bl.necroscope2-第17部分

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e　vile；　animated　mushroom；　in　the　glade　of　Thibor's　mausoleum。　He　formed　a　rudimentary　eye　in　its　tip；　expanded　its　pupil　the　better　to　see　in　the　darkness。
　He　saw　the　dying　man：　a　large；　handsome　man；　which　might　explain　the　good　strong　blood；　its　quality　and　quantity。　An　intelligent　man；　high　browed。　And　yet　crumpled　here　on　the　hard　earth；　with　his　life　leaking　out　of　him　down　to　the　last　few　droplets。
　Thibor　couldn't　save　him；　wouldn't　if　he　could。　But　neither　would　he　let　him　go　to　waste。　A　cursory　glance　of　his　obscene　eye；　to　ensure　that　the　woman　was　not　ing　out　of　her　faint；　and　then　he　sent　up　a　score　of　tiny　red　snouts　from　his　gaping　face：　hollow　tubes　like　little　pouting　mouths；　to　slide　into　the　raw　wound　and　draw　on　the　last　of　the　hot　juices　which　flooded　there。　Then…All　of　Thibor's　hellish　being　surrendered　itself　to　the　sheer　ecstasy…the　black　joy；　the　unholy　rapture…of　feeding；　of　drawing　red　sustenance　direct　from　a　victim's　veins。　It　was。。。　it　was　indescribable！
　It　was　a　man's　first　woman。　Not　his　first　fumbling；　hurried；　uncontrolled　eruption　on　to　some　girl's　belly　or　into　her　pubic　hair；　but　the　first　pumping　of　salving　semen　into　the　hot　core　of　a　groaning；　sated　woman。　It　was　a　man's　first　kill　in　battle；　when　his　enemy's　head　leaps　free　or　his　sword　strikes　home　in　heart　or　throat。　It　was　the　sharp；　stinging　agony　of　a　douse　in　some　mountain　pool；　the　sight　of　a　battlefield；　where　the　piled　bodies　of　an　army　reek　and　steam；　the　adoration　of　warriors　hoisting　high　a　man's　colours　in　recognition　of　his　victory。　It　was　as　sweet　as　all　of　these　things…but　alas；　it　was　over　all　too　quickly。
　The　man's　heart　no　longer　pumped。　His　blood；　what　little　remained；　was　still。　The　great　blotches　of　crimson　were　hardening　and　turning　leaf…mould　to　clotted　crusts。　Almost　before　it　had　begun；　the　marvellous　feast　was。。。　over？
　Perhaps　not。。。
　The　Thibor…thing's　sight　extension　turned　its　eye　upon　the　woman。　She　was　pale；　attractive；　fine…boned。　She　looked　like　the　fine　toy　lady　of　some　rich　Boyar；　full　of　thin　aristocratic　blood。　Feverish　highlights　of　colour　gave　her　cheeks　a　fresh　appearance；　but　the　rest　of　her　skin　was　pale　as　death。　Cold　and　growing　colder；　exposure　would　kill　her　if　the　old　Thing　in　the　ground　did　not。
　The　eye…stalk　extended；　elongated　out　of　the　earth。　Its　colour　was　grey…green；　mottled；　but　blood…red　veins　pulsed　in　it　now；　just　beneath　the　surface　of　its　protoplasmic　skin。　It　swayed　closer　to　the　woman　where　she　lay；　poised　itself　before　her　face。　Her　breath；　shallow；　almost　gasping；　filmed　the　eye　over　and　caused　it　to　draw　back。　In　her　neck；　a　pulse　fluttered　like　an　exhausted　bird。　Her　breast　rose　and　fell；　rose　and　fell。
　The　phallic　eye　swayed　close　to　her　throat；　lidlessly　observed　the　soft　pulse　of　the　jugular。　Slowly　the　eye　dissolved　away　and　the　red　veins　in　the　leprous　nodding　mushroom　shuddered　beneath　its　skin　and　turned　a　deeper　scarlet。　A　reptilian　mouth　and　jaws　formed；　taking　the　place　of　the　eye；　so　that　the　tentacle　might　well　seem　a　blind；　smooth；　mottled　snake。　The　jaws　yawned　open　and　a　forked　tongue　flickered　between　many　rows　of　needle…sharp　fangs。　Saliva　trickled　from　the　distended　jaws；　slopped　on　the　scummy　earth。　The　〃head〃　of　the　awful　member　drew　back；　formed　a　deadly　〃S〃　like　a　cobra　about　to　strike；　and…And　the　Thibor…creature　gave　himself　a　great　mental　shake　and　froze　all　his　physical　parts　to　instant　rigidity。　In　the　last　possible　moment　he　had　realised　what　he　was　about　to　do；　had　recognised　the　extreme　danger　of　his　own　naked　lust。
　These　were　not　the　old　times　but　the　new。　The　Twentieth　Century！　Except　in　ancient；　crumbling　records；　his　tomb　here　under　the　trees　was　forgotten。　But　if　he　took　this　woman's　life；　what　then？　Ah！　He　knew　what　then！

　Search　parties　would　e　out　looking　for　them　both。　They　would　be　found　sooner　or　later；　here　in　the　stirless　glade；　by　the　crumbling　mausoleum。　Someone　would　remember。　Some　old　fool　would　whisper：　〃But…that　place　is　forbidden！〃　and　another　would　say；　〃Aye；　for　they　buried　something　there　long；　long　ago。　My　grandfather's　grandfather　used　to　tell　tales　about　the　thing　buried　on　those　cruciform　hills；　to　put　fear　in　his　children　when　they　were　bad！〃
