Chapter 74 Chapter 73

A few days before May 1954, I was taken away from school.I secretly rediscover the history of vampires, and I intend to gradually increase my understanding of Dracula's legend again, and maybe even finally solve the mystery of where he is buried. It was with great pain that I handed Paul my research notes and letters of my experience, not because I wanted to keep them to myself, but because I deeply regretted entrusting him with such disgusting knowledge Hands, though I'm sure the more he knows, the better he can protect himself.I just hope that if there is any punishment coming, it will be on me and not on Paul.He is no more than twenty-seven years old, full of youthful optimism, while I have lived for decades and gained many well-deserved happiness.

Suddenly, a filthy cold air rushed in, and I was surrounded. After that, I couldn't remember anything. How long this blankness lasted, I didn't know before, and I still don't know now. As I awoke slowly, limp and in pain, I began to remember that my first thought must have been the night before—Paul had come to my office with his astonishing discovery.My heart sank, and I suddenly realized that I had fallen into the hands of evil. I moved my limbs as carefully as I could, groped about, and found myself sitting in an open sarcophagus. I reach up to touch my face and throat.My face seemed to be the same except for a little bruise on my forehead, but down there in my throat I found a hideous puncture that was sticky to the touch.The place was also swollen and painful when I touched it, and I almost fainted with fear and despair.However, it occurred to me that since I still had the strength to sit up, maybe I wasn't bleeding as much as I feared, maybe that meant I'd only been bitten once.I still feel myself, not the devil.

I slowly moved my head and looked around, trying to see everything clearly. I raised my hands and walked slowly towards the gentle red light. On the way, I seemed to hit another sarcophagus, which was empty, and hit another wooden furniture.When I hit it, I heard something soft fall, but couldn't make out what it was. Fumbling in the dark, I was terrified, thinking that at any moment the thing that had brought me here would spring upon me.I thought again, is this really death? —was it a terrible state of death in which I mistakenly thought I was still alive?However, there was no attack and the pain in the leg was real.

I came closer to the light, dancing and flickering at the end of a long room.Now I can see clearly that in front of this light, there is a huge black monster standing motionless. Coming closer, I saw a red fire burning low in the hearth, enough light to reflect several large pieces of ancient furniture—a large desk with papers scattered on it, a carved wooden chest, and one or two Angled back chair. Someone was sitting there quietly - all I could see was a dark shadow peeking out from the back of the chair.I glanced at the black shadow and was deeply attracted. I dragged my injured leg and walked slowly into the firelight.As I walked around the large chair, a figure slowly stood up and turned to me.His back was facing the fire now, and the surrounding light was too dark for me to see his face clearly.There was something indescribable about his movement, not like a living person.He lit a small candle, and with it lighted other candles in a candlestick near his chair.Then he confronted me.

"I'm Dracula," he said, his voice cold and clear. "Come on, you're tired and hungry after our trip. I've got dinner for you." A table was not far from the fire, and I could smell the food—real, tasty human food—and the aroma almost made me dizzy. Dracula stared into the fire, calm and brooding.I began to feel that I was not in danger, but in a dream, so I took courage and lifted the lid of the meal. After a long time, my companion turned around in his chair. "You have finished your meal," he said quietly. "Do you know where you are?" "Yes," I said.I can't call him by any title. "At least I think I know. This is your grave."

"One of them," he smiled. "One of my favorites." "Are we in Wallachia?" I couldn't help asking. He shook his head. "So, where are we?" I tried to pass this off as a normal conversation, but to no avail.I realized that, given the chance, I wanted not only to have a fast and safe night, but also to learn about Dracula.Whatever this guy is, he's been alive for five hundred years.Of course, his answer will follow me to my grave, but I'm still a little curious. "Ah, where are we," Dracula repeated. "I guess it doesn't matter. We're not in Wallachia, where fools still rule."

I glared at him. "Do you—do you understand the modern world?" He looked at me in surprise and mockery, his horrible face distorted.For the first time I saw those long teeth, receding gums, which made him smile like an old dog. "I understand the modern world. That's my takeaway, I love the job." I felt that, if the seduction was successful, a little frontal attack might do me good. "And what do you want with me? I've been hiding from the modern world for years—unlike you, I'm living in the past." "Ah, in the past." In the firelight, he folded his fingertips. "The past is useful, but only because it can teach the present. The present is rich and colorful, but I love the past. Come, now that you have eaten and rested, why don't you let me see it?"

