"The Blood is the Life Affair" Part 1

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

There's a dark lantern of the spirit,

Which none see by but those who bear it,

That makes them in the dark see visions

And hag themselves with apparitions,

Find racks for their own minds, and vaunt

Of their own misery and want.

-- Butler from Peacock’s ‘Nightmare Abbey’

“The Blood Is The Life Affair”

.

Part 1: It was a dark and stormy night

The weather and landscape were something right out of a cheap B horror movie. There were ominous clouds rolling across a full moon, chilling winds gusting through barebone trees and wolves howling in the distance. The only thing missing was a flash of lightning, accompanied by a loud clap of thunder.

Then as if on cue that addition to the picture came a few moments later as jagged bolts of lightning tore across the sky like skeletal hands, accompanied by the immediate boom of thunder. The storm was moving in quickly as they moved through the rugged terrain of the Carpathian mountains.

Napoleon Solo looked over at his partner sitting beside him in the black coach and four carriage as it swayed and rocked violently with every hole that the wooden wheels hit.

The driver deftly flicked his whip, driving the horses on as he tried to stay ahead of the quickly approaching weather system that was looming down upon them.

As usual the Russian had his eyes closed, his head wobbling just slightly from the motion of the carriage.

“How is it you can manage a ride like this  without being seasick I’ll never

understand,” Solo groaned as he caught himself while the coach lurched.

“That is because I get seasick on water, we are on dry land so I am therefore suffering from from motion sickness due this ghastly carriage ride.  Why you accepted this for our mode of transportation instead of renting car is beyond me.” Illya groused softly, not opening his eyes.

“If you had cared to warn me like a good partner; I would have at least lain in a supply of ginger tablets...but nooooo you thought this would be more quaint?”

“Hey don’t blame me? Our host sent it for us and I didn’t think it wise to insult the man, he is after all nobility.”

Illya finally opened one eye, staring coldly from beneath the brim of his hat for a moment before he closed it again.

“Nobility means nothing, it is just the trappings an antiquated and decayed existence; Count is but a meaningless  bourgeois title.”

“Are you done?”Napoleon asked.







“For the moment.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know you weren’t feeling well. You’re your usual pale self, and not the color of pea soup, so how was I supposed to know that you were sea...experiencing motion sickness?”

Napoleon was a bit surprised at his partner’s snappish remark regarding the Counts title but given the Russian’s Communist upbringing was not exactly pro-nobility, it made sense. Illya usually kept such remarks to himself and he wondered why the title of Count seemed to rub him the wrong way.

The only response he received to his apology was a grunt as Illya folded his arms across his stomach, now confirming  that it was bothering him.

The carriage finally slowed as it approached the aged home of the Tedescu family. More than a mansion, but not quite a castle; it was a hulking remnant of a bygone era. With its red-brick walls, towers of varying sizes, arches and ramparts,it looked as though portions of it had been built piecemeal over the centuries. The bits that had been added mismatched the rest of the architecture, and the color of the facade, giving the illusion that made the structure seem to ramble on forever like a festering wound on an already troubled landscape.

The coach pulled to a stop with the horses being reined in tightly by the driver. The animals were feisty and nervous, acting as though they would bolt at any second if given the opportunity.

Illya finally stirred to life, flipping up the collar of black trench coat as he grabbed his small valise from the seat opposite them.

“Remember Napoleon the names are reversed here, last name first, first name last.  So our host Tedescu Vladislav, would be addressed as Count Tedescu.”

“I’ve got it, no problem.You are going to do the translating aren’t you? My Hungarian is pretty much non-existent.”

Illya glared at him, still feeling a little sick but then acknowledged the question with a nod of his head.

They made it to the grand entrance way just as the skies opened up in a torrential downpour. Napoleon reached for the heavy brass knocker but the door opened slowly with a loud and prolonged creak as if their exact moment of arrival had been anticipated. The face of an old man peaked around at them, a butler looking as though he were barely alive much less be able to pull the weight of the heavy oak door.

He was thin as a rail, with wisps of white hair hanging down from his head, and he shook as his bony hands took their coats and hats from them.

They left their cases on the floor beside the man while Napoleon rolled his eyes, giving  his partner that oh boy look in dismay. Illya’s face as usual remained expressionless.

The interior decor of the Tedescu residence was just as haphazard as the exterior. Dimly lit chandeliers made of elk horns cast eerie, jagged shadows on the tapestry covered walls. The carpet covering the floors must have been rich at one time, but now was faded and worn threadbare.

There were cobwebs and layers of dust on the odd mismatched period furniture that lined the walls. Scattered along the hall were myriads of carved statues of varying sizes, some of animals, others of trees and portrait but all looking quite old as the wood was split dry and ridden with worm holes.

The subject matter of the wall hangings was rather disturbing, scenes of battle, death, destruction and executions by impalement.

“Oh this is a real cheery place?” Napoleon whispered “ wonder if this decor could be called early Bram Stoker?”

“Napoleon may I remind you that we are within the borders of Transylvania.”

“But Tedescu...”

“The Teduscu are Hungarian, but Transylvania though once Hungarian is now part of Romania. The Magyars are the largest minority population within the country.”

“Magyars?”

