Читать книгу Department 19 - 3 Book Collection - Will Hill, Will Hill - Страница 39

The Blacklight helicopter flew north, carrying its four passengers across the border between England and Scotland. The pilot kept the chopper low and away from built-up areas, the green-black landscape of the Scottish countryside rolling quickly away beneath them. They flew northwest towards Fort William, then turned true north and headed into the wilderness. At Loch Duich they joined the river Shiel, and followed it north along the glen that bore its name. At the northern end of the valley, the chopper slowed, hovered, then touched down with a thump, shaking the passengers in their seats.

Frankenstein unfastened his safety belt. “Let’s get this over with,” he said, gruffly.

The door of the helicopter slid open, and Frankenstein stepped down on to thick grass. Morris followed, and Jamie and Larissa brought up the rear. As he gripped the door rail the vampire girl’s hand closed over his, momentarily, and he felt heat surge through him. Then he was down, and making his way over to where Frankenstein was standing waiting for him. Larissa followed behind, her eyes firmly locked on the detonator in Morris’s hand.

They were standing in front of what appeared to be a small village; a loose arrangement of wooden buildings that ran from the bank of the river to the rising slope of the woods at the rear of the plain. A wooden wheel had been set into the clear rushing water of the Shiel and a small generator sat humming next to it; a thick bundle of wires ran across the grass and disappeared into the village. Jamie noticed with bemusement that heather had been twisted into the wires at irregular intervals, like a kind of decorative camouflage. In front of them, a metal arch had been sunk into the grass and wound with vines and flowers. A single word had been placed at the top of the arch, the letters crafted from blonde twigs tied together with green cord.

“Valhalla,” read Jamie. He looked at Larissa. “What is this place?”

The vampire smiled at him.

“This is where we’ll find answers,” she replied.

“Let’s get on with it then,” said Frankenstein, and walked towards the sculpted arch. Larissa strode quickly after him, with Jamie and Morris following slightly behind.

They walked under the arch and on to what passed for Valhalla’s main street. Wooden houses, two and three deep, ran along both sides of a rutted dirt track, the grass long since worn away by feet, hooves and tyres. There were at least thirty homes, ranging from simple wooden cubes to more lavish dwellings, with raised porches and tiled roofs. The road sloped gently upwards, flanked by carefully tended flowerbeds, wild shrubs and strings of multicoloured light bulbs, towards an open circular area. From this clearing, the track diverged left and right, forming a T shape; more buildings were set into the lower levels of the hillside, amongst tangles of gorse and wild flurries of heather.

Standing at the back of the clearing, facing down the road, was a wooden house. The largest building in the village had a series of wooden steps leading up to a long porch, on which sat two benches, from where the occupants would be able to look out across Valhalla to the river and across to the rising eastern slope of the glen.

“Why don’t we know about this place?” wondered Morris aloud, as they made their way up the track.

“Admiral Seward seemed to know about it,” replied Jamie. “I wonder who else did?”

As they walked, the doors of several of the houses opened and people stepped out to watch them as they passed. Jamie saw instantly that they were vampires: they stood easily in the doorways of their homes, a feeling of calm, almost of welcome, exuding from them. There were men and women, young and old, vampires of every race and colour. Some were dressed in worn clothing, T-shirts and jeans that had born the brunt of years of outdoor work. Others were dressed in suits and ties, or shirts and trousers. One vampire, a greying man in his forties, was naked; he stood casually outside a house that was covered with colourful murals of flowers and water. Jamie found himself nodding at them as he passed, and they returned his greeting with nods and smiles of their own.

“Someone’s coming,” said Larissa, and pointed up the track.

A vampire in his late twenties, in a beautiful charcoal-grey suit and a bright scarlet cravat, was walking down the road towards them. Beside him, a small figure was floating through the quiet air, and Jamie heard Larissa gasp.

It was a boy, no more than five or six years old. He was wearing a T-shirt, a pair of shorts that had seen better days, and a wide, welcoming smile that faded as soon as he saw Larissa.

“I knew you would come back to haunt me,” he said, softly.

“Hello, John,” Larissa replied. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Again?” asked Jamie. “Do you two know each other?”

“We met once before,” said the vampire child. “Several years ago.”

“When?” demanded Jamie. “How?”

“The day I was turned,” said Larissa, softly. “I didn’t know where to go, so I went back to the park and—”

“Please,” interrupted the vampire in the suit. “I’m sure your story is fascinating, but we do have rules here. People are not encouraged to just turn up out of the blue, without one of our own to introduce them. I’m afraid I need to ask you who you are and what your business is here.”

Frankenstein answered him, his deep voice rumbling around the silent valley.

“I am Victor Frankenstein of Department 19. This is Jamie Carpenter and Thomas Morris, both also of Blacklight. And this is Larissa, who is one of you.”

“And your business?”

“We want to ask Grey some questions,” said Larissa. “Is he here?”

“He is,” replied the vampire. “He’s been away, but he came home three days ago.”

Larissa bared her teeth.

Only Jamie saw her do it, and he cocked his head to the side. She shook her head at him, quickly.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” continued the vampire, smiling widely. “My name is Lawrence, and this is John Martin.”

Jamie could not restrain himself any longer. He was overwhelmed by this strange, idyllic village. There was a palpable sense of peace and wellbeing emanating from the buildings and their residents, a feeling of contentment and happiness.

