The coach-and-four set a fine pace along roads that had seen better days, and eventually on a bumpy trail that wended its way through gloomy pine forests. The strange calls of unfamiliar creatures sounded dully beyond the shadows that whipped past our ill-fitted windows, through which cold air gusted uncomfortably.
The driver, swaddled against the cold in such a heap of ragged blankets that he barely resembled a man, spoke very little English, and not much more German. He had managed to inform us that the journey to the Borgo Pass would take perhaps five hours, stopping only a few times at lonely inns and isolated villages along the way to water the horses and stretch our legs. By securing a private carriage at the hotel, rather than the public diligence, we were able to make good time. When asked if he would take us on directly to Castle Dracula, the coachman was strangely reticent, and pretended not to understand. If he refused us later, we would be stranded. I remembered Harker’s diary—he had been likewise abandoned in a harsh wilderness, only to be picked up by a strange black carriage driven by a demonic coachman, who Harker had suggested was Count Dracula himself. Knowing that his account was a fiction proved little comfort now that we were here, looking out onto the mournful, desolate beauty of haunted Transylvania.
When we did pass by villages and farmsteads, groups of peasants, dressed in their sheepskins and gaily coloured gatya, stared at us impassively. One old woman, upon seeing foreigners taking the road to the Borgo Pass, made the sign of the cross; whether for our benefit, or her own, we could not tell.
We moved up and down great ranges of hills, until finally we crested a high ridge, and the landscape changed dramatically. Ahead stretched an interminable forest, painted upon the vista in daubs of green, blue and black, reaching all the way to the base of the purple mountain range with its snow-capped peaks lost to enveloping clouds. I considered myself well travelled, but had never seen a land so untamed, so starkly beautiful, and yet somehow so forbidding.
We passed a sign for Piatra, which we had noted on our map as the nearest large settlement to our destination. The coach forked away from it, however, following an easterly trail that led into a steep valley. The road seemed to be swallowed by the carpet of rocks and trees ahead, only to reappear on the upper slopes of the foothills beyond. We were forced to slow for the inequalities in the road, and had not travelled far when we saw that we were no longer alone.
From all sides came the shouts of men. From behind us came hoofbeats upon hard ground.
Upon hearing these sounds, something spurred our driver to action, and he at once took his long whip to the team. The sudden burst of speed along such an uneven road forced Holmes and me to brace ourselves so as not to tumble from our seats. When finally we regained our balance, we were able to look through the grimy windows to see just who approached.
A dozen or so horsemen trailed behind us, and more rode from narrow paths on either side, gaining rapidly. Although we were strangers in this land, we knew at once from the descriptions we had read in the Dracula Papers, and the things we had heard in Bistritz.
Szgany.
Dressed in silks and furs, with large moustaches and carrying long knives, the fierce gypsies of this region now hounded our advance. And behind the horses came a small carriage, which must have approached from the Piatra road, for it could not otherwise have caught us so easily.
The gypsies called to each other in their strange language, and shouted to our driver, who cracked his whip and quickened his horses to a breakneck speed, like the very devil were on our heels.
We thundered into a deep forest basin, and jolted up the other side, the snorting of our horses and clattering of the carriage wheels almost drowning out the whooping of the Szgany behind us. Gunfire cracked. We looked back, our teeth rattling in our skulls from the bumpy ride, and we saw that several gypsies had ridden to the fore, firing rifles in the air. If they wanted us to stop, their actions had the reverse effect.
Holmes reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a revolver. He gave me a nod, and I took up my own gun, which I had hoped I would not need.
Each of us leaned out of our respective windows, immediately assailed by the freezing mountain air. Holmes fired first—his shot was deliberately high, and caused the gypsies to flinch upon their steeds. One of them now lowered his rifle, holding it in one hand in a most ungainly fashion as he wrestled with the reins in the other. I could see that their warning shots had ceased, and the man intended to fire at us directly. With self-preservation foremost in my mind, I squeezed a round from my revolver, which must have nicked him, for he almost dropped his rifle and ducked low to the neck of his horse.
