Samuel Gilford stood at the front of the mob, though he was slightly aside of the wooden stage where the execution was to take place. That wooden stage was old, built who knew when, and the planks were stained with the blood of its many victims, that blood poignantly brought to bear by the lit torches on the stage and the many lanterns in the clutching hands of the surrounding mob, something the pale light of the moon above could not do on its own.
The criminal to be executed this night was one Bogdan Vero, a man in his late thirties who had been accused of the acts of rape and murder of a young woman in her early twenties, one Rodica Enache, a maiden whose stunning beauty had caught the eye of many a suitor. Vero was a drifter from a nearby village, and it had been assumed by the bloodthirsty locals that he was on the run for previous violations of young women and girls.
Of course, the people of the city of Luna Plina did not take such violations lightly, nor did their count.
Count Alexandru Recolta stepped forward to the front of the stage, and in the man’s hands was a large and heavy headsman’s axe, so Samuel already knew Vero’s fate. Judgement had already been made.
Samuel took that moment to study the count.
The man was tall, a little over six feet, and he was dressed in a well-appointed black suit with a white dress shirt, that shirt spotless in its cleanliness. There was a superlative ribbon-tie made of exotic scarlet cloth that ran along his neckline, a splash of color that drew attention to the sharp features of his face.
He wore fine black shoes that had been polished to a shine, and around his neck he wore an amulet, a large iron circle with the symbol of the immortal dragon set within it, that amulet resting beneath his scarlet ribbon-tie. Most impressive, however, was the crimson cape he wore, an unapologetic and unforgiving homage to his noble lineage, a regalia to match his fine status as a ruler.
He was a pale and handsome man in his early forties, with short, slick-blacked hair to accent his aquiline nose. Such features gave him the look and impression of exceptional strength of character, a presence in ambience that screamed “do not anger.”
The count was a fair man, though brutal in his justice. Samuel had no wish to get on the man’s bad side. Unfortunately, this was exactly the case for Bogdan Vero, because the locals wanted blood, and their vengeful ire clearly did not sit well with the count.
Samuel had heard stories of the count, many stories, but which were true and which were local legend, he could not tell. He only knew the titles the people of Luna Plina whispered of the man, whispered names in the shadows of inns and pubs: “The Immortal Dragon,” “The Tempered Axe,” and Samuel’s personal favorite, “The Harvester of Blood.”
Nevertheless, Samuel was here on business, as his firm had been contacted over the last year by the count for the purpose of buying property in London, though why such a man would want such property on the great isle was irrelevant; the man was nobility with considerable wealth, and that was all that mattered.
“The show is about to begin,” said the professor.
Samuel had journeyed here with Professor Archibald Moore, an older, learned, and well-traveled man in his fifties, though Samuel did not like him.
Moore was a thin, shriveled prune of a man with receding white hair, features that belied his middle-age, as the professor appeared to be much older than his actual age indicated, as if the man had seen and done things that went beyond the pale.
No, Samuel did not like Moore at all, but the firm was funding the professor via the university, so that’s all there was to that. The count had graciously put up Samuel in a room within the castle, but Moore had been consigned to an inn within the city, so there was some justice in the world…Even the count did not like the man.
Professor Moore stood idly by to “watch the show.”
The older man was dressed in a fine brown suit and a white button up topped off by a brown tie and good brown dress shoes. He did indeed display the typical aspects of a British professor, though Samuel still didn’t trust him.
There was something about Moore that Samuel found distasteful, though he could not put his finger on what that undesirable quality might be.
Samuel was a practical man, so he would do his job and return home as quickly as possible. He had no real desire to be journeying abroad, especially to the likes of Romania, but once again, he was a practical man, so his likes and dislikes ultimately did not matter when it came to his work and the firm.
Samuel, himself, was dressed in one of his many grey suits, complete with his own white button up, grey tie, and fine black dress shoes. He wore a brown bowler hat to cover his shortcut, well-styled, brown hair, and upon his round nose, he wore his circular spectacles, giving him an overall look of professionalism and style, something he strived for on a daily basis.
He had a pudgy face with a thin moustache, and at times he felt himself to be portly, but he was handsome in his own way, and both he and his wife were satisfied with that, so in the end, he felt secure and comfortable in his look, though he was nothing in comparison to the count, and he knew this.
Still, at least he was not Moore, because Samuel was in his mid-thirties, and he looked his age…But to look like the professor?…What a fate that would be!
He frowned as he pushed his wandering thoughts from his mind. A man was about to be executed, for God’s sake!
The man in question, Bogdan Vero, was dragged out by the city police to the center of the stage. There, he was pushed to his knees and then forced into a prone position in order to lay his neck upon the dark, bloodstained wood of the headsman’s block.
“Beheading in this day and age?” asked Professor Moore in his irritating, grating voice. “This should be interesting to watch. I don’t believe I’ve seen a beheading before.”
“Good Lord, man!” replied Samuel. “It’s 1926! One would think there would be no beheadings in the modern world anymore, much less the desire to see one.”
“What’s the matter, Gilford?” asked the professor. “Afraid of a little blood?”
“A man’s life is about to end,” muttered Samuel. “Have some respect for the sanctity of life.”
“Sanctity is for the dull and uneducated,” replied Moore.
Samuel frowned and shook his head. There was no point in arguing with someone as distasteful as Moore…Of course, this was just one more reason to dislike the man.
