1. The Castle

Introduction of Mr. Harker, a British gentleman obsessed with only one thing. Vampires

                The man standing at the head of the table was tall, slender, and spoke with a dignified British accent.  That was all the others knew about him so far.  They assumed he was wealthy; after all he had found them and flown them to Romania on very short notice.  Like the eleven other men, he wore a black cloak with a hood that covered his face, and a unique insignia on the right breast. 

                The room was large, once a ballroom, and it made the large mahogany table and the armed chairs, with their cracked, oxblood leather seats, seem insignificant in comparison.  The table was set with crystal goblets, fine china and silver flatware.  The candelabras in the center of the table were filled with eighteen inch white taper candles and appeared to be made of solid brass.  The walls of the room conversely were old, crumbling stone and looked as if they would cave in if someone sneezed violently.  The tapestries that adorned the walls were faded and unraveling in places, but enough could be seen to know that they depicted scenes of violence.   

                “Welcome to my home,” the Brit said laughing.  His laugh was that of a mad man.  The rest of the men laughed uncomfortably.  It would have been impolite not too considering the accommodations Mr. Harker had provided.  They, however, could not believe that he lived in such a dilapidated castle as the one in which they now sat.  “Ok.  So this is not really my home, but the castle does belong to me.  It was purchased by my father several years ago and upon his passing I inherited the old place.”  Harker lifted his own goblet to his lips before continuing.  “My father was a very special man.  He spent his life building corporations and raising his family.  Upon his retirement, however, he needed a hobby to keep him busy.  This castle is the standing example of his undying devotion to his studies.”             

                “What was he studying?” asked another man at the table.  His accent was very clearly southern American.  “Roaches, mold, or bad architecture?” 

                Harker laughed though the other eleven held their collective breath.  No one was sure yet if this man could be trusted not to act in a hasty manner.  Though they did not yet know each other they felt a strange bond.  No one wanted bloodshed.    

                “No, sir, my father’s life study was in the occult,” Harker said.  “Specifically, the superstitions of eastern Europe.   Gentlemen, you all know of the place which you now sit.  It is perhaps the best well known castle in Eastern Europe, but its true name is not that which you know.  You see, gentlemen, you are sitting in the ballroom of Castle Radu.  It was built sometime in the 1300s by Prince Vladimir Radu.”

                “My God,” said the American.  “He’s going to tell us that this is the home of Count Dracula.” 

                “That, my dear friend, is exactly what I am going to tell you,” Harker said with a sudden intensity, “except that Dracula was a fictional vampire.  Prince Radu is anything but.  No one knows when he was born or when he died … if he died.  The stories of him kidnapping small children whose bodies would later be found drained of blood are legendary in the area, and though few will admit it many still fear the once-great ruler.  The peasants in the area believed he could control the wind, rain, fire, and even the wild animals.”   

                 “You do not expect this group of obviously educated men to believe in vampires do you?”  asked an Asian sounding gentleman.

                “I expect nothing,” Harker said calmly.  “I know you believe already.  No, you more than believe.  You know that vampires are real and yet you sit by and do nothing.  You, who have all of the money, time and knowledge at your disposal, you sit in your offices and drive your expensive sports cars.  Why do you not use the gifts you have received from whatever god or gods you believe in to rid the world of these unholy beings?  This is not about religion.  Vampires plague every culture in the world, especially those who do not believe.  It is popular too say that the greatest trick Satan ever played on mankind was to convince them he did not exist.  I do not know about Satan, but vampires have used that idea to their great advantage.  They now live unmolested in all of the worlds developed countries.”

                “I don’t know about the rest of my comrades,” said a gentleman in a Slavic accent with an intensity that rivaled the Brit’s.  “I have lived in this part of the world my entire life, and I know all of the tales of vampires.  Yet, I do not believe in such things.  I even know the supposed story of your Prince Radu.  But the truth is that Vladimir Radu was nothing but a cruel warlord who killed his own people with no remorse.  To call him a prince is an insult to all monarchs, past, present and future.  He led his people into battle and when he realized he was beaten he fled, leaving his men to perish.  He never gave them a second thought.  This is not the kind of man whom one should call a prince.”

                “This is true,” Harker responded.  “Radu was a terrible leader of men.  He had absolutely no thought for his citizens except that they provided him with money and power.  That does not discount him being a centuries old vampire.  And as to the assertion that you do not believe, I, sir, call you a liar.  You cannot tell me that you have forgotten your only sister.  The one that you yourself said was a guiding star from the heavens.  The sister whose body you exhumed with your own hands.  The sister whom you staked at high noon so that she could not return and would not live the damned life of a vampire.  Yet, you dare tell me and these gentlemen that you do not believe in vampires?”  The Englishman sat for a moment in contemplation. 

                “This is not a place to hide your knowledge, though to the world it seems madness.  You have been brought here precisely because you do know of these hell-spawn.  You, gentlemen, have all had brushes with the undead and I know all of your stories. 

                “My name is not Harker.  My true name you will never know, just as I ask you not to reveal yours to anyone else in this room.  With your consent we will recreate the truest, most feared body of noble inquisitors to ever exist, The Paladin, the twelve most trusted knights in the court of Charlemagne.  Our enemy, this time, are not heretics or those deemed undesirable by The Church, or some dictatorial leader.  Together my friends we will hunt down and destroy our common enemy.  We sit already on ground zero.  We own the most famous castle in the Vampire realm.  If you accept my offer you will become part of the greatest anti-vampire league ever formed.  If you do not you may return home with no ill will on my part.  Each of you has a return airline ticket in your room.  If you are not here at this time tomorrow I will assume you have used it.”

Author's Note

My first serious attempt at a novella/novel. Thank you for your time and suggestions.