Supping With Panthers (4 page)

‘Yes, yes’ I said, ‘but tell me – what does the damn phrase
mean}

Eliot turned again, to stare at the jungle and the pale, ghostly moon. ‘It means “drinker of blood”, Captain’ he said at last. ‘Now do you see? That is why the hill-people smear their statues with goat-blood. They are afraid that otherwise the demons will come and drink from them’ He laughed softly, and a strange sound it was.
‘vetala-pancha-Vinshati,’
he whispered to himself. He turned back to face me. There is an obvious English word for it’ he said, ‘much more precise than “demon”’ He paused.
“Vampire”,
Captain. That is what it means.’

I paused, staring at his face bathed silver by the moon, then opened my mouth to ask him if he really thought the tribesmen drank blood. At that very moment, however, I heard my sentries call out; I looked round and jumped to my feet There was the sudden crack of a rifle shot. So much for our chat, I thought; as is ever the soldier’s fate, I was being summonsed away by action’s call. I hurried through the camp to find the sentries standing by the edge of the path. ‘Russians, sir,’ said one of them, still holding his gun. He gestured with the weapon. ‘Out there, three or four of them. I think I got one of the bastards in the back.’

I drew out my revolver, then led the way carefully along the track towards the line of trees where the jungle began. They were over here, sir,’ said one of the sentries, pointing towards a pool of thick shadow. I made my way through the undergrowth; there was no sign of anyone. I pulled away the creepers and stared around. The jungle was as silent and still as before. I took a step forward … and then suddenly I felt fingers gripping my leg.

As though in slow motion, I looked down and fired. I remember seeing a pale face, its mouth wide open but its eyes cold and dead. Then the bullet smashed into its skull – I saw it disintegrate, and a shower of blood and bone was blasted into my face. Unpleasant – but the strange thing was, I stayed deadly calm. I wiped the stuff away from my eyes, then stared down at the corpse by my feet. There was the beastliest mess everywhere. As I bent down by the body, I could see a round bullet-hole in the back; my soldier had caught him bang in the spine. ‘He should have been dead long before you got him, sir,’ the sentry said, staring down at the bullet-hole. I ignored him and I rolled the corpse over. He was dressed in native garb, but when I felt in his pockets I found a tattered rouble note.

I rose to my feet and peered into the darkness of the creepers and trees. ‘Damn it, but they are up there,’ I thought. Rawlinson’s intelligence had been correct – the Russians were indeed in Kalikshutra. My blood fairly boiled at the very thought. God knew what devilry they might be brewing against us! God knew what devilry against the whole British Raj! I glanced down at the corpse by my feet. ‘Bury it,’ I said, tapping at its side with my boot. ‘Then, when you’re replaced, get a good few hours’ sleep. We have a long day ahead of us – we depart tomorrow at the first light of dawn.’

Letter, Dr John Eliot to Professor Huree Jyoti Navalkar.

6 June 1887.

Dear Huree,

I am leaving tomorrow with Moorfield and his men. One of the sentries shot a Russian soldier tonight, and Moorfield wishes to ascertain the full extent of the enemy presence here. I will accompany him as far as the Kalibari Pass.

I leave you this note because it is possible that I shall accompany him even further than that If I do so, then it is equally possible I shall never return. For two years now I have lived amongst the people of the foothills, almost as one of their own. In all that time, I have kept my promise and never attempted to penetrate beyond the Pass to Kalikshutra itself. If I feel I can, I will keep to that promise now, for I would not willingly betray those who have been so welcoming and generous to me. But what the tribesmen most dreaded has already begun to happen: Chaos is indeed descending from beyond the Pass. Huree – the Russian who was killed tonight – I conducted the autopsy. There can be no doubt at all –
his white cells were diseased.

