for new orders. Most likely, he wouldn't even be given a chance to rest before heading out again.

"Governments and empires, they come and go," the professor began as he looked around at the work being done. Van Helsing knew the speech; it was one Jinette often gave himself. But the professor seemed to have a way of making it mean something. "Rising and crumbling, but the Order of the Templar has been here since before even the rise of Christian civilization, defending mankind from evil, an evil that at times it does not even know exists." He paused and looked to Van Helsing. "Amazing that such a thing could be, yah?"

He found it hard not to agree. If the professor was one thing, it was convincing. It was a shame that he could no longer join in field operations like he had until two years ago. "It's still not the same without you," Van Helsing commented, reflecting on those memories. "We lost Quincy to that damn Count Orlock."

There was a moment of silence from Professor Van Helsing. He sighed, nodded, then continued into the cavern to lead Van Helsing down the armory. "Yes, and I know how difficult it is for you. To those who never face the darkness, the beings you fight are just monsters." There, again, was that look of sympathy and understanding. "You are the one who left standing there when the monster dies and becomes the man they once were." A smile danced on his lips now. "But it is all a test of faith for you."

"A test of faith?"

The professor nodded and came to a halt. "Yes, that is why you have no memory of who you are or where you come from."

There. For a time, Van Helsing had suspected that the professor knew exactly who he was, his lost memories, and this was much an indication of proof. "Say for example, you met God. He gave you a task, and sent you to do His work. Now, if you remembered it all, then you would have no question of what you were doing, no fear at all, because you would know that God was on your side." He paused, noticing the hope of realization that grew on Van Helsing's face. A great bubble he had made, and it was time to bring it down. Not pop the bubble, but reduce the size.

"But if you had no memory of it," he continued, "then you would wonder, every day, if you could do what had been given to you. And thus, your faith is tested every day."

Not exactly an answer, not the one he was looking for. But the professor was right; he was being tested. Still, how much did Abraham know about him, about his past, his identity? Certainly more than he was saying this day, that was for sure.

But it was true. Van Helsing knew that, if he knew the answers, he would have many less worries about what he did. He hoped that learning his past would make it easier to bear the terrible price he had to in the line of his duty. But it did little to lessen the weariness that had descended on him, and felt like it weighed more than his body.

The professor glanced back at the moment and smiled. "Cardinal Jinette," he called. Van Helsing turned to see Jinette walking over, his expression certainly more pleasant now. He knew what was coming now; they were about to send him off on a new mission. "We should now get to the issue we discussed earlier."

"Indeed," the cardinal replied. He snapped his fingers, and the lights in this part of the chamber were dimmed. A slide projector was turned on to display a map of Eastern Europe on the roll-down screen. He glanced to Van Helsing. "We need you to go to the east, to the Balkans in the far side of Romania. Specifically, Walachia."

His eyes lit up as images flashed in his mind. "Walachia?" he echoed, except that unlike the cardinal, his pronunciation of the word was different, almost as if it was said with the perfect accent. That had always been something of note to his mind; his accent constantly shifted depending on the language he spoke. At times when speaking English, he sounded American, at others, a light British, but when speaking in other tongues, one would think he was a native speaker of the language.

"Yes," the professor added, nodding to Jintte as he hobbled over to assume command of the briefing. "We're sending you to Tirgoviste, it's a city that rests in the south regions of Walachia." He paused a moment, looking at the map, then turning to face Van Helsing. "It's an accursed land, son. Filled with nightmarish creatures, some of which we have before encountered."

Van Helsing looked at the map. There was something familiar about the area, and not just the name. Something in his fragments of lost memories, true, but something else. "Don't we already have someone out there?" he said, now knowing what he was recalling.

"Richter, you mean," the professor answered. He nodded slightly. "Yes, but unfortunately, we've not heard from Richter since Orlock. We hope that it is merely a lack of communication, but we fear the worst." He paused for a moment, then nodded to the monk manning the projector. "If he still lives, son, then you will have his aid. But we must focus now on these matters."

The image of the map became a blank square of light, and then was replaced by an old painted image of a man, obviously of East European royalty. He was a handsome man, long hair, well groomed beard and mustache, but the face tugged at Van Helsing's mind. Images flashed in his mind of a battle, blood everywhere, people held in the air by poles and pikes. It was a feeling of death.

He knew that face.

