Chapter Text
“Harker? Mister Harker?”
Jonathan’s last name was indeed Harker, and although he still had not come completely back to his senses to process the inquiry, he still somehow managed to connect those two pieces of information with one another and slowly started to blink. His eyes were still heavy, the lingering kiss of sleep still weighing them down, his body still tired, his mind exhausted from the long trip.
He wiped with his hand over his face, trying to shake the dream that had sneaked up his neck, and sighed, pinching his nose bridge. A headache was creeping up the side of his temples.
“Mister Harker?”
Jonathan shook his head again and finally managed to keep both of his eyes open at the same time and smiled weakly, apologetically.
“Forgive me, sir. What have you been saying?”
“We are going to arrive soon, so it probably was a good thing we woke you beforehand.”
The voice of the man who was sitting on the opposite side of him, on the wooden bench in the carriage, did not give away whether he said this in a cold, sarcastic, or just a naturally cold, flat voice. He coughed loudly, the low, whistling, breathing sound came from the back of his throat, struggling for clearance. He was rasping, breathing for air, coughing over and over again.
When the man had finally finished his attack with a final gasp of air, he wiped away the spit from the corner of his mouth with his thumb.
“Sir, are you feeling well?”
Jonathan couldn’t help himself and just had to ask about the wellbeing of his fellow travel companion.
The man just waved his hand and grabbed for his inner pocket in his cheap, grey coat. Jonathan could see how his hands and knees were shaking, maybe because of his nerves, but probably because of the cold.
It was freezing in the carriage. The thin, old wood did little good keeping the little warmth in, or the icy wind outside and the other man’s badly worn clothes did not help to that matter. Apart from the coat and other attire, he wore also a shabby, dark scarf and fingerless gloves.
Those thin, long fingers were now opening the cap of the metal flask that he had retrieved from within his coat. With a loud, audible gulp, he drank hungrily from it, some drops dripping down his chin, caught in his unkempt, patchy, greying beard. He finished and sighed, dragging the back of his hand over his thin lips once more.
“I am fine.”
He looked up at Jonathan and snorted.
“Want some?”
Jonathan Harker rarely drank unknown liquor – he rarely drank at all, adding to that matter – and was especially not taking any alcohol from strangers, but he had a long journey through a cold land behind him, had travelled on trains and carriages, not much better than those in which he sat now, for days, weeks... For several hours now he was trapped in here, while outside a snowstorm was raging.
God, how cold it was. Jonathan’s hands were balled into tight fists and tucked away under his armpits, to at least preserve some sort of warmth.
While he was in better shape than his college, he still could use some extra warmth, he decided.
Jonathan nodded slowly and took the flask from the out-flung arm of the man sitting on the other side. He didn’t even remember his name. Had he even asked for it?
He raised the opening of the bottle to his lips and took a sip. Hot, burning whiskey was pouring down his sore throat. It was just like its owner: cheap, old and, most definitely, gross. It was a wonder that he didn’t have to cough.
Jonathan’s face did not hide his disgust, but he took another, bigger gulp this time. The second one was not as bad as the first, and he handed it back to the other man. He could feel how the warmth started to spread in his chest. At least something.
He also realized that he still hadn’t caught his name, missing, once again, the opportunity.
Murray? Molesley? No. Marlowe? Was his name Marlowe?, he asked himself.
“Thank you.”, Jonathan just said.
His companion laughed hoarsely and muttered something to himself.
The carriage rocked a couple of times, and Jonathan pushed back the niffy curtain, covering the little window on his left side. White snowflakes were dancing in front of it, almost undistinguishable from the just as white background and snow covered the trees, ground, everything. He could see them passing over a small stone bridge, under which a frozen river curved. The sky was completely grey, tinted heavy, ominous even.
Jonathan leaned back again and sighed.
“When will we arrive?”
“Soon enough.”
The man smiled, an unpleasant smile, not a reassuring or calming smile, but rather... A wicked one.
Before Jonathan could ask what that meant, the man continued, now looking content with himself, as he jumped onto a new train of thought.
“Don’t know how they managed to convince you, Mister Harker, to come up here. Seriously. But I thank the Lord for this opportunity, cause you sure pay your part! Or, well, your employers. Haven’t got as much for a single ride with you, than for all trips in the last 6 months together! But thank God, Harker, gotta buy myself some new shoes, this time leather.”
This was the alcohol talking, Jonathan realized. His colleague must have been more drunk than expected. Marlowe, if this was indeed his name, surely had a couple of drinks before Jonathan had taken a seat and had fallen asleep during their trip. Marlowe also hadn’t spoken that much with him during the last two hours than now.
Jonathan cleared his throat.
“I am afraid it was unavoidable. The trip, I mean. I am sure you heard that I am here in order to finish my case, before I...”
He stopped himself.
“Actually, I am about to marry. But I guess business is not always... Pleasant.”
“Eh! Don’t tell me what is pleasant and what is not!”
