The People's Will by Jasper Kent Page B

Vizier noticed his hesitation.
    ‘Go ahead,’ he insisted. ‘The sultan’s protection does not extend to kafirs.’
    Iuda stepped into the boat and lifted the
ryadovoy
up by his collars. Aside from his own hunger, he knew that it would be a breach of etiquette to refuse such hospitality. He had grown to understand how important these matters could be to some. And Edhem had done everything right. The Russian was not dead – he was not even unconscious. His eyes scoured Iuda’s face, searching for some sign of pity, some hint that Iuda might be his rescuer. Iuda bared his fangs and saw the young soldier’s hope turn to terror. It was too much to resist. He leaned forward and bit, drinking slowly, pleased that Edhem understood his needs so well. The soldier was in no position to resist.
    The Grand Vizier continued to speak as Iuda indulged himself.
    ‘We have considered your offer,’ he explained. ‘As you are well aware, Ţepeş – Zmyeevich, as you call him – has been an enemy of our people for many years; for centuries. But we have not been constantly at war. At times we have occupied his lands, and he has tried to repel us. Currently, his nation is not part of our empire. It is Russia who threatens us, not him.’
    Iuda lifted his head. The
ryadovoy
was scarcely conscious now, buthis blood was still vibrant. Iuda began to speak, but felt dryness in his throat. He coughed. ‘Ţepeş is an opportunist,’ he said. ‘He will let Russia lead, but he will follow.’ He returned to his repast, feeling more compelled now to drink than when he began.
    ‘He is, but he is also a pragmatist.’ Ibrahim Edhem’s voice was louder now. ‘He knows when to fight and when to cooperate. When he sailed through the Bosphorus to join you in Taganrog, do you think we were unaware? And do you think we were unaware of your experiments in Chufut Kalye?’
    ‘You weren’t even born.’ Iuda noticed that his own voice was slurred.
    ‘I was – just – but I am only the latest of those who have protected our empire over the generations. We have known for centuries things that you have only learned recently – for all your science.’
    ‘And what do you know?’ Iuda spoke quickly and returned his mouth to his victim’s throat. The man was dead now, but still he felt compelled to drink.
    ‘We know, for example, that Ţepeş and Flaviu Stanga are one and the same. We know of the hatred between you. We know of your experiments and how your own kind despise you for them. We have even reproduced much of what you have discovered: how to kill the vampire, how to control him. We’ve learned of toxins that will render a creature such as you incapable – and we know how to administer them.’
    Iuda understood in an instant, but it was too late. He spat out an unswallowed mouthful of blood, yet still yearned to drink more. His intellect prevailed, but he had already consumed enough. He felt no pain, no knotted agony in his gut. That just went to show how well Ibrahim Edhem had chosen the poison. He looked up and saw the silhouette of the pasha’s head and shoulders as a blur. He was still talking, but Iuda could make no sense of it. The image in his eyes began to collapse, as though it were a freshly painted canvas left out in the rain. He slumped forward into the boat, hearing a splash as his victim’s body fell from his grasp and into the water. Then there was nothing.
    When he awoke, he had not moved far. He was still in the cistern, lying face upwards, the stone columns soaring abovehim. He sensed wooden walls at his sides, which made him feel secure, reminding him of a coffin. He tried to move, but found that he could not. He wondered if he might still be paralysed by the drug that he had drunk from the soldier’s body. He racked his memory for what the poison might be, but as his senses returned he realized that his immobility was due only to the fact that he was bound by heavy chains; not simply hand and foot – his whole