Transylvania's Most Wanted by M L Dunn

me.”
    “Yes,” Mr. Slang said as Krakov sat down and
looked out the window. “She’ll be coming along soon.”
    “She?”
    “Yes. Is that a problem?”
    “No,” Krakov said shaking his head. “Just
not what I was expecting.”
    For a few moments they sat together in
silence, Mr. Slang tapping his fingers on the armrest to
Tchaikovsky.
    When the music stopped, Mr. Slang picked up
the hat box off the floor and opened it. He took out a top hat and
handed it to Krakov.
    “Vampires don’t wear hats,” Krakov said.
    “Exactly. You won’t be wearing it long. You
need to pass yourself off as a member of the U.R.R.K delegation.
That’s how you’ll get the gun past the constables. Don’t smile and
mumble if you do have to say anything. It’s important no one sees
your fangs. That’s also why I wanted you to have short hair, look
more like a human.”
    Krakov set the hat on his lap as Mr. Slang
set the hat box back down on the floor, picked up the suitcase, set
it on his lap and opened it.
    “Here’s a coat,” Mr. Slang said pulling one
out. “Give me yours.”
    “Why?”
    “You’ll need to check your hat and coat in
at the coat-check room. If you wear your own coat – you won’t get
it back.”
    Krakov stood and removed a letter out of his
coat pocket before taking it off and handing it to Mr. Slang.
    Mr. Slang folded Krakov’s coat and put it in
his suitcase, then he pulled out a pistol. He handed it to Krakov.
“It’s a perfectly clean weapon, untraceable, but after the job’s
done, drop it in the river. Here’s your ticket,” he said handing
him one to the ball and then he handed Krakov a white silk
handkerchief.
    “What is this for?”
    “When you enter the hotel, head straight for
the staircase leading up to the second floor. You’ll be met by two
constables. They are frisking everyone for weapons and they’ve been
doing a very thorough job of it. I’m afraid our task was made more
difficult earlier today when someone sent the TCPD a note
threatening the life of Prince Marko.”
    “Do you know who sent the note?”
    “Yes I do, but you do not need to concern
yourself with such trivialities.”
    “So what do I do with this
handkerchief?”
    “Simply have it in your breast pocket when
you approach the constables with the red star visible. They’ll
think you are one of the King’s Guard and they’ll not frisk you for
a weapon. Here take this too,” he said handing Krakov an
identification card.
    “I have seen these before, it is the
identification the King’s Guard carries,” Krakov said looking at it
in the dim light. “This is a very good forgery.”
    “Isn’t it,” Mr. Slang said. “Flash it at the
constables and they’ll wave you past them. If they do ask you
anything, pretend you don’t understand English. Mumble something to
them in Russian. You’ve kept your Russian up haven’t you?”
    “Yes. Speaking English is bile in my mouth.
I spit the words out because I do like them. I hope after tonight I
never hear anyone say, bloody, or governor or old chap ever
again.”
    Mr. Slang smiled at that as he handed Krakov
a black arm band.
    “What’s this for?”
    “Once you get past the constables, you’re
not out of the woods yet. You’ll still need to get your weapon past
the King’s Guard at the entrance to the ballroom.”
    “I could carry it in under my coat.”
    “No, that won’t work. Every coat and hat is
to be checked at the coat check room at the top of the stairs. And
then you have to walk past the King’s Guard. They’re likely to spot
your weapon, but if you’re wearing your black arm-band they’ll
think you are one of the detectives working the ball tonight.”
    “So there are policeman inside the
ballroom.”
    “Yes.”
    “And they are armed?’
    “I’m afraid so,” Mr. Slang said, “but you’ll
know who they are by their arm bands. I believe there will be three
of them inside the ballroom as well as a Commander Gates.”
    “I may have to