Another shot rang out from our pursuers, this time cracking against the rear of the coach. Splinters of wood erupted inside.
Holmes fired again, missing his mark. The coach now crested a hill; sunlight streamed into the cab, and illuminated the Szgany to our advantage.
One of the gypsies fell as a bullet struck him in the shoulder—but it had not been fired by me or Holmes. Our coachman cried out in his own tongue, and for a second I wondered if he was the gunman, or perhaps whether he himself had been hit. But then I realised his tone was one of surprise, and turned to look at the road before us.
The trees thinned out ahead, giving way to rocky, scree-covered slopes. And upon those slopes stood armed men. They were not Szgany, nor even Transylvanian by the look of them, but had the disciplined look of soldiers.
Our coachman slowed to avoid running into them, and the men at once fanned out, opening fire with their rifles—British, Martini-Henry rifles, if I were any judge—stopping the advance of the Szgany at once.
There was a short exchange of fire as some resistance was offered, but soon the gypsies had turned their horses about and were racing back down the trail. We thought for a moment that our driver would not stop, but Holmes leaned out and shouted to him in English and German until finally he reined in the horses. Before I could say a word, Holmes sprang out, and made his way back down the road towards our saviours. By the time I caught up with him, he was shaking hands with a tall, thin fellow who looked rather out of place amongst the military men at his side.
“Alfred Singleton, I presume,” Holmes said.
The man looked surprised. “Why… yes. We learned just hours ago that two Englishmen were leaving Bistritz after asking about Castle Dracula, and that the Szgany had taken a particular interest in them. But I would wager that our intelligence is at least partly wrong, and that you are neither Garnett Pym nor Chester Creak.”
“You are correct. My name is Sherlock Holmes, and this is my associate Dr Watson.”
“Bless my soul!” Singleton gasped, a look of unimaginable relief upon his pale, lined face. “I’ve heard of you. You’re both the last person I’d expect to see out here, and the most welcome. What brings you to Transylvania, Mr Holmes?”
“You do, sir. I learned that a villain by the name of Van Helsing was on his way here personally, doubtless to finish off his dark business by murdering the last two true witnesses to his crimes: yourself and a certain Mr Aytown. Where is your companion?”
Sadness crossed Singleton’s face. “You’re too late, Mr Holmes. Francis met his end at the hands of the Szgany just a week ago. Indeed, he’s buried on the ridge up there. It was sheer luck that I managed to find these men, and they have offered me protection while I continue my research at Castle Dracula.”
“And these are Royal Engineers?”
Singleton nodded, and at last introduced us to our saviours. Holmes handed the message from Mycroft over to the leader of the group, Captain Brownsworth, who studied it carefully, before shaking Holmes by the hand also.
Before further pleasantries could be exchanged, two more Engineers rode up the trail towards us on horseback, one of them with the wounded gypsy thrown over his saddle, hog-tied and cursing.
“Put a gag on that man, and see to his wound,” Brownsworth ordered. “We’ll find out what he knows later.” The captain turned to us again. “You are welcome to billet with us, gentlemen. We lodge at Castle Dracula.”
Holmes turned to Singleton. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
“Oh yes, Mr Holmes. If it were not so dangerous, I would have returned home with my findings days ago. But the Szgany patrols have increased in frequency.”
“They are receiving orders to stop you at any cost,” Holmes said. “And I imagine those orders shall be extended to us now. They were accompanied by a small coach just now. Is that normal?”
“No,” said Brownsworth. “It’s a deuced impractical vehicle for these trails, too.”
“Then they have a leader now. A man too old and out of condition to travel with the Szgany by horse. A man whose sense of retribution has led him here, to see personally what you have found in the castle, and to ensure it is destroyed.”
“You mean to say that was Van Helsing in the coach?” Singleton asked.
