My dearest Mina,
I hope this letter will find you in adequate time to inform you that I am, in fact, not in continental Europe at all. An agent informed me, just before I was to depart for France, and thence to make the long voyage overland to Transylvania, that a grievous mistake had been made in the transliteration of his employer's letters to Mr. Hawkins. Understandably, because the original message was conveyed in that most foreign of scripts from the farthest reaches of the Orient and then transliterated through several European languages until it reached my offices, the original intent was thoroughly obscured, he explained to me. The purpose of my employment was, for which I am most thankful, accurately conveyed. The matter of object was still the assistance in the purchase and transition of ownership of Carfax Abbey, but my client was not the Rumanian Count Dracula, but instead a Dr. Fu Manchu who resided in deepest Cathay.
You will forgive me that I did not do the sensible thing of relating this to you before I took chartered leave of Portsmouth. I hope the fact that I was thoroughly preoccupied with the prospect of attempting to conduct business in a nation where I knew even less of the local custom than my smattering of German and the great haste to get underway which the sailors placed upon me. In reflection upon the many tedious months at sea, I cannot fault them for wishing to have it behind them as swiftly as possible. I made priority to write to you whenever we took port on the winding trip, but include the redundant summary above in caution against the dangers of the unreliability of such far-flung mail.
Upon landing at Whampoa, I was immediately met by servants sent by the doctor to escort me from the docks and see to my travel and lodgings in Canton. They spoke only the most rudimentary of English, identifying themselves as members of some organization they called Si-Fan, the particulars of which are, of course, utterly unknown to me.
China is a country I can scarcely put into words to describe, Mina. The cities bustled with an abundance of humanity, even more so than London itself. I will note that the trains were notoriously unpunctual, for which my guides profusely made pidgin apologies. Once we reached the end of the meager rail network, we proceeded by means of a small boat in the Siamese style along a tremendous river which wound through spectacular mountainous scenery with sheer cliffs rising hundreds of feet on either side. When the river proved impassable, we hired a pony trap and continued further inland, until the path became so treacherous that our horses were of little use. The driver remained insistent that I not depart and walk the slope myself as we do at home, issuing a warning with grim pleasantry that the local dogs were too fierce. Indeed, I did hear the baying of canines at night, so perhaps I might be well advised to heed his advice.
We continued along a narrow, twisting path, to a village whose name I cannot properly reproduce, and will not attempt here. From the village, we left the river behind us and journeyed up the slopes of a large mountain, until, at last, I beheld in the evening gloom the sprawling compound which housed the mysterious doctor for whom I had journeyed so far.
The entire complex was enclosed within a vast stone wall, housing a towering pagoda, a great number of outbuildings, and a maze of gardens which seemed to wind throughout. My party of companions seemed to vanish as we approached the perimeter. I assumed they were attending to preordained duties and made their entrance by alternate means not readily apparent to an outsider such as myself. Left alone with my luggage, standing before the imposing wooden gate which was decorated with a dragon, I shivered thinkin of how unlikely it was that a newly-minted English solicitor should be standing here in this remote pass which surely none of my like had heard of before, come all this way to sell an estate to an enigmatic foreigner.
With the rattling of chains and the clanking of massive bolts being drawn back, the door swung open. An unusually tall, anciently aged mandarin, dressed in an elaborate silk robe, stood before me. Lean, with high shoulders and feline features, most prominent among them a long, split mustache made of twin wisps which hung down past the corners of his mouth, his countenance was striking. There was an intimidating cunning evident in his sunken eyes as if a thousand schemes were on the cusp of unfurling at the slightest word. He smirked before he said, in excellent English but with a strange intonation and heavy Chinese accent, "Welcome, my friend Mr. Harker! Enter my home of your own free will."
To be sure of who I was addressing I asked him, "Dr. Fu Manchu?"
He offered a courtly bow and replied that I was correct, bidding me with the utmost courtesy to follow him inside. "The night air is chill and you must need to eat and rest," he said, leading me through a courtyard and entered one of the smaller structures within the complex. Curiously, I made note of what seemed to be a board nailed horizontally across the bottom of the doorway which we had to step over as we made our entrance. It must surely give the old doctor, with the dignified but undeniably stiff movement of his legs some difficulty to negotiate regularly. Inquiring as to its purpose, he brushed me aside saying it was a trifle of superstition that I need not concern myself with.
He led me to a room which seemed, by measure of the cobwebs, as if it had not been disturbed in many years, gesturing with a generous sweep of his arm to the cushions arranged around a low table, upon which there was a bottle of wine, to be seated. "I am glad," I said to him, "that the custom of hospitality is much the same here as in England. I thank you, Doctor, for sharing a drink with me."
"I never drink… wine," he said, the last word almost as hurried addition. I attributed the strangeness to a quirk of linguistics between our native tongues. I tried to maintain polite conversation, describing my impression of China, expressing gratitude that he had provided me with so warm a reception after such an arduous journey. Despite how hospitable my host was, I could not help but feel unease in his presence. His catlike movements, as if every gesture were carefully planned, his piercing gaze which seemed to take my measure with every statement, making me feel quite transparent under his scrutiny, and the hypnotic way which with which he stooped to regard me, all combined to inspire a sense of dread within me. Perhaps, I thought, it was merely the exotic unfamiliarity of my surroundings, or the lingering suspicion of the manner in which I came to arrive at this moment, given the unusual miscommunication which occurred.
I tried to turn the discussion of his intentions towards Carfax, asking him whether he intended to live there himself or intended to rent it out to tenants. Fu Manchu responded with evasive statements, about how Carfax would prove a most suitable acquisition, how pleased he was that I had travelled so far to facilitate this transaction, but offering no insight to his true motivations. After I had partaken of the wine, he bid me goodnight and directed me to another structure which housed guest quarters. I was relieved when he departed, feeling as if a crushing weight had been lifted from me.
In the midst of the night,