Samuel was pulled back to reality as the angry mob around him continued to shout, spit, and curse. It was not until the count signaled that he would speak did the crowd’s rage die down to a low boil.
“Good people of Luna Plina!” called out the count. “Your demands for justice have been heard! Let the punishment of this man, Bogdan Vero, commence! For the violation and murder of our own beloved Rodica Enache, he shall be put to death!”
“I did not do it!” shouted Vero. “I did not!”
The mob’s rage fueled to a roaring pyre of shouts and curses as they spit in Vero’s haggard, bearded face. It was clear to Samuel that justice was more of a “suggestion” in this city rather than the rule.
“I did not do it!” continued Vero. “It was a demon that killed the girl! I saw it! It was as black as the blackest night and had the wings and ears of a bat! I saw it! It was a de—”
Count Recolta swung the heavy headsman’s axe as easily as a child swinging a stick.
The heavy blade dropped and severed the accused’s head from his body, Vero’s head popping off like a champagne cork to spray hot blood all over the enraged mob.
Samuel stepped back as one of the city folk, a large and portly man in rustic brown clothes, picked up the head by its curly brown hair and displayed it like a prize for all to see.
“Barbaric,” muttered Samuel.
“Entertaining, old boy,” smirked the professor.
Samuel shook his head but did not reply to such brazen verbal turpitude with any kind of moral rebuttal…No, he’d had enough of this. He was only here on business anyway.
“I think I shall retire for the night,” he grimaced. “I shall be in my quarters at the castle.”
“Yes, you do that,” said Moore with a slight grin. “I can see you have no stomach for the visceral, Gilford. Perhaps some scotch will do you well.”
“Yes…perhaps it shall,” muttered Samuel.
After witnessing this, he was probably going to need a lot.
*****
Valeriu followed the master, shovel in one hand, a lantern in the other.
The count was ahead of him by a few steps, the imposing man carrying the naked body of Rodica Enache over his right shoulder like a peasant would carry a sack of grain.
Valeriu stared at the pale, bare, heart-shaped bottom of Rodica, though he tried not to. He would be seeing her again anyway, seeing her soon, in fact, and he had no desire to anger any of the master’s “pets,” especially if they figured out he had prying eyes.
The unmarked and shallow grave had already been dug. The master had convinced the people that Rodica’s body would be entombed within the castle catacombs, but this was a lie. No, her naked corpse was to be thrown here in the black copse outside the castle until the girl was ready to make her reappearance.
“Excellent, Valeriu,” ordered the master. “I see you have prepared while I was away.”
The count unceremoniously dumped the young woman’s nude body into the shallow grave Valeriu had dug hours earlier. Rodica’s corpse landed upon her back, and she lay there in the dirt, but Valeriu could not help but stare at her.
She was indeed beautiful, with unblemished pale skin, long flax-golden hair, full breasts with strawberry nipples in the centers of them, and beautiful hourglass hips that could have born many children. Valeriu had even heard that her eyes were green like sparkling emeralds.
“Quit staring, you worthless oaf,” warned the count. “We must cover her now. Dawn will soon arrive.”
“Yes, master,” nodded Valeriu.
He set down his lantern and took to covering her with loose, dark earth without delay, though it was a shame to cover such shimmering beauty with black soil.
The master already had two such pets, Irini and Odeta, and Valeriu avoided them at all costs. They were of noble blood, true, but Valeriu did not like them, nor did he respect them. They were catty, selfish things who preferred the blood of the young, specifically boys between the ages of eight and sixteen.
Thankfully, the count did not allow those two to kill their victims; it was a local custom to “meet” the count’s wives for the young males of Luna Plina, but none of those boys could ever remember what had transpired within the castle, and when questioned, they did not wish to remember.
Valeriu couldn’t blame them. Both Irini and Odeta beat him on a regular basis and called him all sorts of foul names, though they sometimes undressed in front of him, giving him a show to take to bed at night, teasing and taunting him on purpose, though the count did not know this. They did this as a form of control, threatening to tell the master if Valeriu ever crossed them…
The count was not a merciful man.
No, Irini and Odeta regularly talked about the count behind his back, and what they said was never ladylike, but they knew their place, and they also knew that if the count ever found out about their indiscretions and indecencies, he would beat them and torture them to put them back in their place.
As it stood, those two were jealous of the count’s new wife, as this new wife was of peasant stock, so they would probably harass and embarrass Rodica as soon as the young woman was introduced to the castle…Valeriu did not want to be in the middle of that.
He finished burying the body, and this had taken little time, because the grave was shallow; it had to be…Rodica would rise within the span of the next full moon, within a month’s time, starving for blood, and the count did not want to have his new bride dig through several feet of cursed earth in order to reach the surface.
Valeriu wiped both sweat and grime from his thick brow. He was a stooped and portly man of middle-aged years with a block for a face, that bearded face surrounded by a mop of greying black hair. He was unloved by the city folk, but the count had taken him in, and that was what was important. He had lost his soul to evil long ago, had lost it when he had murdered his parents at the age of fifteen, but the count had taken him in, had forgiven him of his crimes, and had given him purpose, so there was nothing else to say.
This forgiveness was not due to mercy, no, but due to necessity, as the count’s previous loyal manservant had died of old age, but that was irrelevant to Valeriu…
It was better to be Valeriu Zimbrean than Bogdan Vero.
Consequently, Vero’s head was currently on a pike outside the city, and his body had been given to the master’s hounds. His bones would either be discarded or they would be used in one of the master’s rituals…Valeriu did not know, nor did he care to.
