He lifted his head. "They are. Unhappily, I did not fully realize how serious until I was locked up in here."
My next encounter with Melanie took place at a celebration in honor of the Supreme Being, a politically convenient deity whose existence had recently been discovered by no less an authority than Robespierre himself. Like a great many other folk, Marie was not attending by choice, but had been sent to look out for some of Curtius's wax heads, heroes and villains of the current political establishment, which were to be carried in a procession.
"You!" she breathed, when I silently confronted her. "Were you able to see Philip?"
"I was. He has asked me to convey to you his greetings—and his love." Perhaps this was not strictly true. I raised to her my glass filled with untasted wine.
"Ah! He used those words?"
"Just as I have said."
"But he does not know—you did not tell him—"
"About your child? No, that is your duty. No doubt some suitable moment will arise."
For a time Melanie continued to be suspicious, but I held forth the promise of Radcliffe's being rescued. "How do you mean to accomplish that?"
"The final choice of means, from several alternatives, is what I have come to discuss with you. But rest assured that, one way or another, I intend to accomplish it. I am firmly determined that he shall regain his freedom."
"I bless you for telling me that, if it is true." In the course of this conversation Melanie passed on to me a piece of news from the countryside that had only recently reached her ears: the murdered, horribly mutilated body of the servant girl, Marguerite, had been discovered in the grounds of the old chateau.
"Radu," I murmured. "In all likelihood, Radu." In truth I believe that my vanity had been pricked, and I felt outraged that that slender girl whose veins had afforded me such delight and healing would nevermore embrace me, or any other, in the fashion of woman with man. Another score against Radu, for which due punishment would have to be administered.
After visiting Radcliffe in his cell again, to report to him on the status of his beloved, I made my exit from the prison before dawn, turning myself into bat-form before the moment of sunrise. Later than that, and I would be forced to retain that shape all day.
Of course I might if necessary have come to my client by day, approaching his cell door in the ordinary way, dressed in the clothes of a lamplighter or some other common functionary.
This time Radcliffe on recognizing me struggled to control his reaction. I could see him, this time, watching me carefully to see how I got in. He succeeded in this endeavor, at least to the extent that he could tell no deception was involved. I was outside the cell, and then I was inside, and neither lock nor bar nor door had moved by a hair's-breadth.
"I cannot believe what my eyes have shown me," he breathed, and rubbed at the organs mentioned. "You must explain it to me, somehow."
But I had decided to leave the bulk of that task to Constantia, who had a real talent for such matters, when she chose to use it properly.
Constantia was on hand and ready, more or less, to be of help. But, as the reader may already have deduced by now, rarely did I ever work with her in any important matter when I had any reasonable alternative. This was because of a certain lack of dependability which she was wont to demonstrate.
But it was she who had the brilliant idea (as it seemed to me then) of converting our client's cell into a genuine habitation, which would then be vampire-proof except by invitation.
"But how does one make a prison cell a home?"
"Maybe, Vlad—maybe if a loving couple were to inhabit it—even if only one of them was there most of the time—"
"It is worth a try. Do what you can. Philip Radcliffe must be protected at all costs."
As for myself, I was fully occupied with labors of a more aggressive nature.
After dark, Constantia and I ghosted together through the prison, melting into mist-form every time some guard, worker, or visitor approached, and in between such episodes regained a semblance of solidity, the better to read the labels on the cell doors or beside them. I wanted her to understand the lay of the land as thoroughly as I did. With this in mind I paused from time to time to read from the list I had borrowed of names and corresponding cell numbers. "Whose cell is this?"
"Evidently what we have here is the foreigners' wing. The tag here reads CHARLES DARNAY. Not the man we want… here's Percy Blakeney, citizen of England… no…"
Forged papers, passport, and identity card would be vitally important assets to a fugitive. A majority of vampires kept up, as a matter of course, with dependable sources of such materials. Little birds had already whispered to me that Lepitre, a classics teacher who had become head of the passport committee of the Commune, did a superb job of providing what were in fact quite genuine documents, with names and descriptions to be filled in by the customer. Naturally such quality was expensive; but I was not poor, and would not be miserly with mere money when honor was concerned. I hoped to avoid the necessity of shepherding my client all the way to the frontier, and even beyond, though I had to face the fact that such a prolonged effort might be necessary.
It had occurred to me very early in the game that converting Philip to vampirism clearly offered the safest and surest means of saving his life, at least in the short term, by removing the immediate danger from Sanson and his machine. But in the long run, that conversion would do little to save him from an attack by Radu.
Ah, if only…
I had made my choice of means. Slowly, gradually, the final version of my plan for Radcliffe's escape was taking shape.
It seemed that I had now undertaken the protection of Melanie Remain as well.
Transforming Melanie into one of the so-called undead would somewhat facilitate the task of protecting her, also, from any effort Radu might make to get at Radcliffe through her.
Another objection loomed in the back of my mind: Converting Melanie would put an end to any possibility of ever establishing a romantic attachment between us; that is something I often concede, but never lightly.
Converting both Philip and Melanie to vampires would render their escape from prison impossible for the authorities to prevent; but it would also rob them both permanently of any possibility of bringing their mutual love to its natural conclusion. Again, that would represent a chance for my wayward brother to claim a kind of victory. And to deny him victory at every possible point, at almost any cost, had become my dearest goal.
Constantia needed but little persuasion to get her to visit the male prisoner in his private cell—in fact, as I now realized, my old acquaintance was already only too eager to do so. Constantia, whom I had known almost all her life, was, to put it mildly, a little flighty, and wont to act with dangerous impulsiveness. But I anticipated no difficulty in persuading her to make the acquaintance of a handsome and hearty young man.
I tried to talk over the range of possibilities with Constantia, before sending her to Radcliffe, to make sure my old associate understood precisely how I thought the matter should be handled; but, as the reader must have realized by now, it is sometimes difficult to hold a rational discussion with that dear girl.
Part of her assigned task was to convey the essentials of an escape plan to him, but I should have known better than to trust her with any mission of that kind.
It was my gypsy's own idea, and not a bad one I must admit, that she could talk to him more easily, and be more convincing, if she appeared in the guise of a fellow prisoner.
If she were in a cell next to his and could squeeze her body through a narrow opening or ventilator, much too small for him to pass, she could be something of a bodyguard against Radu. And perhaps establish the habitation defense.