ankles. Van Helsing slashes downwards, decapitating a wolf. The head bounces against a tree, becoming that of a gypsy boy, and rolls down the mountainside.
Van Helsing’s cavalry weave expertly through the pines. They carry flaming torches. The music soars. Fire and smoke whip between the trees.
In the coach, Westenra puts his fingers in his ears. Murray smiles as if on a pleasure ride across Brighton Beach. Harker sorts through crucifixes.
At Borgo Pass, a small gypsy encampment is quiet. Elders gather around the fire. A girl hears the Tchaikovsky whining among the winds and alerts the tribe.
The gypsies bustle. Some begin to transform into wolves.
The man-lifting kites hang against the moon, casting vast bat-shadows on the mountainside.
The pounding of hooves, amplified a thousandfold by the trees, thunders. The ground shakes. The forests tremble.
Van Helsing’s cavalry explode out of the woods and fall upon the camp, riding around and through the place, knocking over wagons, dragging through fires. A dozen flaming torches are thrown. Shrieking werewolves, pelts aflame, leap up at the riders.
Silver swords flash, red with blood.
Van Helsing dismounts and strides through the carnage, making head shots with his pistol. Silver balls explode in wolf-skulls.
A young girl approaches Van Helsing’s Aide, smiling in welcome. She opens her mouth, hissing, and sinks fangs into the man’s throat.
Three cavalrymen pull the girl off and stretch her out face-down on the ground, rending her bodice to bare her back. Van Helsing drives a five-foot lance through her ribs from behind, skewering her to the bloodied earth.
VAN HELSING: Vampire bitch!
The cavalrymen congratulate each other and cringe as a barrel of gunpowder explodes nearby. Van Helsing does not flinch.
HARKER’s Voice: Van Helsing was protected by God. Whatever he did, he would survive. He was blessed.
Van Helsing kneels by his wounded Aide and pours holy water onto the man’s ravaged neck. The wound hisses and steams, and the Aide shrieks.
VAN HELSING: Too late, we are too late. I’m sorry, my son.
With a kukri knife, Van Helsing slices off his Aide’s head. Blood gushes over his trousers.
The overture concludes and the battle is over.
The gypsy encampment is a ruin. Fires still burn. Everyone is dead or dying, impaled or decapitated or silver-shot. Van Helsing distributes consecrated wafers, dropping crumbs on all the corpses, muttering prayers for saved souls.
Harker sits exhausted, bloody earth on his boots.
HARKER’s Voice: If this was how Van Helsing served God, I was beginning to wonder what the firm had against Dracula.
The sun pinks the skies over the mountains. Pale light falls on the encampment.
Van Helsing stands tall in the early morning mists.
Several badly wounded vampires begin to shrivel and scream as the sunlight burns them to man-shaped cinders.
VAN HELSING: I love that smell... spontaneous combustion at daybreak. It smells like... salvation.
21
Like a small boy whose toys have been taken away, Francis stood on the rock, orange cagoule vivid against the mist-shrouded pines, and watched the cavalry ride away in the wrong direction. Gypsy extras, puzzled at this reversal, milled around their camp set. Storaro found something technical to check and absorbed himself in lenses.
No one wanted to tell Francis what was going on.
They had spent two hours setting up the attack, laying camera track, planting charges, rigging decapitation effects, mixing Kensington gore in plastic buckets. Van Helsing’s troop of ferocious cavalry were uniformed and readied.
Then Shiny Suit whispered in the ear of the captain who was in command of the army-provided horsemen. The cavalry stopped being actors and became soldiers again, getting into formation and riding out.
Kate had never seen anything like it.
Ion nagged Shiny Suit for an explanation. Reluctantly, the official told the little vampire what was going on.
‘There is fighting in the
Van Helsing’s cavalry weave expertly through the pines. They carry flaming torches. The music soars. Fire and smoke whip between the trees.
In the coach, Westenra puts his fingers in his ears. Murray smiles as if on a pleasure ride across Brighton Beach. Harker sorts through crucifixes.
At Borgo Pass, a small gypsy encampment is quiet. Elders gather around the fire. A girl hears the Tchaikovsky whining among the winds and alerts the tribe.
The gypsies bustle. Some begin to transform into wolves.
The man-lifting kites hang against the moon, casting vast bat-shadows on the mountainside.
The pounding of hooves, amplified a thousandfold by the trees, thunders. The ground shakes. The forests tremble.
Van Helsing’s cavalry explode out of the woods and fall upon the camp, riding around and through the place, knocking over wagons, dragging through fires. A dozen flaming torches are thrown. Shrieking werewolves, pelts aflame, leap up at the riders.
Silver swords flash, red with blood.
Van Helsing dismounts and strides through the carnage, making head shots with his pistol. Silver balls explode in wolf-skulls.
A young girl approaches Van Helsing’s Aide, smiling in welcome. She opens her mouth, hissing, and sinks fangs into the man’s throat.
Three cavalrymen pull the girl off and stretch her out face-down on the ground, rending her bodice to bare her back. Van Helsing drives a five-foot lance through her ribs from behind, skewering her to the bloodied earth.
VAN HELSING: Vampire bitch!
The cavalrymen congratulate each other and cringe as a barrel of gunpowder explodes nearby. Van Helsing does not flinch.
HARKER’s Voice: Van Helsing was protected by God. Whatever he did, he would survive. He was blessed.
Van Helsing kneels by his wounded Aide and pours holy water onto the man’s ravaged neck. The wound hisses and steams, and the Aide shrieks.
VAN HELSING: Too late, we are too late. I’m sorry, my son.
With a kukri knife, Van Helsing slices off his Aide’s head. Blood gushes over his trousers.
The overture concludes and the battle is over.
The gypsy encampment is a ruin. Fires still burn. Everyone is dead or dying, impaled or decapitated or silver-shot. Van Helsing distributes consecrated wafers, dropping crumbs on all the corpses, muttering prayers for saved souls.
Harker sits exhausted, bloody earth on his boots.
HARKER’s Voice: If this was how Van Helsing served God, I was beginning to wonder what the firm had against Dracula.
The sun pinks the skies over the mountains. Pale light falls on the encampment.
Van Helsing stands tall in the early morning mists.
Several badly wounded vampires begin to shrivel and scream as the sunlight burns them to man-shaped cinders.
VAN HELSING: I love that smell... spontaneous combustion at daybreak. It smells like... salvation.
21
Like a small boy whose toys have been taken away, Francis stood on the rock, orange cagoule vivid against the mist-shrouded pines, and watched the cavalry ride away in the wrong direction. Gypsy extras, puzzled at this reversal, milled around their camp set. Storaro found something technical to check and absorbed himself in lenses.
No one wanted to tell Francis what was going on.
They had spent two hours setting up the attack, laying camera track, planting charges, rigging decapitation effects, mixing Kensington gore in plastic buckets. Van Helsing’s troop of ferocious cavalry were uniformed and readied.
Then Shiny Suit whispered in the ear of the captain who was in command of the army-provided horsemen. The cavalry stopped being actors and became soldiers again, getting into formation and riding out.
Kate had never seen anything like it.
Ion nagged Shiny Suit for an explanation. Reluctantly, the official told the little vampire what was going on.
‘There is fighting in the
Similar Books