“It had to be. He left England before us, though I had hoped he was delayed sufficiently so as not to plan for our arrival. It seems he had time enough. He will not let us leave here alive.”
“That’s grave news,” said Brownsworth. “We don’t have enough men to repulse a sustained attack. Just these, plus a handful more back at the castle. We are not provisioned for a siege.”
Holmes smiled. “Perhaps a siege is exactly what we need…”
* * *
The road to Castle Dracula was winding and perilous, twisting its way up the south-east face of a tall mountain, and eventually looping beneath the curtain-walls of ancient fortifications. Many times our coach’s wheels scraped so close to the edge of the great precipice that I was able to look out of the window to stare directly down into a yawning drop, the full extent of which was obscured by billowing cloud.
By the time we came to a halt, and I was able to step out onto the cobblestones of the courtyard, my legs were like jelly. If Holmes had experienced any anxiety over the hair-raising journey up the mountain, he showed no sign.
Before us, the castle loomed, black and jagged. It appeared solid enough—featureless grey walls grew upwards from a courtyard strewn with detritus, while parapets and crenellations towered precariously above. The outer walls were in a poor state of repair; ancient battlements stood proud, and even now were patrolled by the small garrison of Royal Engineers, who peered occasionally down the mountain-path through their binoculars. This was a castle that had seen hardship over the long centuries—whatever wealth the reclusive Count Dracula had possessed, he had clearly not used it to keep his house in order.
Once the detail had all gathered in the courtyard, Holmes at once asked to be shown the evidence that Singleton had discovered. Singleton agreed at once, and showed us and Brownsworth into the desolate castle, and down into the lower levels.
“Most of this part of the castle is carved into the very rock of the mountain,” Captain Brownsworth explained. “It’s really remarkable engineering, given its age. The walls above are four feet thick in places, and the ceilings vaulted stonework, reinforced by thick pillars. If it comes to it, this is where we shall hold out—even modern howitzers wouldn’t be able to break through here—a true testament to the old masons.”
The cellars were extensive—a warren of rooms, large and small, linked by wide passages or tight corridors here and there, with stairways leading to even further depths. Singleton lit torches as we went, which sat in rusting iron sconces, and now cast their primitive orange light about us. Eventually we reached a locked room, which Singleton opened up for us. Once torches and candles were lit inside, Holmes at once began to inspect the room, his keen eyes scanning every detail.
Several large, empty crates were scattered about the room. At one end, a large safe of fairly modern appearance sat open. Along one wall were shelves, mostly bare save for a few books and various detritus. A table was set up in the middle of the room, scattered with papers and trinkets.
“A treasury,” Holmes said.
“You are right, Mr Holmes. Although it was pretty much like this when I found it.”
“There are drag-marks across the floor, and leading out into the passage beyond. Is there another way into these cellars?”
“Yes,” Brownsworth answered. “There is a fortified door on the south face, which provides another path down to the road. It is now blocked by rubble from the bombardment.”
“But previously it would have been used to transport goods in and out of Castle Dracula?”
“Yes.”
The boxes that Dracula sent to England probably started their journey in this very chamber,” said Holmes. “I very much doubt that they contained dirt, as the Dracula Papers claim. Are those gold coins I see on the table there?”
“A handful remained when we got here,” Singleton said. “There are smaller chests in an antechamber below us, stuffed full of gold. In his haste, he must have forgotten them—or perhaps the Count intended to return. These boxes, however, contained the bulk of Count Dracula’s material wealth, which he sought to smuggle away. I have a letter from the harbourmaster at Varna, who swears that Dracula paid for the loading with gold from one of the boxes.”
Holmes’s eyes lit up. “The action of a man most assured that his wealth would buy him safety and loyalty, and also of someone so long in solitude that he had become naïve about the ill intentions of his fellow men.”