Evidentally, the expression on Van Helsing's face did not go unnoticed by the professor. "Count Dracula," he said, noting the conflict in the man's eyes. There was recognition there, like Van Helsing knew the count in more than just name. "Yes, the same Dracula who once fought for the Church against the Turks, born into the Order of the Dragon. Vlad Dracula...the Impaler." The professor glanced to Jinette, who had the expression of disgust. He knew well why, and he did not blame the cardinal for his reaction. "But, that was then, and not now.

"Now, he reigns over the region as a vampire lord, preying on Walachia." Abraham paused, nodded to the projectionist, and continued once the image had changed to that of another noble. This man was more clean in appearance than Dracula, with eyes that bore determination. "King Matthias Corvinus, lord of Austria and Hungary in the fifteenth century. He once was Dracula's liege, and when Dracula became a vampire in the later half of the fourteen hundreds, he swore an oath to God that neither he nor his family would rest or enter Heaven until Dracula had been destroyed." The professor hesitated at that. There was worry in his eyes, Van Helsing could see it. "They have yet, obviously, to succeed...and they are running out of family."

The image changed again, now showing the grainy photograph of a robust older man. There was definitely a resemblance between this man and Matthias. "His descendent, Nicholas Corvinus," the cardinal stated. "He disappeared about two years ago, from what our contact in Tirgoviste has told us." The image changed again to what looked like a family photograph. "The Valerious clan, who have sworn to aid the Corvinus blood in their mission. Nicholas married the sister of Boris Valerious, and as a result, these two families are bound not only by oaths, but also by blood."

With a grunt, the professor once more resumed his command of the briefing. It was something that Van Helsing was grateful for; he much preferred his adoptive father over the cardinal any day. "Our concern here is primarily the Corvinus, however." Once again, the image changed, showing a young man, about twenty years of age, with curly hair and eyes that shined with confidence. "Velkan Valrious, who died just a few days ago, so we've been told. As a result, your job is two-fold."

The picture changed again, now showing a girl in what looked like a traditional dress of noble birth. She was young, perhaps eighteen or so, with a tender expression in her eyes. "Anastasia Corvinus," Abraham stated. He noticed the concern in Van Helsing's eyes. "Yes, she is the last of the Corvinus. If she is killed before Dracula is destroyed, nine generations of two families will never enter the gates of Saint Peter." He paused, making his point clear now. "She must stay alive, son."

The lights came back on, causing Van Helsing to blink rapidly in reaction to the sudden change in brightness. Cardinal Jinette sighed and gestured for one of the monks to retrieve something for him. "For over four centuries, the Corvinus and the Valerious clans have guarded our left flank, spilling their blood and giving their lives for the cause. We cannot let them slip in to eternal purgatory."

He grunted. He knew what his job entailed. "So you send me into Hell," Van Helsing quipped. He glanced to the professor, who only nodded. "Bloody lovely. So, what should I expect to face?"

"The very darkest creature on this world," Abraham replied. "The vampire is not alive, yet not dead, and I dare say, you've never faced anything like Dracula before."

"But Count Orlock-"

He held up his hand. "Count Orlock was a fledgling compared to Dracula," the professor stated calmly. His left leg blazed with pain, and the wounds there had never been able to properly heal. He remembered well the battle with Count Orlock. "And you well remember what a foe he was. We lost Quincy as a price for defeating that beast, I don't intend to lose you to Count Dracula."

After a moment, Van Helsing nodded in agreement. Professor Van Helsing really was like a father to him, it was no wonder that he tended to take the professor's words to heart. However, then he thought back on something. "That picture of Dracula," he said, turning to face the cardinal. "Let me see it again."

Jinette, confused by Van Helsing's reaction, nodded and handed him the projector image. It was then, examining the right hand of the picture, that Van Helsing saw it, and brought up his own right hand to compare what he saw to his own ring. They were the same signet; a silver dragon upon a garnet disc.

Evidentally, Jinette saw the same thing. "It matches your ring," he said. Glancing to the professor, the cardinal sighed. "Perhaps in Walachia, you will find the answers you seek."

That was it, there was no question now about his decision. Maybe someday, when the professor wasn't there to help him, Van Helsing would finally refuse the cardinal, but today was not it. He had a chance to find some clue to his past, to who he was. Finally understanding his visions, it was too much a temptation.

A sense of urgency filled him. Van Helsing nodded to the professor, then headed off into the armory. He had to find someone, someone specific. He walked through a blast of steam, past the forges and down a set of stairs. It was then that he saw who he was looking for. "Carl!" he called, reaching the end of the stairway and walking toward his quarry. "Carl!"