“Even the peasants will sometimes breed beauty,” said the count. “I could not allow such a magnificent work of art to be wasted on the lowborn. She would have been ruined by age and childbirth. Now, her fair loveliness will grace my ancestral home forever.”
“Yes, master,” replied Valeriu.
He finished shoveling over the last blade’s worth of dirt, wiped his brow one more time, and slung the shovel over his shoulder.
“Come, Valeriu,” ordered the master. “Our new guest is settling in. I find it amusing that Gilford’s first impressions of me are as an unjust judge. He is a typical, half-witted, pompous British man who suspects nothing…The old man, however, Moore?…I do not trust him.”
“Is he a hunter, master?” asked Valeriu.
“No,” said the count in a low tone. “I sense no good in him, not one speck of righteousness. He is an odious little man with secrets…I cannot read him, which disturbs me deeply…Normally, I would dispose of such a threat, but I will not risk the plans I have set in motion to do so.
“No, my plans must come to fruition, and I will not have them undone by a common rodent such as Moore…Eliminating him would be…problematic. To avoid such temptation, I have put him up in the city…I do not wish him here at the castle.
“But as for Moore’s ‘archeology,’ I shall capitulate for now. I shall allow the old man to dig outside the city in his place of choosing, but…he is digging within Cele Trei Pietre. Even I avoid that wretched ground. There is a dark curse there that I have never unraveled in nature, an ominous mystery I have no wish to investigate.”
“How is that possible, master?” asked Valeriu.
He had never heard of anywhere the master was unwilling to go. The count, in his opinion, was fearless.
“The world holds many dark secrets,” frowned the count. “I am but one of them. However, some things are meant to be forgotten, Valeriu…Remember that.”
“Yes, master,” nodded Valeriu.
Whatever lurked beneath Cele Trei Pietre had to be fearsome indeed for even the master to avoid such a place.
“Ah, well,” sighed the count. “Perhaps the professor’s dangerous endeavors will do him in without my intervention. Wouldn’t that be a shine in fate’s eye?
“Come, Valeriu. My wives need…attention…and I feel I must give it to them. They are unhappy in my choosing of a new bride, but they will accept her…I’ll ensure it…I think a little ‘discipline’ is in order before dawn arrives, a little reminder of who is the master of Castle Recolta.”
“Yes, master,” nodded Valeriu.
It was difficult for him to hide his smile.
The count enjoyed collecting foreign relics, and the cat-o’-nine-tails was a favorite British piece of history the count enjoyed more often than the other foreign pieces in his extensive collection, especially when it came to his unruly wives.
Valeriu’s only regret was that he would not get to see the “discipline” his master was going to lay down upon the castle’s fairer occupants. The cat-o’-nine-tails was always fun to watch.
*****
Samuel took a sip of traditional Romanian wine as he engaged in conversation with the locals at one of the more popular pubs, Dragonul Nemuritor, or “The Immortal Dragon,” as it were known. He came here often due to lack of work, as the count had been tremendously busy with internal affairs and had little time to finalize anything with Samuel’s firm.
The property of interest the count desired was in a seedier part of London, though why the count wanted such undesirable land, Samuel had no idea, nor did he care to. The count’s business was his own.
For now, Samuel found the locals and their gossip to be quite intriguing. Besides, he was being paid by the firm regardless of his length of stay, but still…he did miss his wife.
Nevertheless, it was local gossip that held his attention at the moment, and he was grateful for it. It was a boon that he spoke and read Romanian, or he would not be here at all. The firm would have chosen someone else, and Samuel would have been literally poorer for it.
Now he was at a table with some of the local men, and he had bought them drinks, and he would buy them more if they simply kept talking.
“So you say this place, ‘Cele Trei Pietre,’ is restricted?” he asked.
The three locals across from him, three older, rugged men with greying temples and beards, looked at each other for a few seconds in silent but visible fear.
“It is not ‘restricted,’ Sir Gilford,” said the man sitting directly across from Samuel.
They insisted on calling him “Sir” before his last name, but Samuel was certainly not a knight, though he felt no need to correct them.
“No one goes there,” said the man on Samuel’s left. “Not even the count will go there, and he fears nothing.”
“Why?” asked Samuel. “Don’t fret, I won’t tell anyone. I simply want to hear the truth. That way, I may better avoid it. Not all of us British men are fools, you know. I may have traveled here with Professor Moore, but I assure you, I am nothing like him.”
The local man on Samuel’s right leaned forward and whispered in spite of the overall noise of the pub crowd around them.
“It is a cursed place,” said the man. “Cele Trei Pietre is damned in the eyes of the Lord. Foul, unnatural things have been seen there in the past.”
“Fascinating,” replied Samuel. “I’ll shall be sure to avoid it then.”
He had never had any plans to visit the site, but the locals had no need to know this. He simply wanted their trust so they would continue to talk.
The center man leaned forward and shook his head no.
“It is bad luck to even speak of it,” said the middle-aged man. “But I will tell you what I know. The Three Stones is where the first men went to sacrifice to their old gods, their forgotten gods, long before the flood.”
“The flood?” asked Samuel.
“Noah’s flood,” nodded the man. “Cele Trei Pietre is old, far older than most comprehend, but we know. We have heard the stories…The count, as fearsome as he is…”
The older man stopped to make a quick sign of the cross. Samuel found this equally fascinating, as their rampant superstition greatly interested him.
