The Dead of Winter

TEN



The butler graced them with a low bow. Cora grabbed a handful of her buffalo-hide coat in either hand and responded with a curtsy. She straightened out of it before he came back up, her hands clasped demurely in front of her.

"Please, come in," he said, standing to one side and waving his hand.

James Townsend led the way into the front hall of Lord Harcourt's private retreat. Cora followed him, and Ben brought up the rear. The butler closed the door behind them, shutting out the cold mountain air, then turned to them with a polite smile.

Cora didn't see it. Her gaze was sweeping around the hall, taking in the overwhelming if not unexpected opulence. The ceiling sloped upward above them in graceful arches of richly stained wood. To the right of the front landing, a carpeted staircase ascended along one wall, bordered by a carved railing. Paintings of garden parties and old men in fine suits dotted the walls. Above their heads, candles winked down at them from behind clusters of star-cut glass.

"If you'll follow me, please," the butler said, passing through the group to take the lead. His shoes made no sound on the thick carpet. As they walked, Cora became acutely aware of her buckskin pants and worn flannel shirt. Most of their jobs came from men as rustic as they were, so she never felt the need to dandy herself up. She didn't even own a dress anymore. However, judging from the look of this place, Lord Harcourt wouldn't be overly impressed with her riding boots and hand-stitched gloves.

The butler opened a set of brass-knobbed doors and ushered them into a large sitting room. A small fire popped in a marble fireplace as they entered. In the flickering shadows, Cora could see rows upon rows of books lining the room, gold titles glimmering. Windows bordered by heavy red curtains peered out into the winter night. Two high-backed chairs faced the fire, casting long shadows across the carpet. Flanked by a number of smaller glasses, a bottle filled with a dark liquid stood ready on a small table between the chairs.

Ben immediately lost himself in the books on the nearest shelf, his fingers hovering near their spines. Cora rolled her eyes, then noticed that the butler had vanished. She looked around the room, hoping he would reappear with a glass of whiskey.

James kept his back straight as a rod as he walked over to the fire and began to warm his hands. "Lord Harcourt will be with us shortly. Please, make yourselves comfortable."

"I ain't sure about that," Cora said, advancing into the room. "I ain't never comfortable in a place where my boots don't make noise." She stamped her feet several times to illustrate.

"Hardly a reason not to enjoy yourself," said a voice from the corner of the room. Cora spun toward it, drawing her pistol. A tall figure in a well-tailored suit emerged from the shadows, a brandy snifter in his hand. "Mrs Cora Oglesby, I presume."

"My lord," James said, bowing his head. "I didn't hear you come in."

"I was here before you arrived, Mr Townsend," Lord Harcourt replied. "Now, if you don't mind, I believe I was introducing myself to the lady."

"Of course," James said, bowing again. "My apologies, my lord."

"Accepted," Lord Harcourt said. "Now then, my lady?"

"You presume right," Cora said, holstering her gun. The exchange between the two Englishmen was already boring her. "I'm Cora Oglesby." She looked for her husband, but Ben had already disappeared into the shadows. "My husband's taken a fancy to your books here. You'll meet him once he's done drooling."

Lord Harcourt offered a slight bow. "I am Lord Alberick Harcourt." He took her gloved hand in his and brought it up to his mouth.

"A pleasure," Cora said, retrieving her hand. "I hear you've got yourself a slight problem."

"Straight to business, I see," Harcourt said. "I believe James has informed you of the basic situation."

"I have, my lord," James said. "Cora has agreed to assist us with the matter."

"I said I'd hear you out," Cora said, shooting James a look.

"More couldn't be expected at this juncture," Harcourt said. "Might I offer you a glass of brandy?"

"Well, I suppose, if that's all you got," Cora said.

Lord Harcourt looked at James, who shuffled over to the small table. He filled a glass from the bottle and brought it to her. "Here you are, Cora."

"Thanks, George," she said. She took a gulp and swallowed, grimacing. "This is the best you got?"

"It is," Harcourt replied, arching an eyebrow. He shot a quizzical look at James. "Did she call you George?"

"Yes," James replied, attempting to smile. "A nickname."

"How pleasant," Harcourt said, sitting in the nearest chair. "Please, Mrs Oglesby, come and have a seat."

Cora accepted his offer and felt herself sink into the cushion. She cautiously leaned against the back, unsure if she was committing some offense, but Lord Harcourt seemed unconcerned. The firelight gleamed off of his silver hair as he turned toward his retainer.

"James, might you stoke the fire for us?" Harcourt asked.

James blinked, then stepped over to the fire. He picked up a gold-handled poker and poked at the dying flames. Unsatisfied, he tossed a few logs on the fire, sending a flurry of sparks up the chimney. The fire sputtered back to life, and James took up a post next to Lord Harcourt's chair, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Now, Mrs Oglesby," Harcourt said, crossing his legs. "As James has already told you, I have a rather urgent predicament on my hands."

