bl.necroscope2-第19章

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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　h