“Count Recolta does not go there for any reason,” continued the center man. “We do not speak ill of the count for fear of his wrath, but even he, fearless as any man on Earth…even he will not go there. The man is a devil who wears a human skin, but even he will not go there.”
“I see…” said Samuel in wary reply.
“Your professor friend should not be there,” said the man on the left.
“He is not my friend,” corrected Samuel in a flat tone. “I traveled with him, but I find him…distasteful. I know that imbues a lack of respect, but I feel that strongly about the man, though I’ll admit I do not know him very well.”
“Friend or not,” continued the man on the left, “he should not be there. The workers he has hired to dig are not from Luna Plina. He will not find any here willing to dig there.”
“Ah,” nodded Samuel. “Well, I’ll not meddle in such things, then. I’m here on business with the count anyway. I’m not here to track the professor’s doings…Which reminds me, what of the count? I find he is an engaging man, though I would not wish to offend him.”
“We do not speak ill of the count,” said the center man with a shake of his head. “In years past, the count’s predecessors were bathed in blood, but Count Recolta is not like his father or his grandfather. The count is a fair man, a devil, true, but he looks after his own.”
“Yes, but beware his wrath,” said the man on the right. “He does not trust foreigners.”
The three men all nodded in agreement on this one.
“Is there anything else I should be aware of?” asked Samuel.
The three middle-aged local men stared at each other with knowing, wary eyes, and then the center man leaned in to whisper one more time.
“Are you staying at the castle, sir?” he asked.
“Yes…” said Samuel cautiously.
The three men stared at each other one more time and nodded in strange understanding.
“Then beware his wives,” whispered the man on the left.
“Wives?” asked Samuel. “As in plural?”
The local man ignored that curiosity. No, he simply finished his warning.
“The count is a jealous man,” continued the man on the left, “and his wives are always hungry for new blood. You would do well to avoid them…The count brings in the young men of the city to meet his wives, but none of those boys can remember what transpires with those she-devils, even after the boys have been beaten and punished in cruel ways.”
“The count controls his wives,” said the man on Samuel’s right, “but I would not wish dealings with them, not even if Saint Peter offered me the keys to the gates of heaven.”
The superstitious local man made the sign of the cross and shuddered.
Samuel found this all very interesting, but it was getting late, and he needed to get back to his lodgings at the castle.
“I…see…” he said uncertainly. “Well, as much as I have enjoyed our conversation, gentlemen, I must return to my lodgings posthaste.”
“Yes, it will be nightfall soon, Sir Gilford,” said the man in the center. “We thank you for the drinks, so we will give you one last warning.”
“Oh?” asked Samuel. “And what is that?”
“Keep the Lord’s crucifix on you at all times,” said the man on the right.
“And do not walk the castle alone at night,” finished the man in the center.
The three men nodded in more strange understanding, and even though Samuel was not a superstitious man, he was going to take them for their word on this one.
*****
Gheorghe followed Costache into the lantern-lit darkness, the professor right behind them. The slab of stone that sealed the entrance to this cursed place had finally been lifted, and all three of them had been lowered into the fetid dark.
The other men were waiting above, with Flaviu and Horea waiting down here at the entrance as Gheorghe, Costache, and Professor Moore abandoned the pair in order to explore deeper into this crypt, or tomb, or whatever it was.
Gheorghe did not want to be here, not here in this ancient, evil place, but he was being paid well, so well that his wife and two daughters would be properly fed for the rest of the year.
Nevertheless, this placed raised his hackles and ground into his bones, because it was permeated with a sense of wrongness, an eclipse of sanity that was difficult to describe in any other way. It was the way the shadows from the lanterns played with the strange angles of the walls, dancing at the edges of his peripherals as if to taunt him, to whisper strange madness at the limits of his hearing.
He hesitated to move any further, though Costache tromped ahead without care or commission. Of course, that man was a fool and always had been.
“What are you doing!” asked the professor from behind Gheorghe. “Keep moving! I don’t pay you to stand around.”
Gheorghe reluctantly moved forward, the circular radius of light from the lantern in his right hand his only comfort, though it was a small comfort indeed.
The stone walls around them were lined with ancient glyphs from some civilization long past. It was an archeological goldmine, true, but the symbols upon these ancient walls seemed to twist and turn within the shadowy edges of his sight.
Soon, strange pictures carved into the walls began to make themselves known. There were weird creatures in bas relief, creatures of an amalgamation of different animals, some with foul deformities of which nature could not explain.
However, one picture stood out amongst the others, mainly because it was repeated time and time again: a pyramid with an orb floating above it. Gheorghe did not know what this picture indicated, but he soon would, as Costache had come to a sudden halt before a small stone altar, a stone slab decorated with yet more bas reliefs of strange, nightmarish creatures of no discernable origin.
Their lanternlight revealed the pyramid in question.
The thing was all black, made of some kind of ebony glass or glass-like stone, like obsidian, but not, as its surface was perfectly smooth, so much so that its flawlessness in feature seemed unnatural. It sat within the center of the altar, this pyramid of midnight glass, and its base was about three decimeters by three decimeters.
“There it is,” whispered the professor, though his voice sounded thunderous in the stuffy silence of this long-forgotten, profane excuse for a feretory.
“Do you know what this is, professor?” asked Gheorghe.
He turned to view the professor’s lantern-lit face, but the man was clearly unhappy at Gheorghe’s prying.
“Do you?” asked Professor Moore with a noticeable smirk.
“No, sir,” replied Gheorghe.