“That was my opinion too. I rather wonder how smoothly his passage to England would have gone if any ship’s crew knew the value of their cargo. Over on the table there are a few scattered remnants that must have been dropped in the Count’s haste to leave. Some of the papers document the more valuable treasures. There are some letters, also, which I imagine will be of particular interest to you, Mr Holmes. And a gold locket, which I found in the rubble upstairs. I shall let you be the judge of its significance.”
Holmes gave a look of surprised approval at Singleton’s cleverness. I recalled that the man was a psychical investigator by trade, and in order to catch clever tricksters and charlatans had doubtless perfected some of the techniques upon which Holmes prided himself.
Holmes went to the table and examined the artefacts, his smile broadening with each paper he looked at. Finally, he picked up the gold locket that Singleton had mentioned, and opened it. He stared for some time at the contents. He removed the small oval portraits, and inspected the backs of each, before carefully replacing them. Finally, he handed the locket to me.
“Here is the final clue to a little mystery you’ve been dying to solve,” he said wryly. “The portraits are labelled only ‘D’ and ‘Elisabet’ on the backs. What do you make of them, Watson?”
I studied the portraits. I did not recognise the woman at all. She was pretty enough, and fair, though the portrait was not particularly flattering. The man on the left-hand side of the locket, however, was strangely familiar. I knew it must be Dracula himself, but I had never seen an image of the man. He was dark-haired and pale-skinned; his lips were thin, his nose sharp, and his jaw angular and severe. His eyes were dark and penetrating, located beneath thick eyebrows. Though his features were harsh, he was still a handsome fellow. I stared at it for some seconds more, aware that Holmes was waiting for my epiphany; then it came.
“Arthur Holmwood,” I said.
“You see the resemblance?”
“Very much. Lord Godalming has his mother’s eyes, it seems, but for the rest he is the spitting image of Count Dracula.”
“When we visited Ring, I studied the family portraits for some time. And the reason was simple—every portrait of every male heir above that grand staircase bore certain physical similarities. Sometimes these were pronounced, sometimes not, but every Godalming had some trait that would identify them as blood relatives.”
“Except Arthur Holmwood,” I said.
“He did not resemble his father, his uncle or his grandfather. I could see nothing of his mother in him. I knew then that Arthur Holmwood’s parentage would be a pivotal factor in solving this case.”
“What does it mean?”
“It means that Van Helsing’s motives were very personal indeed. For that woman, Elisabet, is his wife.”
“Good grief, Holmes.”
“Van Helsing must surely know that Mr Singleton here has found some vital clues in the castle. The presence of the Royal Engineers has so far deterred any hostile action, and if Mycroft was right then Van Helsing is not in a position to call upon the German Army—or so we should hope! However, he will stop at nothing to end this once and for all. Now that he knows we are here, he will gather his gypsies in greater numbers, and come for us. But we shall be ready.”
“You have a plan, Mr Holmes?” Brownsworth asked.
“I think so. I shall need to speak to the prisoner first, of course.”
“As you wish. I shall have a man translate for you.”
“Mr Singleton—how much gold was left behind in that antechamber?”
“A small fortune, for these parts.”
“Good. A small fortune is exactly what we shall need…”
* * *
“Parley! Parley!”
The cry from the battlements rang off the cold rock of the mountain. From our position in the great gateway of Castle Dracula, we peered out into the gloom, through flakes of snow that fell gently upon the plateau outside the castle walls, and to the dark shapes that moved ominously there, amidst flickering lamplight.
Holmes himself was nowhere to be seen. He had spent hours plotting with Captain Brownsworth, and although I had my part to play in my friend’s plan, I knew that he was retaining some secrets for himself, until the time was right to reveal his full hand.
We waited for a response to our request. Negotiation of terms appeared to be our only hope, as the sheer number of armed Szgany that had amassed on the slopes of the mountain had taken the Royal Engineers by surprise—they had not realised just what numbers the enemy could bring to bear. Van Helsing, it seemed, had galvanised the local gypsies to unite against us.