I am very much afraid, then, that the sickness is starting to spread. It is too early yet to talk of an epidemic; but certainly the presence of Russian soldiers in Kalikshutra makes the prohibition on travelling beyond the Kalibari Pass seem futile. If we find further evidence of the disease below the Pass, then I shall feel that it is my duty as a doctor to investigate its nature more closely. The tribesmen will forgive me, I hope, if I can only find a cure. Goat’s blood and gold, I think, may soon prove an inadequate defence.

I cannot deny that I feel a certain excitement at the thought of penetrating Kalikshutra at last. The disease that is surely raging there seems an extraordinary one. If I can identify it, then the whole programme of my research may well be resolved. Your own theory too, Huree – that the sickness explains the vampire myth -may also be proved.

Let us hope we shall have the chance to discuss all these matters.

Until then, though, my best wishes,

JACK.

Extract,
With Rifles in the Raj,
(continued).

INTO KALIKSHUTRA

A jungle expedition -first blood to us – an unsettling dream – ‘Durga’ – a soldier’s wretched death – Kalikshutra -a grisly ritual.

My men, I knew, would relish the scrap ahead of us, and it was in high spirits that we set off the following morning. Even as we moved forward, however, I was carefull to cover my back. The swiftest of my soldiers was dispatched down the path we had just climbed with a message for Pumper and his regiment, telling them to advance with all God’s speed; two other of my men were left to guard the summit of the road. The seven remaining soldiers accompanied me, and alongside them came Dr Eliot. We would need a guide, he had told us, for the way was rough; he would take us as far as the Kalibari Pass, which he described as the gateway to Kalikshutra itself. I gave him a service revolver; he refused it at first, saying that he would never use it, but when I insisted he eventually gave in. I was glad of his company, for he was a stout fellow and the path did indeed prove very treacherous. As I have mentioned elsewhere, I was a pretty keen game-hunter out in India and I’d seen some thick jungle in my time, but nothing that ever compared with what we had to pass through now. A more effective barrier Nature couldn’t have designed, and I began to get the queerest sense that man wasn’t meant to penetrate it. Call it soldier’s superstition – call it what you will – but all of a sudden I had a bad feeling about what lay ahead. Naturally I didn’t let this show, but it worried me all the same, for I had noticed this instinct for danger in myself before while out hunting tiger and other big game, and I had learned to trust it. And now we were hunting the most dangerous game of all – man! – for at any time our quarry might tum and we, the hunters, become the prey!

We had a hard day’s travelling. Not until nightfall did the jungle start to thin. At length I hauled myself up a rock face and Eliot, who was just behind me, pointed ahead. ‘You see that crag?’ he whispered. ‘That’s the cliff that looks over the Kalibari Pass.’

I stared at it. Beyond the Pass, I could see a road winding steeply up the mountainside. It was fearfully exposed, yet was clearly the route we would have to take, for on the other side of the Pass the mountain rose skywards in a sheer wall of rock, up and up for hundreds of feet It seemed to form a plateau at the very top.

Eliot too was staring at it. ‘Kalikshutra is beyond the summit,’ he said.

‘Is it, by George?’ I muttered. ‘Then it seems we’re in for a fearfull ascent A more perfect spot for an ambush I have never seen,’ And indeed, at that very moment the silence of the jungle was split by a shot I turned and plunged back into the undergrowth; I could see pale forms ahead of me, like ghosts amongst the trees. My men formed a line about me; we began to fire and I saw the figures start to drop. Our shooting was deadly and fast Soon the Russians had melted quite from view, either downed or fled. The jungle seemed as hushed in its stillness as before.

We continued our advance towards the Kalikshutra road, but had not advanced more than half a mile before they were at us again. Once more though, we repelled them, and again we were able to resume our advance. At length we reached flat and open ground, where the mountain road met the foot of the jungle, and I knew that if we went any further we would be entering the jaws of a fatal trap. I looked around me. There was a line of rocks along the edge of the road; I ordered my men to take position behind them, and no sooner had they done so than the air was chilled by a most unearthly cry.

‘My God,’ muttered Eliot.