“Then don’t ask stupid questions,” scowled the professor. “You do what I tell you to do, idiot. That is why you are being paid.”
The professor’s Romanian was not so good, but Gheorghe would have understood the insult by the older man’s tone regardless of the learned man’s proficiency in language.
“Yes, professor,” frowned Gheorghe.
His question had briefly interrupted his attention from Costache. The young man had moved toward the altar without permission just as Gheorghe was in the midst of being insulted, and now that they had finally noticed Costache’s thoughtless curiosity, this was cause for alarm from both Professor Moore and Gheorghe. Gheorghe knew enough not to touch anything in here, but Costache was a fool, and he always had been.
Costache reached forward to touch the pyramid.
“No, you fool!” cried the professor, but it was too late.
Costache ran his unprotected hands along the smooth sides of the ancient artifact, but as soon as he had done so, he squeezed his eyes shut, pulled back his hands from the pyramid as if he were suddenly burned, gripped the sides of his head, and then let forth a loud scream which echoed down the tunnel all three of them had just traversed.
The pyramid slowly opened up, much like a black orchid blooming, and within it was a glowing sphere, a ball made from some unknown and alien metal, but its slick metallic surface was multicolored with shifting rainbow hues.
Gheorghe heard a whispering in the back of his mind, a hushed symphony of discordant tones, a chorus of sibilant voices so unnatural he had no words for it. He clutched his ears and cried out as he tried to silence the maddening voices within his head.
He looked up in time to see Costache staring directly into the rainbow light of the orb. He could see blood running down the young man’s left earlobe, and he knew right then that Costache’s ears were bleeding.
Gheorghe closed his eyes and stepped back, refusing to stare into the light. The whispering in his head demanded he look into that light, and he understood that baleful, malevolent will’s command, yet he refused. He would not give in to the maddening voices, so he stepped back, leaving poor, young, foolish Costache to his own fate.
The loud ringing of a gunshot caused Gheorghe’s eyes to open, causing him to stumble to his left toward the north stone wall.
The young man before the altar fell forward and to his right to bounce off of the altar and crumple to the floor.
The professor stood straight and tall, no longer hunched over like the weasel of a man he normally exuded, and in his left hand was a small marble figurine reminiscent of the unnatural creatures carved into the stone surface of this cursed place’s walls. In his right-hand grip was a smoking gun, a revolver he had produced from seemingly nowhere.
The obsidian pyramid closed on its own, the metallic sphere of multicolored hues vanishing within it. The maddening voices at the back of Gheorghe’s mind vanished along with that closing, but he could still feel the taint of their hatred and derangement deep within him, clawing at him as if trying to reach the surface of his fragile psyche.
He could see the blood running from Costache’s ears and from the young man’s sightless eyes, those eyes staring up at nothing, but those eyes were pitch black, twin orbs of sable that had coated over with that inky darkness in their entirety, and Gheorghe could swear he could see a brief shimmer of rainbow lights where the pupils had been.
Gheorghe stared up at the professor, but there were no answers there. No, the older man simply turned and leveled the barrel of the pistol at him just as Gheorghe’s hearing began to return over the ringing of the previous gunshot. He could hear the professor’s final message just over the running footsteps and shouting of Flaviu and Horea as the two men traveled through lantern-lit darkness down the long-entombed stone hallway.
“I’m afraid I’m not yet ready for the big reveal, my boy,” said the older man. “Your service of employment with me has been, unfortunately, terminated.”
The last sounds Gheorghe heard were the click of a trigger and the following explosion.
*****
Samuel walked into the library.
The count’s library was extensive, a grand square of books reaching up three floors, with old oakwood tables of long rectangular make and model to bedeck the dull-grey of the floor’s stonework and the red and gold carpet-rugs that covered that stonework.
The brutal leader of Luna Plina held quite a collection, and this was a refreshing sight for Samuel, as it provided some proof to him that the count was not quite the monster Samuel had come to believe.
Of course, his wondering was cut short by the mere presence of Professor Moore. That noxious little fellow was already in here, poring over some tome or another whilst seated at the athenaeum’s grand central table.
“Professor Moore?” asked Samuel. “What brings you to the castle? I thought the count had forbidden all but those who have special permission to be—”
“It appears the count has rescinded his previous prohibition of my presence,” smirked Moore.
The man’s presence here was indeed as unwelcomed as it was unwanted in Samuel’s eyes, but Samuel had no say in the matter. Nevertheless, a full explanation was in order.
“I see,” said Samuel cautiously. “And why might that be, may I ask?”
“Jealous, Gilford?” asked Moore in a tone loaded with flippant snark.
“Not at all, my good man,” replied Samuel courteously, though he had not wished to. “I was simply curious.”
“Ah,” said the older man as he raised his right index finger. “If you must know, I have discovered the find of the century! There was an ancient structure buried beneath Cele Trei Pietre. It appears ‘The Three Stones’ has an ancient temple beneath it…It’s a treasure trove of archeological findings!”
“Treasure?” asked Samuel.
“Not valuables such as the common, insipid peasant would view as such, no,” frowned the professor. “No, the kind of treasure I speak of is of great value to the historical community. There are a number of ancient pictograms and hieroglyphs carved into the walls of the temple beneath Cele Trei Pietre, though the temple itself is devoid of anything else.
“Nevertheless, the writings upon the walls are ancient, far older than anything the archeological community has ever discovered before. The value of them is beyond words!