"Yeah," Cora said. "You got yourself a nasty pack of vampires eating your miners."

"Yes, to put it bluntly." Harcourt took a sip of brandy. "Ordinarily, I could rely on James to handle this situation. He's quite knowledgeable about these creatures, which is why I keep him on as a retainer."

"Is that right?" Cora asked.

"Indeed," Harcourt said. "Of course, this isn't to imply that we attract an unusual amount of attention from the undead. It's a rare occurrence, actually, but remarkably inconvenient. Typically, we only have a solitary perpetrator, which James is certainly capable of handling. However, this particular infestation is quite extensive, so I deemed it prudent to request outside assistance."

"And George told you about us?"

Harcourt nodded. "He mentioned meeting you on the rail from Denver, where that reprehensible orator kept him overlate."

"Who's that?" Cora asked.

"Oscar Wilde," James replied before Harcourt could. "He was giving a lecture in Denver and I thought to stop by on my way here. I must admit, I'm a fan of his work."

"Inexplicable, if you ask me," Harcourt said. "I do not understand what you see in the man."

"I appreciate his wit, my lord."

"As compensation for your lack of it, I imagine," Harcourt said with a wave of his hand. "It's not pertinent to the matter at hand."

"I reckon we should set a deal, then," Cora said, draining her glass. James reached over and refilled it.

"Of course," Harcourt said. "I'll get right to the point, then. I am prepared to offer you a total sum of four thousand American dollars if you manage to eliminate this threat to my investment."

Cora's glass paused on the way to her lips. "Come again?"

"I take this matter quite seriously, madam. If word of this were to reach the Court, I would become the laughing stock of Buckingham."

"Really?" Cora asked, her right eyebrow arching. "You all take vampires lightly over yonder?"

"Vampires are not considered a proper topic for discussion among nobility," Harcourt said, his tone indignant. "I am not so daft as to complain of my problems with the undead to the House of Lords. No, madam, the source of my humiliation would be the failure of my venture here. There are some who believe speculation in the American silver panic is foolhardy, and the loss of my mine would provide them with ample reason to question my judgment."

"OK," Cora said. The word hung in the air for a second. "What's the matter with that?"

Harcourt lifted his chin. "The problem with that, my dear, is that the political situation at court is remarkably delicate. Were my judgment in financial matters to be called into question, it might upset the balance of power in the House of Lords and destabilize the British government."

"You've got that much clout, huh?"

"I may be flattering myself, but yes, I believe so." Harcourt took a sip of brandy, staring into the fire. Cora watched the firelight play in the old man's spectacles. She shifted in her chair and emptied her glass, but he didn't stir. The fire snapped and sparked. She glanced at James, but he just returned an even gaze.

Harcourt finally took a deep breath and looked back up at her. "Regardless of my reasons, Mrs Oglesby, I want those monsters out of my mines so my workers can return to their jobs. Are you willing to help me or not?"

Cora grinned at the British lord as she set her empty glass on the table. "Cleaning out a nest of vampires is powerful dangerous work, Mr Harcourt, so I'll tell you what: throw in another thousand dollars and I'll make sure your boy George there is still alive and well when the job's done."

"I doubt he's worth that much," Harcourt replied.

"I must respectfully disagree, my lord," James said, his face breaking out in red spots.

Harcourt regarded Cora with narrow eyes. The fire popped. James Townsend quietly cleared his throat. "Very well," Harcourt said at last. "A bonus of one thousand American dollars if you keep my retainer alive."

"Glad to hear it," Cora said. "Now, what exactly are we up against?"

"James can explain the particulars of the situation," Harcourt said.

James cleared his throat again. "The first victim was discovered three weeks ago in one of the recent expansion tunnels. After eliminating all known natural causes of death from the list of possibilities, the foreman contacted me, requesting my expertise to confirm supernatural involvement. In the time it took me to travel from London to Leadville, an additional seven miners were discovered diseased, and all of the victims had become reanimated.

"Upon my arrival, I immediately recognized the signs of a vrykolakas attack and took appropriate measures. The infected wing of the mine was quarantined, I erected crosses and cloves of garlic at each access point, and equipped the crews working the other wings with holy water."

"Sounds right so far," Cora said. "So what went wrong?"

"Well," James said, looking down at his hands, "what I had believed to be a single vrykolakas turned out to be an entire nest of them. I haven't determined the exact number, though I believe their ranks to have grown since the attacks began. Several more miners disappeared in the mines after my arrival."

"Why is that?" Cora asked. "Don't matter if it's one or a hundred vampires if you've got the crosses and other truck in place."

"That was exactly my line of thinking," James said. "I was at a loss to explain their constant advancements into the other areas of the mine despite my efforts."

"So what was the problem?"

