bl.necroscope2-第17部分
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a man who has been taken； used； destroyed by one of these half…vampires。 He was dead when I spoke to him。 Dead and utterly terrified。 But not of being dead。 And now he is undead。
Kyle shook his head； tried hard to understand。 〃You'd better get on。 Tell it your way。 Let it unfold。 That way I'll understand it better。 Just tell me one thing： when did you。。。 speak。。。 to this dead man？〃
Just a few days ago； as you measure time； Keogh answered without hesitation。 I was on my way back from the past； travelling in the M？bius continuum； when I saw a blue life…line crossed； and terminated； by a line more red than blue。 I knew a life had been taken； and so I stopped and spoke to the victim。 Incidentally； my discovery wasn't an accident： I had been looking for just such an occurrence。 In a way I even needed this killing； horrible as that may seem。 But it's how I gain knowledge。 You see； it's much easier for me to talk to the dead than to the living。 And in any case； I couldn't have saved him。 But through him I might be able to save others。
〃And you say he'd been taken by a vampire； this man？〃 Still groping in the dark； Kyle was horrified。 〃Recently？ But where？ How？〃
That's the worst of it； Alec； said Keogh。 He was taken here…here in England！ As for how he was taken…let me tell you。。。
Chapter Four
Yulian had been a late baby； late by almost a month； though in the circumstances his mother considered herself fortunate that he hadn't been born early。 Or very early and dead！ Now； on the spacious back seat of her cousin Anne's Mercedes； on their way to Yulian's christening at a tiny church in Harrow； Georgina Bodescu steadied the infant in his portable cot and thought back on those circumstances： on that time almost a year before when she and her husband had holidayed in Slatina； only eighty kilometres from the wild and ominously rearing bastions of the Carpatii Meridionali； the Transylvanian Alps。
A year is a long time and she could do it now…look back…without any longer feeling that she too must die； without submitting to slow； hot tears and an agony of self…reproach bordering on guilt。 That's how she had felt for long； long months： guilty。 Guilty that she lived when Ilya was dead； and that but for her weakness he； too； might still be alive。 Guilty that she had fainted at the sight of his blood； when she should have run like the wind to fetch help。 And poor Ilya lying there； made unconscious by his pain； his life's blood leaking out of him into the dark earth； while she lay crumpled in a swoon like。。。 like some typically English shrinking violet。
Oh； yes； she could look back now…indeed she had to…for they had been Ilya's last days； which she had been part of。 She had loved him very； very much and did not want to lose grasp of her memory of him。 If only in looking back she could conjure all the good things without invoking the nightmare； then she would be happy。 But of course she couldn't。。。
Ilya Bodescu； a Romanian； had been teaching Slavonic languages in London when Georgina first met him。 A linguist； he moved between Bucharest； where he taught French and English； and the European Institute in Regent Street where she had studied Bulgarian （her grandfather on her mother's side； a dealer in wines； had e from Sofia）。 Ilya had only occasionally been her tutor … when standing in for a huge…breasted； moustachioed； matron from Pleven…at which times his dry wit and dark； sparkling eyes had transformed what were otherwise laborious hours of learning into all too short periods of pure pleasure。 Love at first sight？ Not in the light of twelve years' hindsight…but a rapid enough process by any estimation。 They had married inside a year； Ilya's usual term with the Institute。 When the year was up； she'd gone back to Bucharest with him。 That had been in November of 〃47。
Things had not been entirely easy。 Georgina Drew's parents were fairly well…to…do； her father in the diplomatic service had had several prestigious postings abroad； and her mother too was from a moneyed background。 An ex…deb turned auxiliary nurse during the First World War； she had met John Drew in a field hospital in France where she nursed his bad leg wound。 This kept him out of the rest of the fighting until she could return home with him。 They married in the summer of 1917。 When Georgina had introduced Ilya to her parents； his reception had been more than a little stiff。 For years her father； severely British； had been 〃living down〃 the fact 〃that his wife was of Bulgarian stock； and now here was his daughter bringing home a damned gypsy！ It hadn't been that open； but Georgina had known what her father had thought of it all right。 Her mother hadn't been quite so bad； but was too fond of remembering how 〃Papa never much trusted the 〃Wallachs〃 across the border〃； a distrust which she put forward as one of the reasons he'd emigrated to England in the first place。 In short； Ilya had not been made to feel at home。