The man in question, dressed in a dark brown loose-fit suit with a pair of gloves on his hands, looked up and brushed aside the dirty-blonde hair that was over his eyes. "There you are!" he snapped. Setting down the vile in his hands, Carlson Seward pulled off his gloves and walked over to Van Helsing. "Did you bring back any of your equipment?"

"I'm sent after one of the most dangerous men in London, and the first thing he asks about when I get back are his toys," Van Helsing stated. Sadly, he could not hold an angry face for long. He knew that Carl was expressing his own concern, masked behind the facade of putting priority on the tools he built for Van Helsing's assignments.

Carl knew the routine well. "Did you bring back Bodiler then, or did you kill him, is that better?" he snapped. When Van Helsing gave him that look which said Carl should already know, he snorted. "Figures, that's why they're always so annoyed with you. When you're told to bring someone back, they don't mean as a corpse."

Carl's wit was refreshing when compared to the cardinal. Of course, Carl was no man of the cloth either, that probably helped. He was a student of Professor Van Helsing's, had been for years, and was one of the most brilliant minds that Van Helsing had ever known. His brother, Jonathan Seward, had also been a student of the professor, but had declined to stay on and never was inducted into the secret world of the Templar. It was just as well. Last Van Helsing had heard about him, Carl was ranting about how his brother was wasting his talent running a sanitarium.

"I didn't have much choice."

With the definite beginnings of a smile, Carl walked from his table toward the bustling chaos of the armory. "I can see you're in a mood," he said, now leading Van Helsing through the cavern toward what he knew was Carl's main place of work. "Come on then, I've got a few things to put the bite back in your mouth."

Now he truly had Van Helsing's attention. While Carl was an overall genius, his area of excel was in weapons development. In fact, it was Carl who had built the buzz-saw tojos after having seen a similar but more primitive weapon that was used by the Chinese, not to mention he had also built the grappling gun which had save Van Helsing's life more than a few times. There was no denying it; Carl was a master inventor years ahead of his time, surpassing many of the best weapon smiths in the world.

He glanced over as they passed by one of the forges. Then again, he thought while glancing through the racks of swords. Sometimes the best methods are the oldest and most direct arms.

Carl did not miss the shift of attention. "Oh, any idiot can make a sword!" he snapped in annoyance. He realized perhaps he should have kept his mouth shut when a burly monk turned around from the forge, holding a red hot broadsword in his hand, almost if on cue. "Uh, not referring to you, of course, Father..."

"Come along, Carl," Van Helsing hissed as he grabbed the man by the arm and pulled him along. Carl was a true genius, and he also had a problem of not knowing when to refrain from opening his mouth. "Next time, let me admire their work."

There was a rapid nod from the Englishman.

They came to a large table that was covered with various objects. Carl picked up a large bag and handed it to Van Helsing, then started picking out various things that he knew the man would need. "Rings of garlic," he said, picking out a pair of rings and sliding them into the bag. "Holy water," he continued, pushing the metal flask into the bag. Coming to a stack of wooden stakes, he chuckled and pulled out a set. "Oaken stakes, and silver stake," he said, bringing out a silver handle that extended out a long pointed pike end. "Very handy against werewolves, and it's even worked with vampires."

Reaching for a large silver cross, Carl was startled when a series of loud reports went off from behind him. Van Helsing, however, looked over at the source of the noise in admiration. It was a large machine with a series of rotary rifle barrels, something developed by an American inventor named Gatling. Carl was obviously jealous that he hadn't thought of the device first, he noted, as he saw the look on his companion's face. Still, one knew a useful device when they saw one.

"Why can't I take one of those?" he remarked.

Carl gave him that look, one that suggested he was telling a child why the sky was blue. It was a look Van Helsing hated, especially coming from Carl or the cardinal. "You've never gone after a vampire before, have you?"

"I have," Van Helsing replied, now swinging the bag over his shoulder while following Carl deeper into the armory. "Unless the professor failed to tell you about Count Orlock. God knows he shouldn't have." He paused. "Besides, what would you know about vampires, you've never been in the field."

"That," Carl said in a condescending tone, "is why they make books."

It was true - the Vatican had, without a doubt, the largest library in the world, filled with volumes by Socrates, Copernicus, Da Vinci, and Galileo. Some of the greatest works written by the most brilliant thinkers in history. Van Helsing had no doubt that Carl sought to be counted among those mind, and he no doubt could, and someday would. And right now, he had a feeling he was looking at one of those things that would do it. "What's this stuff?"