“The count has graciously allowed me to take up residence within the castle until my workers—under my explicit direction, of course—can safely and carefully remove whole stone sections of the walls in the temple for university study. They will be shipped back to London as soon as possible, but as you know, such endeavors take time…therefore, I am here.”
“I…see…” said Samuel hesitantly. “I’ve heard rumors there was trouble at the dig site.”
“Ah, yes,” smirked Moore. “A couple of careless workers were exposed to an ancient trap which released a toxic gas…I was there at the time, but I protected myself with a thick handkerchief and a good bit of distance. The feckless pair, however, were not so fortunate. They went mad, and in their blind rage, they tried to kill me…I had to put them down. I was fortunate, myself, to have been carrying my revolver at the time.”
“Good God, man!” gasped Samuel. “That’s terrible!”
“Ah, but their deaths were not in vain,” grinned the professor. “The count can now claim ownership of the greatest archeological discovery of the twentieth century, and we have worked out a deal to allow my university to be the first to study this incredible find.”
This was why Samuel did not favor Moore at all. The man was as callous as he was indifferent. Nevertheless, the professor’s business with the count was not Samuel’s own, so it appeared he was just going to have to put up with Moore for the time being.
“I…suppose,” said Samuel hesitantly.
“Now I am simply doing a bit of research,” said the professor matter-of-factly. “Unfortunately, it appears the count’s library, extensive as it is, has little to nothing upon Cele Trei Pietre. It’s disappointing, really, but considering how backwards and superstitious the locals here truly are, I am not surprised. I highly doubt there are any recorded entries of ‘The Three Stones’ anywhere, therefore, I am quite pleased to be the first academian to study them. You are witnessing history in the making, Gilford.”
“Yes…Quite right, good sir,” replied Samuel as politely as he could.
It was a good thing he was departing within the next month. The count had given his word that he would close the London deal so that Samuel could continue on his way, because as imposing, as terrifying as the ruler of Luna Plina could be, at least Samuel did not have to put up with Professor Archibald Moore for much longer.
*****
Valeriu walked down the long and dark castle corridor within the east wing, lantern in hand. There was lantern light along the hallway already, those lanterns in small sconces upon the stone walls, but he would be putting out those lanterns soon, as the servants would not do so…The servants of Castle Recolta did not want to be left in the dark in this wing.
His master had given him explicit instructions to go and spy on Professor Moore. Now that the professor had actually found something of value beneath Cele Trei Pietre, the count had decided to keep a closer eye upon Moore while the learned man and his team were recovering the stone hieroglyphs in question.
His master did not trust Moore, and neither did Valeriu. There was something disingenuous about the academian, from his look right down to his behavior…Of course, the man may simply be a weasel, and if so, the count would tolerate Moore’s behavior and then send him on his way once the recovery of the glyphs was complete.
Valeriu passed by one of the castle servants as he walked slowly through the lantern-lit dark. The woman, a young raven-haired maid of the castle, Simona, scurried in quick retreat toward the servant’s quarters in the more western part of the east wing. Her eyes were wide with fear, because nightfall was the time when the servants made haste to disappear…They did not want to wander the castle during the count’s hours.
That same maid, Simona, had, in fact, made the mistake of being in this wing far too late at night numerous times. The young woman had a poor grasp of timekeeping, so she had been caught by the count’s wives several times over, though Simona could not remember such incidents, as they had been erased from her memory, but the trauma was evident, buried deep within the girl’s mind…She was a particular favorite of Irini, and what the count’s first wife liked to do to her was, without a doubt, traumatic, to say the least.
Valeriu had been the one to rescue her the first time, so poor Simona was now a repeat victim rather than a singular bind, torture, and kill. The girl had been naked, bleeding, and in shock when he had found her, and he had scolded Irini and Odeta for taking the young maid that first time, threatening them with the master’s wrath if they did not let the young woman go. The master’s wives had beaten him for it, but the young maid had escaped with her life, though Simona did not remember Valeriu’s kind act.
The young woman did not remember the horrors the two older women had inflicted upon her a number of times, but those brutal sessions had borne some protective fruit, because Simona now had a permanent fear embedded within her, and that would have to be enough…She would not be that late again, or at least, her buried inner fears would give her some presence of mind to flee the furthest reaches of the east wing before it was too late.
The servants of the castle ignored Valeriu, and even poor Simona did not acknowledge his presence, though he suspected she had a passing liking toward him simply due to the fact of the repressed memory of his singular act of kindness toward her. However, the servants in general did not dare berate Valeriu—certainly not Simona—though they did their utmost best to pretend he did not exist…He preferred it that way anyway.
But this was the east wing, and this was the wing that Irini and Odeta haunted, though in truth, Valeriu did not have time for them or their games. He had a task to perform, and that was to keep an eye on the professor.
He turned down his lantern light as he passed by Odeta’s room. He did not wish to disturb her, though this was not out of courtesy.
Unfortunately, she had left her door open…The large wooden door with an arched top was wide open to reveal the interior of Odeta’s bedroom. The woman was in her white nightgown, the hem of it trailing along the stone floor, her long, curly, brown tresses spilling down the gown’s back.
Oh, Odeta was quite beautiful, but Valeriu had seen every part of that woman…The count’s wives were not shy, especially to him, but Odeta’s beauty and her exhibitionism was not his concern at the moment…
She had company.
She had a little boy in her room, a little local boy of eight or nine, this little tyke dressed in brown trousers and a rugged white shirt, little brown shoes on his feet, a peasant boy, that boy sitting upon the crimson spread of Odeta’s grand bed, and Valeriu wanted nothing to do with that.
