The People's Will Read Online Free PDF Page A

last meal, but even with the most careful rationing it would eventually rot. The humans lasted three weeks. He knew which one would be the last he left to die: Marfa Mihailovna. In saving his father from the truth, Dmitry had been quite happy to sacrifice his mother, whom he’d known full well was in there. Once again, it made little sense.
    Of the four prisoners, Marfa Mihailovna’s blood had been the least appetizing, but that was not why he had kept her alive. The hope had been that she would offer some amusement. By goading her over the fate of her son and her husband, described in exquisite and revolting detail, he expected to raise in her some reaction that might make his imprisonment less tiresome. But it was too late. She was already a broken woman, and Iuda had only himself to thank for that. Occasionally though, in moments of lucidity, she would ask where Dmitry was. At first he believed she had genuinely forgotten her son’s fate, but later he realized shewas merely reminding him – reminding him, with a hint of pride, that it was her son who had locked him in there.
    At least before she died – as she died – she could facilitate Iuda’s eventual escape. He had taken the last of her blood, but had not drunk it. He lay in the dungeon, dormant thanks to the lack of nourishment, for fourteen months. Eventually someone had bothered to break down the door and investigate the cellars below and had found the various rotting bodies that lay there, along with Iuda’s strangely undecayed corpse. They had carried it back up. Somewhere on the short journey they’d twisted or jolted their load, and the small vial of human blood – the blood Iuda had taken from Marfa and lodged in his own throat before losing consciousness – was spilled. It was so little, but it meant so much. He was recalled to life.
    When he awoke, he was lying on the floor of his own office. He barely recognized it. Dust sheets were thrown over the furniture and repainting had begun. The stairs led up to the Kremlin above, but Iuda did not need to see the glimmer of light shining down them to know that it was mid-afternoon – he felt it in his gut.
    He could hear voices down in the cellars below, and footsteps ascending. There were two of them. Normally, he would have no concerns about defeating them, but he’d consumed such a tiny amount of blood that he was still weak. He would hardly be able to stand without support.
    ‘Let’s get on with it then.’
    The timbre of the voices had changed; the men had climbed the steps and were now in the office. He sensed them moving towards him and then leaning over. He let out a groan. He felt them grip him and begin to lift. They hadn’t noticed. He coughed a little and felt the hands release him.
    ‘Jesus Christ! This one’s alive.’
    ‘Bollocks. It’s just air escaping.’
    Iuda coughed again, letting his body convulse a little.
    There was silence – a stunned silence, he presumed. Then the second man spoke. ‘What do we do?’
    They clearly needed guidance. Iuda opened his lips, flexing them after months of disuse. He tried to make his speech appear weak, but discovered he had little need to pretend. He allowedhis eyes to flicker open and saw the two men peering over him. One of them knelt down and bent his head forward to listen more closely. His ear hovered above Iuda’s lips, meaning that his neck was not far away. Iuda sensed the blood pulsing in the man’s jugular vein – so close that only a slight movement would allow Iuda to bury his teeth deep into the sweet pink flesh. But it was not worth the risk. He raised his head just a little.
    ‘Water,’ he muttered, and then fell back, closing his eyes as if the effort had exhausted him.
    ‘What?’ asked the man standing.
    ‘Water. He wants water. Go find some.’
    Iuda heard feet pattering up the stairs to the Kremlin. He opened his eyes. The first part of the plan – to separate them – had worked. The other man was still there,