A full minute passed, and our man on the wall was about to hail them again, when a horseman, heavily clad in furs, trotted from the enveloping snow, calling to us in thickly accented English. “We will parley. Follow me!”
We had already taken our instruction from Holmes. Now I, along with Captain Brownsworth, and a young corporal named Phillips—fluent in German and Romany—walked out of the castle grounds into the lion’s den, trudging down the wide track and onto the plateau. The gates thudded shut behind us, and we heard the sound of the bars being lowered. As I stared at the dark figures ahead of us, their horses, lanterns and many rifles hoving into view, I felt suddenly vulnerable. We were placing our lives in Van Helsing’s hands, and trusting to whatever sense of honour he had, that he would not simply take us prisoner or shoot us on the spot.
The enemy doubtless wanted us to enter their encampment, but we stopped halfway, at a point near the track, beside a distinctive rocky outcrop. This was no-man’s land, where Holmes had instructed us to wait until Van Helsing came to us, beyond the effective range of either side’s guns given the darkness and prevailing elements. As Holmes had predicted, there was an exchange of words in German, and eventually a group of men walked towards us, perhaps a dozen strong. The horseman who had dogged our descent down the track now circled, holding up a blazing torch to light the way of his paymaster.
As the group drew close, the ranks of the flamboyantly dressed gypsies parted, and two men stepped from their midst. One was a large fellow, with tufts of pale hair protruding from beneath a furred hat; his pale blue eyes smouldered with enmity towards me, and I knew at once that the surviving twin had returned to Van Helsing’s employ. The other was a small, stout man; though he wore a great fur hat and was swaddled in heavy clothes, Abraham Van Helsing was unmistakeable.
“If my eyes deceive me not, I see Dr Watson,” Van Helsing said. “We are some long way from the Royal Society now, no? Now, you are straying into a land most hostile, friend John, brought here no doubt by Mr Sherlock Holmes. And where is he? Where is the man who think to pursue Van Helsing to the end of the earth?”
“Holmes did not think you would be well disposed toward him,” I said. “Nor toward Singleton, either. And so I have come to parley in their stead, with Captain Brownsworth.”
“Ah, the Royal Engineer. Tell me, Captain, are you finding Transylvania to your liking?”
“It is an education, sir,” said Brownsworth, curtly.
“Indeed. Transylvania, she have ways, eh? And they are not English ways. Ha! My people, they see you time and time again, blasting charges, digging trenches, and measuring hilltops. Some say you plan to build a railway through the very mountains. I say this would be folly. Do you not agree, Captain? Is it folly?”
“Lesser men might say so,” replied Brownsworth. “I would call it ambition.”
“The English, as ever, they overreach. Perhaps I need do nothing to hinder this plan, Captain. It will fail, as all such surveys have past failed. The Carpathians are mistresses most harsh, eh? They will betray; they always betray.”
“You would know a thing or two about betrayal,” I said. “There is a grave dug on a ridge some way down this trail. A man named Aytown is buried in it.”
Van Helsing smiled wickedly. “Then the stakes, they are revealed to you, friend John. You know where you may yet end your days, should you take a foolhardy path.”
“I do not threaten,” I said. “We have a garrison of trained fighting men, with British rifles and British steel aplenty. We shall not be easily moved from Castle Dracula.”
“I expect nothing less! The British are nothing if not belligerent, no? They fight for the pride, for the honour and the glory, like no other. But they can lose all the same. There are, what? Twenty men in the castle? Look about us here. I have a hundred Szgany now, and more to follow. The castle walls, they crumble; we can outlast you, or we can assault you, but the result it is the same. Out here in this land I need nothing but the numbers to defeat you, and numbers I have.”
I nodded to Corporal Phillips. He repeated my next words loudly, in the tongue of the Szgany.
“And will the Szgany die for you, Professor? Will they rush the great walls of the most forbidding castle in these lands, for the promise of hunting rights that should be theirs anyway, or for gold that has been promised by a distant government, which they must wait for even as their comrades die upon this ground?”