Odeta preferred to feed off of younger boys while Irini liked them aged a bit, but Valeriu did not like to see such things or even know of them. It was a miracle in itself that the two voracious women had not torn through the local population of young males by now, but the master kept them in check, keeping them held to his will as a trainer would with vicious dogs on a tight leash.
Odeta would not kill the boy, though Valeriu had no doubts she would kill a servant if she got ahold of one…The master had never warned her not to do that, even though such an action was implicitly forbidden, but Valeriu knew Irini and Odeta quite well…They did whatever they wished behind the count’s back.
He walked past Odeta’s room. She turned, and their eyes met, but Valeriu averted his gaze and continued down the hall.
He shuffled down the hall, but he looked behind himself one last time to ensure she was not following him. She had walked out of her room and into the hallway to stare at him, and he stared back, but she was not his concern, and what she was doing was not his concern either, but he doubted she understood this. The count’s wives were selfish and petty, so he would probably hear about this later from at least one of them.
He turned to continue upon his way, but he received a severe start, as Odeta was standing right in front him, her multicolored eyes staring into his own with a malicious curiosity. Odeta was unusual in the fact that she had one light-blue eye and one dark eye, an unusual beauty for someone of such natural beauty, and she used this to her advantage, even with her dealings with the count.
Valeriu shook his head. He would not let her rattle him. Her strange eyes would not seduce him, and her sudden appearance was a cheap parlor trick compared to what the master could do.
“And where are you off to, Valeriu?” asked the “young” woman.
Odeta looked young, as if she were in her early-twenties, but she was not young, not at all…She was twice Valeriu’s age.
“I am here at the master’s bidding,” said Valeriu in urgent reply. “You have your own ‘things’ to attend to. Leave me be.”
This did not sit well with Odeta. She was not one to be snubbed.
Her multicolored eyes glowed with an inner red light as she hissed and revealed her fangs, and then she smacked him hard on the left cheek with her right hand, so hard that he staggered backwards and covered his head.
She did not know her own strength at times, but she was Nosferatu, a creature of the night, so this was not surprising.
“Fool!” spat the vampiress. “When you speak to me at all, you will speak with respect!”
Valeriu lowered his hands, stood straight and tall before her, and shook his head no.
“I am here at the master’s bidding!” he reiterated. “You cannot delay me!”
Her eyes returned to the deep pools of blue and brown they normally were, and then she rested her hands upon her ample hips. She gave him a coy look after that, but he was used to her games.
“And what bidding would that be, my Valeriu?” she asked in a sly tone. “Hmm? What could possibly have you in such a rush on such a beautiful night?”
Normally, he would not tell her anything, regardless of how abusive she became, but this time was different…The count’s guests were off limits.
Of course, he did not have to tell her the whole truth.
“I am here to check on the welfare of Professor Moore,” replied Valeriu. “The master has forbidden you and Irini from interfering…You are not to bother the master’s guests. You are not to lay a hand on them.”
Odeta cocked her head to her own left and gave him a malicious smirk.
“And what if he wishes to lay a hand on me?” she asked.
She ran her hands down her own hourglass figure, smoothing out the wrinkles in her nightgown as she did.
“What then, eh?” she asked.
“He is an old man,” frowned Valeriu. “You would not be interested.”
“You think you speak for me?” scoffed Odeta. “Come, little Valeriu. I think an introduction is in order with this ‘Professor Moore.’”
“That would not be wise,” replied Valeriu with a shake of his head. “The master does not wish—”
“The ‘master’ is not here right now,” scowled Odeta. “If the ‘master’ wished to prevent us from doing as we wished, he would not so willfully ignore us in so blatant a fashion.”
She was speaking of Rodica Enache, of course, and she was clearly angry at the “discipline” the master had laid down upon her just the other night. Naturally and quite stupidly, Valeriu could not help but remind her of this.
“He came to see you just recently, as I understand,” he smirked.
This, of course, was an unwise thing to say.
Both Irini and Odeta had suffered under the count’s “discipline,” a fine whipping with the cat-of-nine tails to their bare backsides, so mentioning such was not smart, but to be fair, Valeriu could not help himself, especially with Odeta.
Her eyes sparked to a vicious red again, she hissed, baring her fangs once more, and then Valeriu staggered backwards as he was struck yet again.
“You will take me to see this ‘Professor Moore’!” demanded Odeta. “Now!”
She grabbed his right arm and twisted it, and Valeriu felt his bones begin to break.
“Yes! Yes!” he squealed out, though he did not wish to.
He did not wish to show weakness to her, but she was a vampiress, after all, and if she wished to injure him, there was nothing he could really do to stop her.
She released him, and he straightened himself once more.
“But what of your charge tonight?” asked Valeriu. “Are you going to leave him alone in your room while you are off with me?”
“I have put little Avram to sleep for the moment,” said Odeta. “I’ve merely tasted him, but I shall return to see him through, and then off with him until he has aged…Irini can have him then. It is a good system we have worked out.”
“And what of the master’s new wife?” asked Valeriu. “How will your ‘system’ work with her?”
Odeta bared her fangs and hissed at him, flashing the glow of her crimson fury.
“Do not mention that peasant slattern again!” she spat. “She will have scraps or nothing at all! Now, take me to see our new guest! Do not try me again!”