“What is this place?” he asked.

Lawrence smiled at him. “In Norse mythology, Valhalla was the place where heroes go when they die. This is the equivalent for vampires who have sworn not to taste human blood; a place where you can live in peace.”

He gestured to a fenced-off area at the edge of the village. A herd of cattle, huge Angus bulls with shimmering flanks and long horns that gleamed white in the moonlight, were grazing idly at the lush grass.

“They provide all the blood the residents need. There are vampires here of every age, gender, nationality. You can come and go as you please, as long as you obey one rule; you must never harm a human being, under any circumstances.”

He held out his arm towards them. Tattooed on the inside of his left arm was a thin black V.

“This is the mark of Valhalla. I was brought here in 1967 by Grey, the man who founded this place. I can leave for years on end, but this means I will always be welcome.”

Jamie stared at the tattoo, then frowned at Larissa. She met his gaze, and shook her head.

“How does all this work?” Morris asked. “Is it some kind of commune?”

Lawrence laughed. “Basically, yes,” he replied. “Anyone who agrees to obey our rule is welcome to be here. Some stay for weeks, other for years, decades, even. We generate the power we need, we tend the herd that provides us with blood; all residents are expected to help with whatever needs to be done to keep Valhalla running smoothly. Apart from that, they may do as they wish.”

“It sounds great,” said Jamie, smiling.

“It’s the best place in the world,” said Lawrence, simply. “I’ve seen most of the world over the years, and there is nowhere I’d rather be than here.”

“It sounds like a bunch of sixties crap to me,” muttered Frankenstein.

Lawrence shot him a sharp look. “It’s a life of peace,” he said. “If that sounds like crap, then I feel sorry for you.”

Frankenstein grunted, but he said nothing more.

“Follow me,” said Lawrence. “I’ll take you to Grey.”

The vampire led them up the track towards the clearing. John Martin floated alongside him, casting nervous glances at Larissa.

“This Grey,” said Frankenstein, in a low voice. “He is the one you’ve brought us here to see?”

Larissa nodded.

“Exactly who is he?”

“He’s supposed to be the oldest British vampire,” she replied. “He’s been around for more than two hundred years; if anyone knows anything that can help us, it should be him. And he hates Alexandru, and all the vampires like him. They’re the opposite of everything Valhalla stands for. Apparently.”

“Have you been here before?” asked Jamie.

Larissa shook her head.

“Why not? Why didn’t you leave Alexandru and come here?”

She laughed. “You heard him. You can’t come in unless you’re introduced by one of them. Truth is, I wasn’t even sure this place existed. I thought it might just be a legend.”

She lowered her head, and Jamie stared at her as they entered the clearing at the end of the track.

A wide metal shed with an open front stood in the northwest corner, set into the hillside. A small tractor was parked inside, beside an ancient-looking plough, and sacks of fertiliser and grass seed. They walked up the steps of the large house, and waited on the porch as Lawrence disappeared inside.

He emerged a minute later, and told them that Grey would see them.

They followed him into the house, and Jamie looked around as Lawrence closed the door behind them. They were standing in a large square living room, made entirely of wood. The floorboards were uneven and creaked beneath their feet, and the walls were painted bright white. It was surprisingly domestic; a rug lay over the middle of the floor, red curtains covered the windows, and two large homemade bookcases stood in the corners that faced the door. They were piled high with books; some that looked as though they had to be at least a hundred years old, others that appeared brand new. Two doors led further into the house, and Lawrence walked over and stood beside one of them.

“Only Mr Carpenter and Mr Frankenstein are to go through,” he said, a hint of apology in his voice. “Grey does not like crowds, and he believes that what he has to say is only of interest to the two of you.”

Morris opened his mouth to protest, but Jamie fired a warning look at him, and he closed it again. Larissa nodded.

“Please make yourselves at home while you wait,” said Lawrence. “Gentlemen, please come with me.”

He opened the door, and Jamie and Frankenstein stepped through it.

The room was a study, dominated by a large window that looked out on to the hill that rose behind Valhalla. A homemade desk stood before it, and in a chair behind the rough wooden surface sat Grey, smiling at them as they entered.

It was immediately obvious how the vampire had got his name; his head was covered in a mane of hair that was almost silver, swept back from his high forehead and temples, descending below the level of his collar and on to his shoulders. His face was that of a man in his late sixties, lined and creased, but the eyes twinkled with life, and his lips were curled into a broad, welcoming smile.

He stood up from the chair and walked around the desk. He was wearing a blue and white checked shirt, faded blue jeans and battered brown boots. He looked like a cowboy on the verge of retirement; all that was missing was a worn ten-gallon hat. He extended a hand towards Jamie.

“Mr Carpenter,” he said, and the teenager gasped. Grey’s voice was unearthly, a rolling blast of bass and treble, a sound that was both swaggeringly large and charmingly soft. “It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you. My name is Grey.”

In the living room, Larissa’s heightened ears heard this greeting, and crimson spilled into her eyes. She reached out, grabbed Lawrence by the lapels of his suit jacket and threw him across the room. He was taken utterly by surprise, and didn’t react until he crashed into the wooden wall, splintering the planks, shattering the glass in the window above him, and shaking the entire house.

Morris started to say something, but Larissa was already moving. She crossed the room in a flash, threw open the door of the study, and disappeared inside.