Van Helsing looked confused for a second. He said something in German to the Szgany, which I understood vaguely as, “Do not listen to these English dogs; the German government has never let you down.”
“Why die here today, for gold that you may never see?” I shouted, with Phillips echoing my words. “When instead you could take gold from us, and this land, in fair payment for your service, and never again take up arms for a foreign power?”
At this, I took a large purse from my coat, and tipped a shimmering cascade of gold coins into my palm, which I then tossed at the Szgany nearest us. The gypsy snatched one of the coins out of the air as the rest landed in the snow. He held it up in the torchlight, and then bit it to test its authenticity.
“Pathetic!” cried Van Helsing. “You think you can buy the loyalty of these men? Loyalty that has been owed to Van Helsing for nearly two years? They have seen for themselves my power. They have seen the wealth of my government, and they have been provided for in the manner most handsome. If you have the gold, friend John, then the Szgany can take it after you are dead.”
The gypsies laughed menacingly.
“And how many must die to secure it? Are you willing to die first?” I pointed at the big Szgany in front of me. “Or you?” I pointed at the next in line. Phillips translated my words, though I think they understood me well enough. “To storm those walls is madness. We have men with rifles, and grenades. We have machine guns, mortars, and explosive charges set on every approach. We have been busy preparing for a siege, Professor. You may defeat us with numbers, and steal our gold, but you seem to count the lives of these men cheaply. How many are you willing to lose to our guns? A quarter? Half? That is how many it will cost, as I am sure you know.
“Listen to me!” I stepped forward, trying to instil within my voice a strength that I did not truly feel out there in front of a savage foe. “Professor Van Helsing is willing to sacrifice your lives to take this castle. And he claims he does this because his government wants the land, and will by their grace allow you to live and hunt upon it when the deed is done. This is a lie!”
“Silence him!” Van Helsing snarled. One of the Szgany stepped forward, but another held him back, and nodded at me to continue.
“Professor Van Helsing cannot give you this castle. He cannot promise you this land, because his government does not own it. His government does not even want it! The land has already been promised to the British government. These men are here legally, and are the only authority here. If they were trespassers, then surely soldiers would come to remove them. They would not risk your lives in this venture. No! Van Helsing is here of his own volition, pursuing his own enemies. He seeks revenge against Count Dracula, even though the Count is already dead. Would you die for such a man? The kind of man who would dishonour the dead? Would you die for his selfishness? Or would you rather strike a deal with us, and leave here tonight even richer, with no loss of Szgany lives?”
This caused some commotion, and an angry conversation broke out between the gypsies who surrounded Van Helsing. He attempted to convince them of his integrity, and for a moment a couple of the Szgany, aided by Van Helsing’s large German thug, seemed to be winning the argument on the side of the professor.
It was then that Holmes’s plan came to fruition. Someone shoved Van Helsing hard in the back, and he stumbled forwards into the arms of Captain Brownsworth. The Szgany who had done this deed now threw off his hat and scarf, and drew a pistol, which he aimed at the other gypsies. But of course this was no Szgany at all, but Sherlock Holmes, in the clothes of the captured gypsy from the castle.
As angry eyes settled upon him, Captain Brownsworth backed away to us, dragging the struggling professor with him. Phillips now took up a rifle, and I my pistol.
“Holmes,” I muttered. “We are outgunned.”
“Corporal Phillips,” Holmes said, ignoring me, “translate for me. Professor Van Helsing has no official business here, and no authority. Your former master, Count Dracula, sold this land to the British Crown. Van Helsing was his enemy. Van Helsing had the Count murdered, and made you all complicit in the crime. We know this, and can prove it. Believe me, the blood of Dracula is on your hands, and if there is any curse in these lands brought about by the destruction of such an ancient bloodline, it will be on your heads for your treachery.”