He turned slowly, picked up a candle from the shelf beside the chair, and held it up.I followed him, hoping he wasn't leading me back to the sarcophagus. In the faint candlelight, I began to see things that I hadn't seen before—rare treasures. There are piles of books on the long table in front of us. In fact, we are walking in the ocean of books, and every wall is full of books. Dracula turned around, his eyes bright. "What do you think of my library?" "Like—great collection, a treasure trove," I said. A look of pleasure flashed across that terrible face. "You're right," he said softly. "This library is the best in the world, now let me show you the others."

He walked to a wall we hadn't been close to before, and I saw a very old printing press. The round obsidian plate was rubbed brightly with ink, like a magic mirror reflecting our candlelight.There is a thick sheet of paper on the printing rack.When I got it together, I found that only part of it was printed, and the invalid one was in English.The title is "Ghosts in the Amphora" and the subtitle is "Vampires from Greek Tragedy to Modern Tragedy" by Bartholomew Rossi. Dracula must have been waiting for my exclamation, and I didn't disappoint him. "You see, I keep up with the best of modern research. Here's something that will interest you."

He pointed to the table behind the printing press, where stood a row of woodcuts, the largest of which was the dragon in our—Me and Paul—book, reversed, of course, in the woodcuts.It took me a lot of effort not to cry out. "You're surprised," Dracula said, bringing the light closer to the dragon. Those lines are so familiar to me that I could carve them out myself. "I suppose you are familiar with this image." "Yes," I gripped the candle tightly. "Did you print the books yourself? How many copies?" "My monks printed some, and I continued their work," he said quietly, looking down at the woodcut. "I intended to print a thousand and four hundred and fifty-three copies, and I am now almost on the verge of achieving that ambition, though slowly, because I am printing and publishing as I go. Does that number mean anything to you?"