James looked at Lord Harcourt, who nodded. He took a deep breath and looked back at Cora. "I have reason to believe a nosferatu is at the heart of this infestation."

"That's one of your special vampires, right?"

"Yes, an intelligent, powerful being," James said. "The nosferatu possess the ability to control the lesser vrykolakas like extensions of their own bodies. I believe this control is what allowed them to bypass the wards I set up in the mine."

"Ah," Cora said, "so they're too tough for stuff like that when they've got a big bad at their heels."

"Essentially, though it is more accurate to say that they are simply no longer frightened by them," James said. "Contact with these elements can still injure and kill them, but the nosferatu's influence may be capable of overpowering their instinctive fear of death."

"Good." Cora nodded in satisfaction. "I hate fighting monsters I can't kill." Her face clouded over as a thought struck her. "So why do you need my help, again? You got it figured out what's causing this, and you know how to kill it. Where do I come in?"

"Well," James said, looking at his hands again, "I'm afraid I am unable to contain the vrykolakas through my efforts alone. Their lack of inhibition is quite problematic, and…" He trailed off.

"Spit it out, George," Cora said, waving her hand in a circle.

"I've never actually killed a vampire myself." He continued staring at his hands, waiting for her laughter, but it never came. He peered over his glasses at her, surprised.

"What?" Cora asked. "Ain't no shame in that. Not many folks can make such a claim, and even less that are telling it true."

"Yes, well, I suppose you're right," James said. "Anyway, as I told you on the train, my primary interest in vampires is scholarly, so I'm not much for actually combating them. I can contain and exorcise ordinary infestations, but this situation is beyond my capacity for either." He spread his hands to either side, palms upward. "To put it another way, we require a sword, but all I can offer is a shield."

Cora leaned back in her chair, the empty glass back in her hand. She stared into the fire, watching the sparks flutter each time it popped. Taking on a nest like this wasn't going to be as easy as she'd first thought. From what James said, there could be as many as a dozen vampires in Harcourt's mine, and one of them was as intelligent and cunning as any human. She wasn't sure if these nosferatu existed or not, but they were as good an explanation as any for a bunch of the lesser vampires to form a nest like that.

She looked at Lord Harcourt and his loyal vampire scholar. They were both waiting for her answer. If she and Ben took this job, they might very well not come back from it. If they did, they could retire with the reward and set up a quieter life for themselves. These two British gentlemen were offering them the chance of a lifetime: to brave impossible odds and either emerge victorious with a king's ransom in their pockets or perish in a vicious struggle that would earn them places among the pages of James Townsend's books. They would be the General Custers of the vampire hunting world.

"All right, then, you've got yourselves a deal."

"So we're just supposed to march into a dark, crowded mine and pick a fight with a dozen vampires?" Ben asked.

"That's the general idea," Cora said, "which you would know if you wasn't so damn taken with Harcourt's books."

"That man's got an amazing collection," Ben said. "I reckon we could make a living just printing books for him."

"Well, if we live through this, we may end up doing just that. Five thousand dollars could set us up proper for the rest of our lives if we had the notion."

They were back in their room in the Northern Hotel, the sheets pulled up to their shoulders. A single flame danced on the lamp wick near Cora's head.

"I don't reckon you'd be apt to just sit on your rear and work a press all day," Ben said. "I know you better than that."

"Maybe so," Cora said, "but I've been thinking." She rolled onto her side and looked him in the eyes. "This new job will see us rich or see us dead. If it sees us rich, I don't see no reason why it can't be our last."

"What do you mean?" Ben asked.

"I ain't a fool, Benjamin," she said. "I seen how you don't care much for this work."

"That ain't true," Ben said. "You know I ain't no coward, shying away from them demons that we fight."

"Never said you was," Cora said. "All I said was you don't care for it." Ben was about to protest again, but she put her hand over his mouth. "Don't you argue with me. You ain't no soldier or fighter. You're a reading man, just like that James Townsend feller."

"Well, I am partial to my books," Ben said, "but that don't mean I don't enjoy our work. Fact is, I enjoy it a good deal. Doing the Lord's work always makes me happy."

"There's plenty to do in the Lord's service that don't involve shooting and riding into trouble," Cora said. "We could print out Bibles or some such."

Ben smiled at her. "You'd never be happy doing that and you know it."

"No, but we've done what I like for a long time now. It's only fair we do what you want for a change."

"You really mean that?" Ben asked.

"Wouldn't say it if I didn't," she said. "I reckon I can put up with ink and machines for a spell if we do this job without getting ourselves killed. Running a press ought to give these old bones a chance to rest, anyway."

Ben searched her face for a moment, then smiled and kissed her. "Well, if you're serious, I ain't saying no."

Cora smiled and kissed him back. "Good. I wasn't above knocking you on the head and dragging you along if you was going to be stubborn about it." Without another word, she rolled over, blew out the lamp, and settled in for a sleep.