Sadly； within the space of eight more years…split evenly for Georgina and Ilya between Bucharest and London…time had caught up with both of her parents。 All squabbles were long forgotten by then and Georgina had been left fairly well off…which was as well。 In those early years Ilya certainly wasn't earning enough from his teaching to keep her in her accustomed style。
But it was then that Ilya had been offered a lucrative position as an interpreter…translator with the Foreign Office in London； for while in life Georgina's father had once been something of a pain； in death his legacy included an excellent introduction to diplomatic circles。 There was one condition： to secure the position Ilya must first bee a British citizen。 This was no hardship…he'd intended it anyway； eventually； when the right opportunity presented itself…but he did have a final term's contract at the Institute； and one more year to plete in Bucharest； before he could take up the position。
That last year in Romania had been a sad one…because of the knowledge that it was the last…but towards the end of his term Ilya had been glad。 The war was eleven years in the past and the air of the reviving cities had not been good for him。 London had been smog and Bucharest fog； both were laden with exhaust fumes and； for Ilya； the taint of mouldering books in libraries and classrooms too。 His health had suffered a little。
They could have e back to England as soon as he'd fulfilled his duties； but a doctor in Bucharest advised against it。 〃Stay through the winter；〃 he'd counselled； 〃but
not in the city。 Get out into the countryside。 Long walks in the clean； fresh air…that's what you need。 Evenings by a roaring log fire； just taking it easy。 Knowing that the snow lies deep without； and that you're all warm within！ There's a deal of satisfaction in that。 It makes you glad you're alive。〃
It had seemed sound advice。
Ilya wasn't due to start working at the Foreign Office until the end of May； they spent Christmas in Bucharest with friends； then； early in the new year； they took the train for Slatina under the Alps。 In fact the town was on the slopes gentling up to the foothills； but the locals always spoke of it as being 〃under the Alps〃。 There they hired an old barn of a place set back from the highway to Pitesti； settling in just before the ing of the first real snows of the year。
By the end of January the snowploughs were out； clearing the roads； their blue exhaust smoke acrid in the sharp； smarting air； the townspeople went about their business with a great stamping of feet； they were muffled to their ears； more like great bundles of clothing than people。 Ilya and Georgina roasted chestnuts on their blazing； open hearth fire and made plans for the future。 Until now they'd held back from a family； for their lives had seemed too unsettled。 But now。。。 now it felt right to start。
In fact they'd started almost two months earlier； but Georgina couldn't be sure yet。 She had her suspicions； though。
Days would find them in town…when the snow would allow…and nights they were here in their rambling hiring； reading or making languid love before the fire。 Usually the latter。 Within a month of leaving Bucharest Ilya's irritating cough had disappeared and much of his former strength had returned。 With typical Romanian zeal； he revelled in expending much of it on Georgina。 It had been like a second honeymoon。
Mid…February and the impossible happened： three consecutive days of clear skies and bright sunshine； and all of the snow steaming away； so that on the morning of the fourth day it looked almost like an early spring。 〃Another two or three days of fair weather；〃 the locals nodded knowingly； 〃and then you'll see snow like you've never seen it！ So enjoy what we've got while you can。〃 Ilya and Georgina had determined to do just that。
Over the years and under Ilya's tuition； Georgina had bee quite handy on a pair of skis。 It might be a very long time before they got the chance again。 Down here on the so…called steppe； all that remained of the snow were dark grey piles heaped at the roadsides； a few kilometres up country towards the Alps； however； there was still plenty to be found。
Ilya hired a car for a couple of days…a beat…up old Volkswagen beetle…and skis； and by 1。30 P。M。 on t
