Written in the Blood (23 page)

‘What else can you tell me?’

‘Lots, probably. If I could remember any of it. I think I wrote a paper on them once. Should be around here, somewhere. You’re welcome to take it if you wish.’ Beckett broke off, and seemed to see the chaos of his snug clearly for the first time. He scratched his head. ‘Well, maybe not. Let me see what else I recall. Ah, yes. There’s a quite detailed passage about the
tolvajok
in
Gesta Hungarorum
. And there’s also a Latin text – can’t think of its name – held by the Charles University in Prague. It describes them quite extensively. Other than that, the references are fairly obscure.’ Beckett’s eyes flicked over to her and he grinned. ‘One thing I can tell you is that you have a blessedly slim chance of ever encountering one. Supposedly the
lélek tolvajok
died out some time after the
hosszú életek
cull.’

‘Why was that?’

‘Because the
tolvajok
were dependent on them.’

‘How so?’

‘Well, the texts diversify somewhat on the exact reasoning but, generally speaking, when the
tolvaj
seized a host, the effect on the victim’s physical body – as well as mind – was enormous. The longer the union, the more exacting the toll. Imagine an engine constantly running above its limit. The body uses up all its reserves, ages incredibly fast, and when the
tolvaj
moves on, what it leaves behind is effectively waste material.’

‘I don’t see the link to the
hosszú életek
.’

‘All parasites harm their hosts in some way or other,’ he told her. ‘But the ideal relationship, if you can call any of this ideal, occurs when the parasite avoids killing its host, or at least avoids it for as long as possible. A body that ages incredibly fast is of limited use to anyone, so for the
tolvajok
, a person blessed with greater longevity—’

‘Such as a
hosszú élet 
. . .’

Beckett nodded. ‘Exactly. They represent a far more compelling solution. Even so, as far as I remember it, a
tolvaj
needed to seize a
hosszú élet
at an early enough age if it were to take full advantage of the longevity on offer. Take one too late, and their body aged just as quickly as a
simavér
host. Perhaps it’s something to do with the way the brain matures. Anyway, when the
hosszú életek
went into decline, it’s said the
tolvajok
died out.’

Leah frowned. ‘Or they were forced to become less fastidious in their choice of host.’

‘Possibly, although according to the literature, the seizing of a new host was thought to cost the
tolvajok
dearly, too. Ultimately, if they switched too often they’d simply . . .’ He opened his fingers, scattering imaginary dust. ‘Drift away.’

The old academic paused, and then he glanced down at the veins mapping the backs of his hands, as if his words had led him, suddenly, to consider his own mortality. Outside, another gust of wind sent a tremor through the curtains. Leah thought of the dark landscape beyond the glass; of all those lives being lived unaware of the threats that walked among them.

‘There was a fragment I came across once,’ Beckett said, rousing himself. ‘A very old text, late fourteenth century. Forty years or so after the Black Death swept through Europe. The original had been lost – this was a fifteenth-century copy, transcribed by a monk living in some monastery in northern Italy.

‘For most of its length it narrates the day-to-day investigations of a party of witch-hunters linked to the Dominican Order, which is of interest, anyway, considering this was a few hundred years before the publication of the
Malleus Maleficarum
. According to the fragment, one day the group’s inquisitor led them to an old ruin where, unwittingly, they stumbled across a nest of incredibly old
lélek tolvajok
. Roused from sleep, the
tolvajok
fell upon them, seizing new hosts from the party’s members. The inquisitor was the only one who managed to get away.’

Leah felt her stomach tighten as she listened to Beckett’s voice.

‘The explanation,’ he continued, ‘was that when times were tough – after an epidemic of plague and so forth – the
tolvajok
went into hibernation, drastically reducing the toll inflicted on their hosts, until new donors could be found.’

Beckett raised his eyebrows. ‘When I said earlier they probably all died out around the time of the cull, maybe I was being premature. Perhaps a few are out there still. Hibernating. Waiting for the right time to wake up and claim their inheritance.’

Leah stared at him, at his watery blue eyes, at the way his chin trembled, ever so softly, when he spoke. She remembered her grandfather telling her how Jakab had once impersonated the man during a meeting in Oxford’s physic garden, shortly before her grandmother’s death.

She wasn’t ready for this tale. Fifteen years might have passed since the horrors of Le Moulin Bellerose, but that episode had nearly broken Leah and her mother. What Beckett was telling her now, if true, presented a threat even greater than the one they’d faced all those years ago.

‘How do you kill them?’ she asked.

‘I have no idea.’

Her tea had begun to cool. She took a sip. ‘Thank you, Patrick. You’ve been incredibly helpful.’

‘I’ve enjoyed it immensely. You really do look a lot like Charles, you know. There is one other thing.’

‘Yes?’

He hesitated, a faint pinkish tinge appearing on his cheeks. His eyes fell to his lap before they found her face once more. ‘It’ll sound like a question from a senile old man.’