Marlowe rolled his eyes and coughed again. When he got himself back under control, he carried on:
“I just sure hope you have enough faith for ya mission!”
Odd phrasing, Jonathan thought.
“I wouldn’t have thought you were a man of God.”
“Me?!” The man burst out into laugher, which soon ended once more with a spasm of coughing.
“Me?!”, he repeated.
“God, no! I mean not with the whole Bible sermons and the big “pam pam”, but I do believe in heaven and hell, good and bad. And the devil, naturally. Understandable, under our circumstances.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can follow your words? The devil, but not religion itself? I-“
“Anyway-“, Marlowe glossed over Jonathan’s question and proceed.
“My little one-“
His fingers searched around in in his west under his coat, skimming over the fabric.
“She basically begged me to give this to you. Said you’re going to need it, and I think that girl might be right. And although you and I, we both are just making business; I feel like it is my task to do as she told me, if not for you to at least ease her own mind.
Open your hand.”
Jonathan was confused, but obligated nevertheless. The man grabbed his hand and pulled him closer to himself, placing something in his palm.
When he retrieved his hand, Jonathan saw it, the object: a small, dark cross on a necklace laid there.
“But why?”
“Keep it.”
The man took another gulp from his flask that he was holding in his other hand.
“We’re here.”
***
The carriage came to a hold.
Jonathan thanked his companion and reached for the moneybag in his coat pocket.
They had agreed that he would pay twice, first when they had picked him up from the small train station down in the village, and finally when he would arrive at the castle. The same procedure would be repeated in two days, when he would be on his way home.
He gave the money to his partner and, in return, the door of the carriage was opened for him.
Paying to get in, paying to get out.
Ice cold wind whipped into his face and Jonathan pulled his coat closer to his body, closing it half-heartedly, trying to bury his nose in his scarf and holding with his free hand onto his own hat. His bags were put down next to him, and he thanked the coachman for his help.
When he looked up, Jonathan realized however another odd thing. He turned back to the carriage and knocked on the window. Marlowe drew the curtain back, but didn’t react otherwise, looking back at him with a raised eyebrow.
“There must have been a misunderstanding. The castle is still far away!”, Jonathan shouted over the sound of the snowstorm.
“Can you get me a bit closer to it? That was not the deal!”
Marlowe shook his head and shouted back from within the carriage.
“We are not going to do that. You will be picked up by someone of the Count’s men. Just follow the road, and you’ll be there!”
“What road?!”, Jonathan shouted back at him, raising his voice.
The snow covered everything. There was no sign of a road to be seen.
“Good luck, and let God be with you!” Marlowe just shouted back, and the carriage driver gave a sign, so the horses pulling the carriage started to trot again.
“Wait!”, Jonathan shouted, and was hit by another gust of wind.
But they were already on their way back into the village.
For one moment, he just kept standing there, like a statue in he snow, completely flabbergasted, but since he was not exactly keen on getting a frostbite or hypothermia right away, before even setting a foot inside his promised premise, he did not have any other choice but to start walking, carrying his heavy leather suitcases in his hands.
If he would not have moved, the cold would have gotten him only in a matter of time. He had to keep going, stomping through the thick layer of snow. Raising one foot, then the other.
“Great.”, he just muttered to himself.
Jonathan was tired, exhausted, beat. It was extremely cold and his mind felt dizzy. He hadn’t eaten a proper meal for a while, and the whiskey in his blood didn’t really help with focusing onto the non-existent road.
By the time he looked up once more, cold sweat was dripping slowly down his spine and he was breathing heavily. With his eyes locked onto the mighty castle, far away in the distance, that did not seem to come any closer no matter how much he tried to progress, he stopped for a moment and, after putting down his belongings, tied his scarf tighter. Then he wiped with his gloved hand over his cold, red face.
The castle, Bran, towered over the wintery Transylvanian land, far away from the village, like an outsider, someone who had been abandoned a long time ago. From what he knew, no one except for the Count himself was even coming up there these days. Which only explained why it was so hard to get to his desired destination.
Jonathan bent down and picked his suitcases back up. When he turned around, he was taken aback.
Shock was his first reaction, seeing the black carriage suddenly standing there, in the middle of the snow-covered path, which he was following. There, were only moments ago nothing but white snow had been. He stared, for a moment, blinking slowly, before another gust of icy wind nearly swept his hat away, tousling the short, blonde hair underneath.
He quickly grabbed it, holding it closer so that it wound fly away any moment now, and, collecting his bravery, walked towards the black carriage, looking at the coachman sitting on his place in front of it, dressed completely in black and holding the bridles from the just as black horses. The driver slowly turned his head towards Jonathan and then looked over at the door of the carriage, giving him a silent signal.
“Alright”, Jonathan muttered, more to himself than to the other man, and climbed into the black carriage. He was too tired to ask what was going on, how much he would owe the man for the ride, or when they would arrive, by now, and just accepted it, whatever was to come.
He just wanted to lean back and to get to the castle, no matter how, and stay there.
And how difficult could that possibly be?