Carl paused and grinned. "Something new," he said while walking over to where the tubes and beakers of thick yellowish fluid was being developed. "Glycerin forty-eight." He placed his finger under a dropper, squeezed out a small drop, then flicked the fluid at the ground where it erupted into a fireball the size of a man. And it caused enough of a commotion as well. Several people started shouting in surprise while Carl began apologizing.

"What in the name of Allah is wrong with you!" one of the Mulsim imams shouted. Van Helsing could not help but laugh. Carl was a bit absent minded, but he knew what he was doing.

"Sorry!" he cried out once more, then turned to face Van Helsing. A look of pride was on his face. "The air around here is thick with envy and jealousy," he stated, then headed finally to his work space. "This is something I finally finished while you were gone. It's my latest invention."

Now, Carl most certainly has his attention. Van Helsing followed the man to where he picked up a large crossbow device that was covered in iron pumps and copper tubes with a large tank in the shoulder stock. The pride on Carl's face could not be rejected; this thing looked effective.

"This," he said with true envy, "I like."

"I thought you would," Carl stated with a trace of smug joy. Handing it to Van Helsing, he continued on, explaining the device. "It's gas propelled, which allows it to launch the bolts at a tremendous velocity, and it has rapid fire capability." He paused while Van Helsing tested the handling and looked through the aiming scope. "Just pull the trigger and hold on," he added. He patted the device like a father would his son. "I've heard the stories coming out of Walachia and Bukovina, you'll need this." He beamed once more while watching Van Helsing as he adjusted the optical sight. "It's a work of certifiable genius."

Van Helsing smiled. Carl never exaggerated when it came to his work, and not often did he say such words; his inventions spoke for themselves. "If you don't say so yourself," he added, now handing the crossbow back to Carl as something else caught his eye.

The sarcasm and irony didn't effect Carl one bit. After having spent several years in the presence of religious orders, he'd grown immune to criticism. "I did say so myself," he replied, now flicking a switch that caused the bow pieces of the weapon to snap back and lock in place for a more storable configuriation. "I'm a venerable cornucopia of talent."

"Did you invent this?" Van Helsing asked as he picked up a round spherical device with what looked like a pair of electrodes on the top. Inside was what looked like cooled lava, with some kind of fluid in a catch on the top. It was something he'd never seen before.

Carl was quick to move over, trying to recover the device, but Van Helsing playfully dodged and kept his hand out of reach from the inventor. "I've been working on that for five years," he stated, trying to get it back while Van Helsing moved about the table. "It's compressed magma from Mount Vesuvius with pure alkali from the Gobi Desert." He finally grabbed the device and put it away in a box. "It's one of a kind."

That sounded impressive enough, but the results were what Van Helsing wanted to know. "What's it for?

For a moment, Carl said nothing, but only shrugged. "I've got no idea yet, but I'm sure that it will come in handy."

"Five years and you don't know what it does?" Even for Carl, that was eccentric.

"I never said that," Carl snapped back in defense of himself. "I said I don't know what it's for. What it does is create a light and heat source equal to the intensity of the sun." He paused as he headed for another bag for equipment. "At least, that's my guess. I don't really have factual data on how intense the sun is, now do I."

That sounded like Carl alright; making a guess at things and not really having a comparison for it. But it always worked out before. "This will come in handy, how?" Van Helsing asked. He liked to have an idea of what uses something had before testing it in the field.

"I don't know," Carl replied. "You could, blind your enemy, charbroil a herd of charging wildebeest...use your imagination!"

He grunted when Carl threw the second bag into his arms. It was time to get this man out of his illusions about the field. "I don't know, Carl," Van Helsing said as Seward began walking away. "I'm going to use yours. You're coming with me."

Carl stopped in his tracks. He ran those words through his mind several times to make sure he heard it right, then turned around. "The hell be damned I am!" he spat.

"You cursed!" Van Helsing observed. He pointed an accusing finger at the man. "Not very well mind you, but you're a proper Englishman of London, you shouldn't curse at all."

"Actually, I'm from Wales, and being an Englishman has nothing to do with being able to curse," Carl quickly retorted. "You know very well, however, that I'm no field agent."

He nodded, but grinned and threw one of the bags back into Carl's arms. "I also know how much you gripe about how I get all the glory while you do the hard work." He paused before stepping forward to walk past Carl. "I hope your Hungarian is good, I'm not too confident about my own."