‘Try me.’

‘OK, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

She smiled encouragingly.

Beckett licked his lips. ‘Did he find them? Charles, I mean?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘I can’t believe I’m asking you this. But . . . the
hosszú életek
. Is that why he disappeared? Did he find them?’

Rocked by what Beckett had asked, Leah considered him. There was no way she should reveal the truth. It was dangerous not just for her. She heard the clock ticking on the mantelpiece, and wondered how many years the academic had left, sitting here alone surrounded by his old texts, his myths and his cats.

Abandoning her usual caution, she said, ‘He did better than that, Professor. He married one.’

Beckett’s chest swelled. A moment later his mouth dropped open. ‘But that means . . . if you’re his granddaughter, that means . . .’

‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘It means you’re talking to one.’

He jerked in his chair, eyes wide, and immediately Leah regretted her words. What if she caused his heart to fail? How could she ever forgive herself?

But already Beckett was recovering. He gazed at her and she saw, suddenly, not the eyes of an old man, but those of a boy, full of intelligence and curiosity and life.

‘What’s it like?’ he whispered. ‘Please, Leah, will you tell me?’

She slid off the chair and knelt beside him, among the piles of books. Her grandfather had told her many stories of his time at Balliol, but the best ones always involved Beckett. She remembered how the pair had spent their evenings in the Eagle and Child, how Beckett’s enthusiasm for so many different subjects had inspired Charles into areas of research he would never otherwise have contemplated. She remembered how helpful Beckett had been when her grandfather began researching the
hosszú életek
. The knowledge Charles had gained from their discussions had possibly helped her mother defeat Jakab in France. ‘I’ll show you,’ she told him.

Afterwards, once she had shared with him the gifts bestowed by her blood, the old man sat back in his chair, face so full of joy that it made her heart ache to think she would never see him again.

His smile grew mischievous. ‘I feel like Samwise Gamgees when he saw the elves at Rivendell.’

She laughed and he joined her, and soon they were laughing so hard they couldn’t stop, clutching their stomachs in pain and delight.

When, finally, Leah recovered, the room felt like a different place, a sanctuary where two strangers had come together and forged a bond as strange as it was tight.

She reached out and covered his hand with her own. ‘I have to go.’

Beckett’s eyes remained on her face. ‘I’ve always said the world is filled with as much wonder as sorrow. You tip the scales heavily towards wonder, Leah Wilde. Thank you.’

‘I’m so glad I came.’

Gripping the arms of his chair, the old man swung his pink-swaddled legs off the pouffe and pulled himself to his feet. When he offered his hand she declined, embracing him and kissing his cheek instead.

‘The
tolvajok
,’ he said. ‘They haven’t disappeared, have they?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. Not yet.’

‘Then, please, Leah. Remember what I told you. You
must
be careful. If they discover your existence, you’re going to become the most hunted young woman on the planet.’

C
HAPTER
21

London, England

T
he sky above West London was piercingly bright by the time Leah arrived outside Etienne’s Mayfair residence. Overnight, a chill wind had carried the rainclouds away, leaving streets that dripped and glimmered in the morning sun.

She switched off the Mercedes’ engine and stared up at the town-house windows. For a moment an unusual feeling gripped her, as if something scratched the surface of a memory and tried to work it loose. It reminded her of the sense she’d had, that evening in Interlaken, that the weather would change overnight, and that snow was coming.

That experience had manifested almost as a taste: olives or lemons, something bitter and sour, but not unpleasant. This feeling was different: a tingle, or an itch, behind her eyes.

It’s nerves
.
Nothing more. Etienne unnerves you, that’s all. Come on. Get this done.

Climbing out of the car, she passed through the security gate and went up the front steps. The same man opened the door to her. He wore no firearm today. Was that progress, she wondered? And did he offer her the vaguest of smiles this morning, in contrast to his previous distance?

He told her to take the stairs to the second floor and then he disappeared through a door at the end of the hall. Alone, Leah ventured up the staircase, glancing at the cameras that monitored her route. Unlike before, their lenses remained still.

Something’s different.

That feeling was back, too; stronger now, almost as if a tiny insect had flown into her eye, beating its wings as it died. She shook her head, blinking the image away.

Nothing had changed on the second floor. The same priceless collection of porcelain greeted her. The carpet was just as deep; the silence just as expectant.

The door to the drawing room was closed. Hesitating, Leah stared at it. She wondered, not only what Etienne’s answer would be, but how she would feel about her decision. For the first time since starting this, she could not honestly say she hoped one hundred per cent that the woman she’d come to see would give her a positive answer.

Admit it. ‘Unnerve’ is not the word you mean.

No. But she was here, and she would do this. And she would obey the rules she had set herself at the beginning.

She knew nothing of Etienne’s history, her character, how she had come to possess such enormous wealth – but she knew little, either, of the other women she had met. Steeling herself, Leah knocked on the door. When she heard a voice call out in reply, she went inside.