"Yes," I said after a while, "this is the year Constantinople fell." "I think you will understand," he said with a wry smile. "It's the worst day in history." "Did you leave me that book? Mine?" "Let's put it this way, I arranged it like this." He stretched out his war-scarred fingers and touched the engraving. "I have been very careful when I release them to give them only to the most promising scholars, to those who I believe are persistent and will not stop until they reach the Dragon's Lair. You are the first to do this. I congratulate you. I The rest of my assistants I stayed in the world to do research for me." "I didn't follow you," I ventured to retort, "you brought me here." "Hey—" The bright red lips curled up again, and the long beard moved. "You wouldn't have come here if you didn't want to. No one has ever ignored my warning twice in his life. You brought yourself." "What do you want me to do here?" I didn't mean to annoy him with the question. "I've been waiting a long time for someone to sort my books for me," he said simply. "Tomorrow you can look through all the books yourself. Tonight we'll just talk." Apparently he wasn't going to kill me tonight.I seem to be dreaming that no matter which historian in the world, even if he spends his life only studying history, he cannot compare with this person. At this time, he spoke again, "I loved books when I was alive," he said, "Maybe you don't know how much I am a scholar." He said calmly, "Of course you know that my written knowledge was very limited in that era. As long as I have lived, I have mainly read the documents approved by the Church, such as the Gospels and the commentaries provided by the Orthodox Church.” He stared deeply into the fire, “But I have other ways to get books. Merchants brought me from all over the world. From a wonderful book, I learned about the ancient mystical rituals. Since I can't go to heaven" - still in the same flat tone - "I will be a historian." He was silent for a while, and I didn't dare to ask more questions. At last he pulled himself together and tapped the arm of the chair with his broad hand. "That's why I started the library." I'm so curious. "But, after you—death, did you continue to collect these books?" "Oh, yes," he turned to look at me, maybe because I had the guts to ask that question. "What do you want me to do for your library?" "As I said, classify. This is your first assignment. In the process, you'll be dealing with some of the finest - and most powerful - books in history, many of which are out of print. Your second It is a much larger task. In fact, it will last forever. Once you are as familiar with my library and the purpose of my collection as I am, you will travel the world at my command, collecting new books - and old ones , because I have been collecting works from the past.” If I'm not mistaken, the length of time that this statement meant, and all it meant, made me break out in a cold sweat. I was finally able to speak, but my voice trembled. "Why don't you go ahead and do it yourself?" He smiled at the fire, and I saw another face—a dog's face, a wolf's face—flash by. "I have other things to do. To finish my great work. But the library is dear to me and I want to see it grow." It would be better if it was in a dream. "Where are you going to move it?" Do I follow?I should add this. "Go to an ancient place, even older than this. We put the library there, and you let it expand greatly." He stood up energetically with a strange movement, "We've talked enough tonight. Let's spend these hours reading. I have a typewriter for you. You are free now, and you can read Read what you want anytime." After speaking, he stood up, picked a book from the table, and sat down again. I didn't dare to refuse, so I took a copy at random. It turned out to be an early edition of Machiavelli's "The Prince", with a series of expositions on morality attached. Dracula seemed fascinated by the reading.I stole a glance at him, wondering how he could get used to this nocturnal underground life, this life of a scholar, after a lifetime of combat. At last he stood up, quietly put down the book, and without a word walked into the darkness of the hall until I could no longer see him clearly.I heard a dry scratching sound, like a wild animal digging dirt, or a match, but there was no light. After a long time, I picked up the candles and relit the candles on the shelf, as well as the candles in the sconces I found on the wall. Now the room can be seen clearly, it extends in all directions, it is very deep, the walls are lined with tall cabinets and shelves, and everywhere you look, there are books, boxes, scrolls, manuscripts, piles and rows full of Draco pull collection.Three sarcophagi loomed along one wall. I walked over with the lamp, and there were two empty ones—one of them must have filled me. I saw the largest sarcophagus.The great tomb was more regal than the others, massive, dignified, and well-proportioned in the candlelight.The side of the coffin is written in Latin: Dracula. Almost against my will, I held up the candle and looked in.The huge body lay there lifeless.The first time I saw his mysterious and cold face clearly, I was disgusted, but I stood there and stared at him.His brows were drawn together as if in a nightmare, and his eyes were open and glazed, looking more dead than sleeping.His complexion was sallow, his long black eyelashes were motionless, his powerful, almost handsome features became translucent, and his long black hair was piled messily around his shoulders and covered the inside of the sarcophagus.What frightened me most was the brilliance of his cheeks and lips, and the face and figure that I could not see clearly in the firelight.True, he spared me for a while, but he must have had a full drink elsewhere in the evening.The spot of my blood was gone, and his lips, under his black beard, were a rich crimson.This life, this health seemed so unnatural, and to see him not breathing--his chest not rising or falling--it chilled me.Another queer thing: he had changed clothes, but they were as gorgeous and refined as any I'd seen.Tight waistcoat, crimson boots, purple velvet cape and hat.The cloak was tattered at the shoulders, a brown feather peeked from the hat, and the jewels set in the collar gleamed. I stood there, watching, until the strange sight made me dizzy, and I took a step back, trying to gather myself together.It's still early in the morning - I still have some time before sunset.I need to find a way to escape first, and then find a way to destroy this devil while he is asleep. I sat back by the fire to recover my strength.I reached out to the fire, only to find that although it burned real sticks and gave off a comforting warmth, the flame never dwindled; and for the first time I noticed that the fire burned without smoke.Does it burn like this all night?I raised my hand to touch my face, to wake myself up.I need to focus all my rationality. My strength returned, and I began my search again, scouting for any tool that could destroy my diabolical master.Holding the candle, I searched every crack and crevice, opened drawers and boxes, checked shelves, to no avail. Finally, I returned to the great central sarcophagus, dreading the last solution before me: the short sword on Dracula's belt.If I set my mind to take it off him, I can insert it into his heart.That