The discordant clamour that so shattered the equilibrium of the fray issued from above. The mob, fervent and relentless, erupted in a wild chorus of triumph, their voices reverberating with the exultation of their newfound advantage. “Hurrah! Hurrah!” they cried, their exultant cries echoing through the corridors of the beleaguered mansion. “Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!”
The source of their jubilation lay in a detachment that had scaled the ornate verandah and infiltrated the upper chambers of the grim edifice. Emerging onto the landing with frenzied zeal, they joined their compatriots below in the chaotic dance of destruction.
“Hurrah!” roared the mob from below.
“Hurrah!” echoed their brethren from above.
For a fleeting moment, the clash of forces paused as the servants, beleaguered and battle-weary, were compelled to divide their ranks. One faction turned to confront the onslaught from above, while the other braced against the surging tide from below.
At the signal, both segments of the mob surged forward in a devastating rush. The servants, caught between two fronts, were quickly overwhelmed. Separated and thrown into disarray, they were battered and forced into a retreat. Yet the mob, consumed by their ravenous desire for retribution, had loftier aspirations than merely vanquishing the servants.
“Down with the vampyre!” they chanted, their voices a grim symphony of vengeance.
The mob surged recklessly through the mansion’s opulent rooms, their passage marked by the splintering of fine furniture and the tearing down of luxurious draperies. Their aim was singular and relentless: to find and destroy the object of their loathing. They stormed into a room where the door stood ajar, their eyes alighting upon a figure seated with an unnerving calm.
“There he is!” they cried in unison, their voices thick with anticipation.
“Who? Who?” they demanded.
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“The vampyre!” came the answer, charged with venomous hatred.
“Down with him! Kill him! Burn him!” was the collective roar that surged through the room.
The mob’s frenzied energy was abruptly stilled as they confronted the scene before them. The room was draped in heavy, dark velvet curtains, its furnishings a sumptuous blend of gothic luxury. At the center, behind a grand, elaborately carved table, sat Sir Ferdinand Lazarus. His demeanor was disquietingly composed, a sardonic smile playing on his lips.
“Well, by my smock-frock!” exclaimed one of the mob, his astonishment palpable. “Who would have thought it? He doesn’t seem the least bit perturbed.”
“Well, I’ll be damned!” muttered another, his disbelief mingling with unease. “He appears quite untroubled, at any rate. What is he plotting?”
With a graceful rise, Sir Ferdinand Lazarus inclined his head with a genteel smile. “Gentlemen,” he intoned, his voice smooth and condescending, “might I inquire as to the purpose of this unexpected visit? Your kindness is truly overwhelming.”
The mob, momentarily taken aback by this serene and unfazed reception, exchanged glances of confusion and growing apprehension. Sir Ferdinand’s refined demeanor, starkly contrasting with the mob’s frenzied rage, left them at a loss for words.
“If this visit is borne of affection or neighborly goodwill,” Sir Ferdinand continued, his voice dripping with irony, “I extend my heartfelt thanks.”
“Down with the vampyre!” shouted a voice from the rear, still shielded from the Sir Ferdinand’s disarming presence.
Sir Ferdinand’s eyes flashed with an unsettling glint. His long front teeth were momentarily visible in a sardonic smile as he spoke, “Gentlemen, I am at your disposal. I welcome you to whatever I might offer. Though I fear this meeting may be rather inconvenient for you, rest assured, I am entirely at your service.”
With a dramatic flourish, Sir Ferdinand stepped behind a heavy curtain that concealed him from view.
“Down with the vampyre!” echoed through the room, the mob’s fervor unabated by Sir Ferdinand’s chillingly polite demeanor. They surged forward, overturning the grand table and tearing the curtain down with violent efficiency.
To their utter consternation, the space behind the curtain was empty.
“Where is he?” cried the mob, their voices rising in bewildered dismay.
“Where has the vampyre gone?”
The room, now a scene of disarray and destruction, offered no hint of Sir Ferdinand’s whereabouts. The mob’s cries grew increasingly frantic as they scoured the room for any sign of their elusive quarry. Yet Sir Ferdinand Lazarus had vanished, leaving behind only the echoes of their confusion and the oppressive silence of his dark, gothic sanctuary.