No flames danced in the hearth today. The ashes in the grate had been swept, and the metalwork was immaculate. Etienne sat upon the same chair by the fireplace. She smiled, and then she raised one hand from her lap and gestured towards the window.

Leah saw a man standing there. The bright sunlight streaming in from outside had transformed him almost to a silhouette, but she saw enough. His eyes, flat and pale but doubtless
hosszú élet,
were the pallor of wood smoke. Leah could not tell how old he was by looking at his face; had she not glimpsed his eyes she would have imagined him perhaps thirty years her senior. But she guessed he was far, far older than that; far older, too, than Luca Sultés, the man she’d left behind in Interlaken.

He was dressed in a sombre woollen peacoat, so dark it seemed to gather shadows to it, and held himself stiffly, as if uncomfortable in his shape.

‘I’d like you to meet someone,’ Etienne said. ‘This is Tuomas. We’ve been friends for a while.’

Leah switched her attention to Etienne, then back to the stranger standing by the window.

‘After we met,’ the woman continued, ‘I called Tuomas and told him of your proposal. I realise that might concern you. And I do understand the importance of keeping your venture concealed from the eyes of the
tanács
. But considering what you’re asking of me, I believe I’m entitled to seek advice.’

‘I’m not asking anything of you, Etienne. I’m only here to offer—’

‘I know,’ she interrupted. ‘Semantics, though, really. What I’m trying to say is that your secret is as safe with Tuomas as it is with me. He has no connection to the
tanács
. Nor anyone else.’

‘Does he speak?’ Leah asked, trying to lighten the mood but worried, the moment the words left her lips, that she’d crossed that invisible line of etiquette she’d sensed during her first visit. The stranger’s presence distressed her in a way she couldn’t quite grasp.

‘On occasion,’ Tuomas said. His voice was scratchy, odd.

‘Sorry. My mouth runs away sometimes.’

‘Not at all. I can understand why you’d be concerned. Frightened, even. But you can forgive Etienne, I hope, for wanting a second opinion before deciding on her course.’

Leah nodded. ‘I can.’

‘I have few talents, but you might say I’m a reasonable reader of people. Or at least I used to be. It’s why Etienne asked me here, to look you in the eye and tell her what I see.’

‘Which is what?’

He came towards her. This close, she could smell his cologne, spicy and dark. He studied her with those flat grey eyes and she felt as if she were being opened and sifted, her thoughts as clear as if they had been written down on paper.

‘I see a young woman who doesn’t grasp the danger she’s in.’

Despite how uncomfortable it made her, Leah forced herself to maintain eye contact, feeling almost as if she sensed something in his expression. She thought of the cameras along the staircase – how two days earlier they had tracked her progress through the house. How this morning they’d remained still.

‘I see fear and I see hope,’ he continued. ‘I see someone trying to do something remarkable, with little concern for her safety.’ Tuomas glanced at Etienne. ‘You have no concerns from me. Only my blessing.’

Confused, Leah turned away. What she saw shocked her. Tears stood on Etienne’s cheeks, glittering diamonds. Flustered, the woman brushed them away, and in that single action Leah thought she glimpsed, finally, the humanity in her, concealed so masterfully until now.

Perhaps it was Tuomas’s presence, or the intensity with which he had studied her, but now she found herself noticing more in Etienne’s expression: an aching loneliness, and a self-control so rigid it threatened to shatter her should she allow it to fail.

‘I want to come with you, Leah,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what will happen, and I know you can’t promise me anything. But the thought of a child. It’s . . .’ Her words seemed to fail her, and she flapped her arm. ‘I’ve made my decision. I hope your offer still stands.’

‘It still stands. Of course it still stands.’

Etienne rose to her feet and enfolded Leah in a fragile embrace. Standing back, she laughed, the sound like a dam being breached.

‘Where exactly is this place you’ll take her to?’ Tuomas asked.

‘I can’t tell you that. Not yet.’ To Etienne, she added: ‘But I’ll be in touch soon. You’ll be available to fly out to us? At short notice?’

‘Of course.’

Tuomas was still watching her. ‘Are you going straight back?’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘As I said, I don’t think you realise how much danger you’re facing.’

‘I’m aware of it. Believe me.’

‘I don’t. I don’t mean to insult you, but I don’t think you’ve grasped the repercussions of what you’re doing. How many are there of you?’

‘Enough.’

He nodded. ‘I’d be happy to accompany you back’

‘There’s no need. Really.’

‘I’d—’

‘Really, Tuomas. Thank you. But there’s no need.’ Time for a lie, she thought, although it made her uncomfortable to speak it. ‘I’m not in London alone. It’s kind of you to offer, but this isn’t the first time I’ve done this and it won’t be the last.’

Tuomas studied her a moment longer, and then he moved away, hands clasped behind his back. ‘In that case, allow me to wish you well.’ For the first time, he smiled. ‘Who knows? Perhaps our paths will cross again.’