‘Ten days,’ said Aleksei.
‘It seemed longer.’
‘What about Raisa? Wouldn’t she be in the same boat as you – unable to escape into the sunlight?’
‘Who knows? What would Cain care, anyway? If she was lucky there was some bit of cave she could shelter in until dark. If not – you won’t find any remains.’
‘You reckon it’s completely sealed?’
‘If that’s what Cain intended, then he’ll have achieved it. There were only five routes in and out, plus those gaps where the light came in from the cliff. It wouldn’t take much gunpowder. Some of it was shored up anyway. It wasn’t safe at first. We helped him build it!’
‘I know,’ said Aleksei, recalling what Kyesha had told him. ‘So what will happen to the others? Can’t they dig their way out?’
‘If they were going to, they should have done it by now. They’ll grow weaker every day. There’s not much food supply in there.’
‘Not much? What do you mean?’ Aleksei was aware that his mind was working slowly, but even as he realized the only possible implication of what the voordalak had said, it was spelled out for him.
‘We weren’t just vampires in those cells. He had to feed us. I think there were seven humans in all. You saw three of them. Didn’t you know?’
Aleksei jumped to his feet, ignoring the pain in his ankle. His hands covered his face and he felt cold. He’d seen them there, two men and a woman. That was why they’d had vegetables to eat – not as an experiment to see what nourishment a voordalak could survive on, but to provide a food supply for the subjects of Iuda’s other experiments. And the man and the woman had been together. Did Iuda see them as breeding stock – not themselves to feed to those creatures, but to provide future generations that could be? Now, entombed, there would not be food enough for the humans to last more than a few weeks. There would be no prospect of their producing children to follow them in their fate. But those few weeks that drew their lives to a close would be indescribably vile. And Aleksei had seen them – opened their cage with the intent of letting them out, but with the effect of letting their tormentors in.
He turned away and vomited, spasms racking his body as he came to understand what he had done. He had been lulled, by Kyesha’s charm, by his own pity for each voordalak he had seen suffering some monstrous fate, and by Iuda’s guile. He had made the mistake of judging any of them by human standards. Kyesha could smile and smile and be a villain. The imprisoned voordalaki could suffer what they had and still it would not make up for the very first meal they ever took in their altered existence. And Iuda? Iuda had played him for a prostak, just like he always did. Iuda had summoned him down to the Crimea, and Aleksei had trotted there with willing obedience. What Iuda’s ultimate intent might be was as yet unclear, but for the moment it would be enough for him simply to toy with Aleksei.
There was nothing left for Aleksei’s stomach to yield. He turned back to the voordalak that still lurked in the shadows of the cave. The sun had not yet set, but the moon was already visible – almost full – in the east. Aleksei had not killed one of these creatures for many years, but before the night was out, he would. But there was much to be learned before that.
‘And when those seven have given all they can, your kin will starve to death anyway,’ he said. ‘Pointless, don’t you think?’
‘They may starve,’ the voordalak replied, ‘but they won’t die. They will weaken, become unable to move, unable to speak. If they conserve their energy, they may last a little longer. Eventually they’ll become insensible to what’s going on around them, perhaps indistinguishable to you from a rigid corpse. But dead? No. It is not a pleasant fate.’
‘One which you all willingly chose,’ muttered Aleksei.
‘True. And few do not learn to regret it.’
‘Do you regret it?’ asked Aleksei, clambering sideways across the slope before sitting back down. He felt the comforting hardness of his wooden sword, hidden under his greatcoat, as it pressed into his armpit.
‘Half an hour ago, I think I did. Now, I do not.’
The urge to kill rose in Aleksei, and he decided it was time to draw the conversation to a close. He asked the question head on.
‘What did Cain have in store for Tsar Aleksandr?’
‘To make him into one of us.’ It was said with a simple coldness.
‘There was the blood of a vampire in that wine?’
‘That was the rumour, but who other than Cain would know the truth?’
‘And how would it work?’ asked Aleksei. ‘Even if Aleksandr had drunk the wine, he was never bitten by a vampire. Doesn’t that have to happen first?’
The voordalak nodded thoughtfully. ‘I have always believed so,’ he said. ‘But there was one thing that Cain said in explanation of that.’
‘Which was?’
‘“It’s in the blood.”’ The creature shrugged its shoulders as it spoke.
‘“It’s in the blood”?’ Aleksei’s question accurately revealed his lack of understanding.
‘That’s what he said.’
‘Already in the blood?’ asked Aleksei. ‘Is that what he meant?’
‘I can only tell you what he said. You must trust me on that.’ He smiled, much as Aleksei might have sneered, at the idea of trust between them. ‘We’re like Androcles and the lion, you and I,’ he said, as if changing the subject.
‘I take it I’m Androcles,’ replied Aleksei. He doubted he would get more on the matter that interested him.
‘Exactly. And I am the beast towards whom you showed not fear, but mercy. The thorn in my paw was enslavement. You freed me of it. I should show you eternal gratitude.’
Aleksei considered. Theirs was a version of the tale that had never been told. Androcles finally faced the lion at the Roman games. Would it remember the benevolence shown it, and spare the gladiator, or revert to its animal state, and devour him? In no variant of the story had it been Androcles who saw the error of his ways, who realized that a lion cannot change its true nature, and that though it might spare the life of one man to whom it owed a debt, it would still prey on every other creature whose path it crossed and devour them without mercy. Aleksei would be the wise Androcles, who before the cheering crowd plunged his sword between the beast’s shoulderblades, ignoring the look of betrayal in its face and thinking only of the lives it had taken and the lives it would have taken if not stopped.
He reached beneath his coat and felt the handle of the wooden sword. The creature was weak and hungry; now was the time to strike.
‘And I do feel grateful,’ said the voordalak. Aleksei wondered if it had guessed his reasoning and was about to beg for mercy. ‘But I prefer a story from Aesop to that of Androcles.’ It stood and took a few paces towards Aleksei. The sun had now set, and there was no restriction on its movements. ‘You know the one, about the scorpion who begs a ride across a river on a frog’s back. The frog is afraid the scorpion will sting it, but the scorpion explains it would be a fool to do so, because it would drown too. And so they set off across the river, and of course the scorpion stings the frog and the frog begins to sink. And as they both face death the frog gasps, “Why? Why did you sting me when it means your own death?” The scorpion – itself drowning – makes a simple reply. “I’m a scorpion; it’s my nature.”’
‘I know the story,’ replied Aleksei, tensing himself for action.