stiff face didn't show any vitality because of my light touch, and his hand holding the sword was as solid as a rock, and he couldn't pry it open.Exhausted, I backed away in disgust. I went to look for the typewriter I had seen earlier.Since then I have been writing down as quickly as possible on the typewriter all that I have seen.Doing this also allowed me to rediscover how to count time, because I knew how fast I was typing and how many pages I could type in an hour. I am writing these last words now by the light of a candle, and if I were alive tomorrow and had strength enough, I would continue to write. the next day After I finished writing the above, I rolled up the paper and tucked it in the back of a nearby cabinet, where I could reach it, but not see it from any angle.At this time, I felt a more bone-chilling chill, and there seemed to be another wind blowing in the absence of wind.I looked up and saw a strange figure standing on the other side of the table, ten feet away from me. He was wearing the red and purple finery I saw in the sarcophagus. I vaguely remembered him last night, but he was bigger and stronger.I waited silently to see if he would attack me at once—did he remember me trying to reach for his short sword? But he just tilted his head slightly, as if to say hello, "I see that you have already started working. You must have questions for me. First, let's have breakfast, and then talk about my collection." In the dark hall, I saw steaming meals and drinks again, including a cup of hot tea. "Now," he said. "Let's look around."—he touched the edge of one of the scrolls—"these great books were written for the Sultan, of his vast lands, of the history of Muhammad, may he rot in hell. I Wanted to find the historian himself, but he died before he could. Do you understand Arabic?" "A little bit," I admitted. "Ah," he seemed amused. "I had the opportunity to learn their language and writing while I was in prison. Do you understand my bond with them?" I nodded, trying not to look at him. "Yes, my father left me as a hostage to Muhammad's father, vowing not to wage war on the Empire. Think, Dracula became a pawn in the hands of the heretics. That's when I swore to make history. " His fierce tone made me involuntarily glance at him, and I saw the terrible light and hatred on his face. "I won and they were all gone. The sultan was so afraid of me that he raised a knightly order to hunt me down. They were dwindling in number and low in status, and my servants multiplied all over the world increasing." He led me from shelf to shelf, pointing out various treasures. My guess about his classification was right.There are large cabinets full of books on torture, and some Renaissance volumes include woodcuts of instruments of torture, others have diagrams of the human body. Dracula stopped in front of a large bookshelf, and put his hand on it lovingly, "I'm particularly interested in this, it's about my biography." Each book deals in some way with his life, written by Byzantine and Turkish historians—some are very rare originals, and record his crimes. "That will be of particular interest to you, too," he said. "These books are about your century, the twentieth century, a good century—I look forward to the rest of it. In my time, kings would Eliminate troublemakers, one at a time. You're extremely fast." He bowed politely to me as a sign of congratulations. Finally, he invited me back to the fire, and I found that there was more steaming tea in hand. "You have enjoyed as much hospitality as I can afford you here, and know that I have great confidence in your talents. You will enjoy immortality, which few men achieve. You are free to read The books here, they're absolutely the best in the world. Strange books that you can't find anywhere else are open to you, and all of them are yours." He stopped and I watched his face, unable to look away.He stared into the firelight. "With your uncompromising honesty, you can see the lessons of history," he said. "History tells us that human nature is evil, and rightly so. Good cannot achieve perfection, but evil can. Why not take advantage of Your great mind at the service of the perfect? ​​My friend, I beg you to volunteer to join me in my research. You will have what every historian wants, and that is to you, history will become reality. We Will wash our hearts with blood." His flood-like eyes poured all over me, and with all the love in my life, I said these two words as firmly as possible: "Never." He was agitated, pale, with twitching nostrils and lips. "You will definitely die here, Professor Rossi, and of course you will come out of here with a new life form. Why don't you make a choice on this matter?" "No," I said as softly as possible. He stood there menacingly, smiling. "Then you will work for me against your will," he said. A mass of darkness gathers in front of my eyes, and I hold on to that little bit in my heart—what?My skin tingled and stars appeared before my eyes, twinkling on the walls of the house.He came closer, and I saw the uncovered face, so horrible I can't remember what it was—though I tried.For a long time I was unconscious. I woke up in the sarcophagus, in darkness, this time I was weak, much weaker than last time, the wound on my neck was bleeding, I struggled to move and climbed out of my cage trembling.In the remaining candlelight I saw Dracula sleeping in his coffin again, and I turned away with a chill, and crouched by the fire, trying to eat the food I found there. Now I only have one goal—no, two goals: to die as clean as possible out of the mud, so that I can do less evil when I become a vampire in the future; in addition, to live as long as possible to record everything that happened here, although My records are likely to turn to dust and no one will read them.These ambitions have become my only support now. third day I'm not so sure about the passing of days.Anyway, this is my third time writing. I thought I should study the literature, but I was too tired and frustrated to do it.But wherever I see a novel book, I pick it up with an eagerness as strong as despair. Now I've got to sleep, while Dracula's still asleep, so I can rest better for the next ordeal, whatever it may be. fourth day I felt my mind start to crumble.I was looking at Dracula's incomparable collection of torture books, and in one of the fine French quartos I saw a new machine that could decapitate people cleanly. Looking at the diagrams, I was not only disgusted, not only amazed at the exquisite quality of the book, but suddenly longed to see the real scene, to hear the shouts of the crowd, to see the blood splashed on the velvet coat with its pleated ribbons. Every historian understands this desire to see history as it is, but it is a new and different desire. I threw the book aside and cried.This is the first time I have cried since I was imprisoned. one day Last night he sat me in front of the fire again, and told me he was moving the library soon because some threat was looming. "I'm going to leave you in a place where people won't find you for now." He smiled, a smile that blurred my vision as I tried to look at the fire. With that said, he was going to end my life soon.All my strength is being prepared for this final hour. If there was any good in life, in history, in my own past, I call it now.I call it with all the passion I ever had.