“Hungarians.”Illya whispered.

Solo just shook his head as the amount of trivial knowledge squeezed in that blond head never ceased to amaze him.

“Így uruk_this way gentlemen,” another servant appeared to escort them, looking as old and decrepit as the one who had met them at the door.

“The master awaits you in the library.”

They were brought into a rather large room with half-empty book shelves; the walls covered with portraits of varying sizes, displaying the Tedescu family through the centuries. There was a distinct commonality among them, both men and women all had hawk-like features, black hair with dark piercing eyes. In each painting the subjects held an ornate but vicious looking gem-encrusted dagger in their hands.

A middle-aged man dressed in a blood-red smoking jacket stood in front of a massive fireplace, sipping a crimson liquid from his glass. His features were identical to those of the people in the portraits.

“Ah, uraim üdvözöljük az otthonom, én gráf Count Tedescu Vladislav_welcome to my home, I am Count Vladislav Tedescu.”

Én Kuryakin Illya és ez a tarsam Solo Napoleon.” Illya answered.

“A magyar nagyon jó Kuryakin Illya_ your Hungarian is good Illya Kuryakin, that is a  Russian name is it not?”

“Lgen en vagyok,uram_yes I am Russian,” Illya answered, choosing not to repeat the man’s title.

“But where are my manners,” the Count said in heavily accented English, “it is obvious that Mr. Solo does not speak my language, so we will converse in English. I am rather surprised that a Soviet is working for U.N.C.L.E.”

Illya simply shrugged his shoulders. “Life holds many surprises does it not? Ours is an independent international organization owing political allegiance to no one. We have members from many foreign nations who have signed charters with us.”

“Count Tedescu, what may I ask is the reason that you’ve requested U.N.C.L.E. to come here?” Napoleon interrupted.

“My family owes a great service to Alexander Waverly from the time of the war. The Nazis used our home as a regional headquarters and Alexander helped my father and mother escape into the countryside.”

“To this day I am still recovering the belongings of my family, the portraits you see around you are but a few of the items that have been returned to us thanks to Alexander Waverly’s intervention.”

“In my family’s search over the years, we have discovered shall we say certain German documents. They had at one point set up a laboratory in this house and we have in our possession a formula for some sort of debilitating neurotoxin that does not kill the subject but has rather unusual side effects.

“Neurotoxins are no longer of any significance, many are in existence already and are easily treated with a counter-agent.” Illya said coldly, “so it would be of no significance other than the fact that it was developed by Nazi scientists.”

“Ah Mr. Kuryakin, it is not just a neurotoxin. It causes certain physiological changes in the subject, making them extremely hypersensitive to light. Their appetite changes and seem to crave raw and bloody meats.”

Napoleon smiled, “Sounds like you’re describing a vampire?”

“Precisely Mr. Solo.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise.”So you’re telling me that the Nazis were creating vampires?”

“Not vampires as we are familiar with from the stories of the Nosferatú, or the legend of Vlad Tepes. Ah, Mr. Solo forgive me, you might know him as Dracula I believe ...but I digress.”

“The victims of these experiments once injected with the drug developed vampire-like tendencies.  In their journals, the Nazis noted their test subjects demonstrated more violent tendencies, extreme strength and a voracious sexual appetite, along with a compulsion for ingesting blood and raw meats.”

“Yes is a little more complicated than your everyday run of the mill neurotoxin.” Illya said. “It sounds as if they were trying to create an army of monsters. Hitler was drawn to occultism, but this sort of experimentation goes far beyond that. May I see these documents, Count Tedescu?” Illya asked.

“Ah but of course, my brother Moríc has them in his possession as he is the one who found them. He has always fancied himself a bit of a scientist and has been studying them. He will be down shortly.”

“Good then we can get going with them. I’d like to be on the road as soon as possible,”Napoleon said.

“No no that is not wise. Please, I insist you stay the night as my guests. This storm is already becoming very dangerous and such weather makes journeying too risky. It will be safer to travel during the day once the storm has passed.”

“Do you own an automobile?” Illya asked.

“I do, but unfortunately it is not running at the moment. I am afraid good mechanics are difficult to find here, especially ones who would be willing to travel to this part of the country. That is why I sent the coach for you. I do apologize as I am sure it was not the most comfortable of journeys.”

“Perhaps I could have a look at it for you?”Illya offered.

“And why would people be unwilling to travel here?” Napoleon interrupted as he studied several of the portraits on the wall, getting an odd feeling that the eyes were following him.

“Mr. Solo we are in Transylvania...our people are a very superstitious lot and it does not help that the remains of castle Dracula are not far from here near the town of Brasov. The stories of Vlad Dracul are as pervasive as the air we breathe and because of them, people fear the legend of the vampire to this day and therefore avoid travelling to this area.”

“Well given what the Nazis were working on here, it was the perfect environment to keep prying eyes from any of their work.” Napoleon added.

“Very true Mr. Solo and yes Mr. Kuryakin, feel free to look at my car if you feel so inclined, köszönöm_ thank you.” The Count turned to call his butler.

“Looks like we are stuck here” Illya said quietly to his partner. “so much for a simple courier mission.”

“It would appear so,” Napoleon answered out of the side of his mouth.

~~~