As Phillips translated Holmes’s words, a few of the gypsies checked their stride, while others spat upon the ground in a superstitious effort to ward off evil. The German tried to spring forward, his hatred of Holmes getting the better of him, but the Szgany pulled him back fearfully.
“And yet all may not be lost for you,” Holmes continued. “If you swear to leave this garrison in peace, and grant us safe passage away from here, with this man as our prisoner, we shall reward each and every man amongst you. Once word has reached this fine captain that we are safely away from Bistritz, you may come to claim the remainder of your gold. If you betray us, you will have to fight, and for what? Professor Van Helsing has already showed that you are expendable in his eyes—he will care not if every last one of you dies upon the tip of a British bayonet. So I ask you now—will you fight for him? Or will you take our gold and go in peace?”
Holmes spoke with a passion that did not truly translate, and although Van Helsing struggled and swore throughout my friend’s rousing speech, he could break neither the steel of Holmes’s grip, nor of his words.
While Holmes had been speaking, many of the gypsies had come closer to our position, and we saw now a good many men, some of whom muttered between themselves, while others merely stared at us with deep suspicion.
The man who had circled us on horseback now swung down from his mount, and pushed through the press of Szgany towards us. He barked something gruffly in his own language—his words were directed at Holmes.
Phillips said, “He asks why they should bargain, and not merely take our gold by force. They would be long gone by the time the soldiers arrived.”
“I am glad he asked,” said Holmes. “Tell him that, during the past few hours, our men have been laying charges all across this ridge. If the Szgany take any hostile action against us, we shall detonate them and trap them all in a great landslide. None shall get off this mountain alive. But the soldiers shall endure within Castle Dracula. Ask him if he is willing to die tonight. After all, I hear the dead travel fast in these parts.”
Holmes referred to an old superstition, which Phillips now translated faithfully. At those words, many of the Szgany began to back away, and the large man who spoke for them looked uncertain.
“Now!” Holmes shouted at the top of his voice.
Upon his command, an explosive charge detonated some short distance to our left, sending showers of dirt and rock cascading over the side of the mountain, and raining down upon us. Men cried out and ran for cover; horses bolted down the trail. I was as surprised as anyone, for Holmes had not told us this part of the plan; I could only hope that the site of the charge had been carefully chosen by the engineers not to cause the very landslide that Holmes had threatened.
When calm was eventually restored, the few gypsies who had remained near to us cursed us, and glared at Holmes angrily.
“Leave as friends, or sell your lives for the Germans,” Holmes said icily. “I must have an answer now, or our parley is over and it shall be war.”
The gypsies quickly spoke amongst themselves, some reacting with outrage, others more cautiously.
“They are representatives of different groups,” whispered Phillips. “Not all of them are warlike—many simply wish to go home.”
Sure enough, when the answer at last came, the large Szgany stepped forward, spat into a gloved palm, and held it out to seal the bargain.
My friend clasped the large man’s hand firmly, saying, “You shall not regret this. A purse of gold for every man here, and more to follow. Return to the castle in three days’ time, and your payment shall be waiting. Remember, only when the soldiers receive word from us will the bargain be complete.”
Even as Holmes spoke, four men from the garrison emerged from the darkness at our backs, the explosion having been their signal perhaps. They carried with them a large wooden box, which now they placed down before the gypsies, and took away the lid. Within were many hundreds of gold coins, some sorted into cloth bags, but others piled such that they gleamed in the dancing light of the lanterns and torches. The eyes of the gypsies lit up almost as brightly as the shining gold before them.
A few gruff words were exchanged. The big German caused a hue and cry, cursing our names and struggling to get at us, but he was subdued, and dragged away towards the horses. The large Szgany nodded at us, and left our company, whistling to his brethren to gather so that he might impart what had transpired.
Finally, Holmes turned to Van Helsing.
“Professor, your eagerness to complete your personal vendetta has led to your downfall. You are now our prisoner. Every courtesy shall be extended to you, count upon it; but tomorrow morning we leave for London, where justice shall at last be served.”