Rising up from the shadows, almost it seemed from the very soil was a line of men – their faces pale, their eyes like pricks of burning light. I steadied my troops. ‘Fire!’ I bellowed. There was a deadly crackle, and seven of the enemy fell back into the dust. ‘Fire!’ I repeated, and again we ripped out a hole in their line. Still they came at us, though, and I could see more figures rising from the dark: things were starting to seem pretty tight. I scanned the enemy line and observed, standing just back from the rest of his men, a Russian in a turban, sniffing the air. He said nothing, but the others seemed driven forward by his look and I knew him at once to be the man in command. I leaned across and spoke to Private Haggard, the best shot amongst us. Haggard aimed, a crack rang out across the rocks, and the turbaned Russian staggered and fell. At once the line of our attackers began to waver. ‘Shoot him again,’ I ordered Haggard, as I rose to my feet. ‘At ’em, boys!’ With a cheer, we advanced. The enemy began to fade before us – almost, it seemed, into nothingness. Soon only the bodies of their fallen were left. Silence reigned across the whole ghastly scene. The road, at least for now, was back in our hands.

I knew though that our respite would be temporary, and so my first priority was to post the guards. Meanwhile Eliot had been moving amongst the slain, making sure there was no one beyond the reach of his help, when suddenly he froze and called out to me. This one’s alive,’ he said, ‘though I don’t know how.’

I joined him. He was kneeling by the slim man in the turban, the commanding officer; the Russian had two bad wounds to his stomach, and blood was seeping out in a thickish flow. The officer’s body seemed extraordinarily frail in Eliot’s arms, and I too failed to see how he might still be alive. I bent down beside him and looked into his face. Then I whistled. ‘Good Lord’ I exclaimed.

For it was not a man before me at all, but a woman, and a lovely one at that. Her face was pale, but not in the way of a European: instead it seemed almost translucent, and I realised that I had never seen a woman half so beautiful before. Even Eliot, who I had down as a pretty cold fish, seemed rather taken with the woman -and yet there was also something repulsive about her, something indescribable, and the beauty and horror were mingled together so that her loveliness seemed that of hell. You will read that and think I must have been pretty overheated – well, so I was and yet my instincts, I think, in the long term were to prove correct enough. I brushed back the woman’s turban, and long black hair spilled out across my hand. I caught the glint of various gew-gaws and, I breathed in sharply, for I recognised them at once; they were almost identical to the jewellery I had seen round the idol’s neck, back beyond the jungle. I bent down closer to have a better look; and as I did so our lady captive opened her eyes. They were deep and wide, in the manner that Orientals find most admirable in a woman, but they also burned as though lit by fire and I felt a shiver run through me as I looked into them, for they seemed full of hatred and a devilish power.

I rose to my feet ‘Ask her who she is,’ I said.

Eliot whispered something, but her eyes fluttered shut again and she made no reply.

I glanced down at the gaping wounds in her side. ‘Can you keep her alive?’ I asked.

Eliot shook his head. ‘There’s nothing I can do, I repeat – this woman should be dead.’

‘So why isn’t she, do you think? Anything to do with your white blood cells, perhaps?’

He shrugged. ‘Possibly. You’ll notice, however, that her expression betrays no sign of the imbecility I would expect to find if she did have the disease – and which, incidentally, the other soldiers’ faces
did
seem to betray.’ He shrugged again. ‘But I’m operating pretty much in the dark here. I’ll give her some opium, I can’t think what else to prescribe. I feel pretty helpless, I admit’

I left him to his doctoring and wandered moodily amongst the bodies of the slain, troubled by what Eliot had said. I stared down into the faces of the dead; unlike their commander they had clearly been Russian, but their pallor was almost
too
waxy,
too
white. I remembered the man who had seized my leg the night before; his face had been similarly pale before I had blown it half-away, and I recalled how dead his eyes had looked. Eliot was right; the Russians
had
worn the faces of imbeciles – all save one, of course, that damnable woman with her burning eyes. I began to wonder about the disease, to fear how infectious it might truly be.