　Then　they'd　read　the　old　records　and　remember　the　old　ways；　and　in　broad；　streaming　daylight　they'd　e；　cut　down　the　trees；　uproot　the　ancient　slabs；　dig　in　the　rotting　soil　until　they　found　him。　They'd　stake　him　down　again；　but　this　time。。。　this　time。。。　this　time　they'd　take　his　head　and　burn　it！
　They'd　burn　all　of　him。。。
　Thibor　fought　a　fearsome　battle　with　himself。　The　vampire　in　him；　which　had　formed　the　major　part　of　him　for　nine　hundred　years；　was　almost　beyond　reason。　But　Thibor　himself　could　still　think　like　a　man；　and　his　reasoning　was　sound。　The　vampire…Thibor　was　greedy　for　the　moment；　but　the　man…Thibor　could　see　far　beyond　that。　And　he　had　already　laid　his　plans。　Plans　which　hinged　on　the　boy　Dragosani。
　Dragosani　was　at　school　in　Bucharest　now；　a　mere　lad　in　his　teens；　but　the　old　Thing　in　the　ground　had　already　corrupted　him。　He'd　taught　him　the　art　of　necromancy；　shown　him　how　to　divine　the　secrets　only　dead　things　know。　And　Dragosani　would　always　return；　would　always　e　back　here　in　his　search　for　new　knowledge；　because　the　ancient　Thing　in　the　putrid　earth　was　the　very　font　of　all　dark　mystery。
　Meanwhile；　a　vampire　seed　or　egg…the　Thibor…creature's　filthy；　leech…like　clone…was　growing　in　him　where　he　lay；　a　single　drop　of　alien　fluid　which　carried　the　plex　code　of　the　new　vampire。　But　that　was　a　slow；　slow　process。　One　day　Dragosani；　grown　to　a　man；　would　e　up　here　into　these　hills　and　the　egg　would　be　ready。　A　man　would　e　up　here　full　of　monstrous　talent；　seeking　the　ultimate　secrets　of　the　Wamphyri。。。　but　when　he　went　away；　he　would　carry　a　fledgling　vampire　with　him；　inside　him。
　After　that　he　would　e　again…would　have　to　e　again…by　which　time　Thibor　would　be　ready　for　the　final　phase　of　his　plan。　Dragosani　would　e；　Dragosani　and　Thibor　would　leave…together。　At　last　the　cycle　would　be　plete；　the　wheel　turned　full　circle；　when　again　the　immemorial　vampire　would　walk　the　earth…this　time　to　conquer　it！
　That　was　how　the　old　Thing　in　the　ground　had　planned　it；　and　that　was　how　it　would　be。　He　would　rise　up　from　here　and　go　out　again　into　the　world。　The　world　would　be　his！　But　not　if　he　killed　this　woman　here　and　now。　No；　for　that　would　be　total　madness；　the　very　end　of　him　and　all　his　dreams。。。
　The　vampire　in　him　succumbed　to　mon　sense；　reluctantly　allowed　the　twisted　but　human　mind　of　Thibor　to　take　ascendancy。　Blood…lust　receded；　was　replaced　by　curiosity；　which　in　turn　gave　way　to　dormant；　ages…repressed　urges。　New　feelings；　entirely　human　feelings；　awakened　in　the　old　Thing　in　the　ground。　He　was　neither　male　nor　female；　now；　Thibor…he　was　of　the　Wamphyri…but　he　had　once　been　a　man。　A　lustful　man。
　He　had　known　women；　many　women；　in　the　five　hundred　years　that　his　scourge　had　terrified　Wallachia；　Bulgaria；　Moldavia；　Russia　and　the　Ottoman。　Some　had　been　his　willingly；　but　most　had　not。　There　was　no　way　a　woman　could　be　had　which　was　unknown　to　him；　no　pleasure　or　pain　a　woman　could　offer　that　he　had　not　been　offered；　or　taken　by　force；　times　without　number。
　In　the　mid…fifteenth　century；　as　a　mercenary　Voevod　of　Vlad　Tepes　the　so…called　〃impaler〃；　he　had　crossed　the　Danube　with　his　forces　and　taken　an　emissary　of　the　Sultan　Murad。　The　sultan's　representative；　his　escort　of　two　hundred　soldiers；　and　his　harem　of　twelve　beauties　were　taken　in　the　night　in　the　town　of　Isperikh。　Thibor　had　shown　leniency　of　a　sort　towards　the　Bulgarian　townspeople：　they　were　allowed　to　flee　while　his　troops　sacked　the　town　and　burned　it；　looting　and　raping　when　the　inhabitants　were　slow　off　the　mark。
　But　as　for　the　sultan's　emissary：　Thibor　had　had　him　impaled；　him　and　his　entire　two　hundred；　on　tall；　thin　stakes。　〃In　their　own　fashion；〃　he'd　gleefully　manded　his　executioners。　〃The　Turkish　way。　They　like　buggering　little　lads；　this　lot；　so　let　'em　die　happy；　the　way　they've　lived！〃　But　the　women　of　the　harem：　he'd　had　all　twelve　the　same　night；　going　from　one　to　the　next　unstintingly；　and　carrying　on　all　through　the　following　day。