Valeriu shook his head as he led the way. He was tired of dealing with her, but if this got him in trouble with the count, he was going to sell her out as quickly as possible…The master needed to know the kind of trouble she caused.
She would get another whipping, of courses, but this one would be a harsher punishment rather than just a “deterrent,” so the prospect of a longer and much more brutal flaying would keep her in check. He just needed to remind her of that.
“If any harm comes to the professor,” he muttered, “the master will skin you and make a blanket from your flesh.”
“So you say,” scowled Odeta. “My flesh will grow back. Besides, a blanket of my skin would be quite the warmth on a cold night. I’m sure you would love to bury yourself beneath that…I’ll do as I wish, Valeriu. You will not tell me otherwise.”
It appeared the master’s “deterrents” to keep his wives “in their place” were having the opposite effect. They were becoming more and more defiant, and Valeriu could only place the blame on jealousy, jealousy over the count’s new wife, Rodica Enache, because Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Master or not, neither Irini nor Odeta were going to forgive the count’s transgression any time soon.
They stopped before the professor’s door, and Valeriu knocked twice upon it.
Odeta pushed Valeriu away and shook her head no.
“Away with you, fool!” she hissed. “I’ll speak to him alone!”
“You cannot—” began Valeriu.
“I can, and I shall!” hissed Odeta. “Off with you! Off with you now, or I’ll tear off your manhood!”
Her eyes were a vermillion glow, an endless wrath of rage and hurt, a pool of anger so deep that Valeriu had no choice but to raise his hands and back away. He would have to retreat for now, but he would keep watch from a distance.
He scurried away to a dark corner and blended in with the shadows, shuttering his lantern, watching from a distance as intended.
The door opened a moment later as the professor answered it. The older man simply stood and stared at the count’s wife, a smirk upon his sharp, wrinkled face. He did not seem impressed, nor did he seem surprised…Valeriu did know what to make of this.
“So you must be Professor Moore,” stated Odeta. “My husband mentioned he had new guests.”
“A bit underdressed are we?” asked the professor. “I would assume your husband would not wish you to greet guests in such a manner, but I must say, your beauty is astonishing. Quite refreshing, in fact. I have not seen so lovely a creature in such a long time. Your eyes are quite magnificent, in fact, quite unique.”
“Oh…” replied Odeta. “How thoughtless of me. Perhaps I should be dressed in more appropriate attire. I did not think—”
“Come, come,” said the professor. “There’s no reason to be shy. Come right in…I ‘invite’ you in, my dear. We may speak candidly behind a closed door with no prying eyes.”
Odeta cocked her head to her own left and gave him a wary stare.
“I…see…” she said cautiously.
Valeriu was surprised at her behavior, because the professor had her on the defensive, and she was normally not like this. Perhaps she sensed this man for what he was, something low and indescribable, a heel of ill intent, because that’s what Valeriu thought of him. Nevertheless, she had been invited in, so she could freely enter Moore’s room…if she wanted to.
“Oh, don’t be shy,” said the professor in an eager tone. “I would like to discuss my research with someone of equal intelligence, as my traveling partner, Mr. Samuel Gilford, your husband’s other guest, is, unfortunately, lacking in such mentality, and I desire conversation with someone on par with my own brilliance.”
“Research, you say?” asked Odeta with a slight smile. “Yes, that does sound interesting. What is this research you are conducting? My husband has not spoken of it.”
Valeriu could tell that the professor’s flattering was working on Odeta. He was telling her that she was beautiful and smart, and she could not resist that. No, Valeriu knew the count’s wives quite well, and they would not turn a blind eye to such compliments.
“Come in, come in, and I’ll show you,” grinned the professor. “I can speak on the subject for hours…I do so enjoy it, much more so with one such as you as company.”
He took Odeta’s hand in his own, and she stepped into the professor’s room without further coaxing. The door slowly shut after that, and then Valeriu was left alone in the dark wondering what had just happened.
He waited for a few minutes for her to exit the professor’s room, as he figured she would grow bored of the old man’s academic discussions, but this was not the case.
No, it was not long before a strange light began to wax and wane through the cracks of the doorframe of the professor’s room, that light weird in its shifting, multicolored hues, and then Valeriu heard a low moaning after that, Odeta’s moaning, but not one of pain, at least, not just pain.
Her moaning was one of weird ecstasy, of pain mixed with pleasure, rising and falling until it built to a climax, a very loud and unsettling one at that, and this bothered Valeriu to such an extent that he fled the east wing, because he wanted nothing to do with this, whatever this was, and he was certainly not going to tell the count about it…
He was not stupid.
*****
Samuel set down his unlit lantern and sat at his favorite seat at his favorite pub, Dragonul Nemuritor. It had nearly been a whole month since he had arrived at Luna Plina, and he missed his wife terribly, but he had made some friends here in the meantime. He was here now at the pub because he wished to share gossip and other conversation with his three favorite locals, Benedikte, Grigore, and Nandru, though Nandru was absent this night.
“You are out late, Sir Gilford,” said Benedikte, who sat directly across from Samuel. “Should you not be worried about walking the castle at night?”
“Ah, no, my good friend,” replied Samuel. “No, I think not. I have found no trouble at Castle Recolta, though some servants have fallen ill there lately. God willing, I’ll not succumb to any such malady.”
The two men seated at the pub table with him, Benedikte and Grigore, Benedikte directly across from him and Grigore on his right, took a moment to stare at each other in strange understanding. They did this quite often when they did not wish to discuss something they were superstitious about, but Samuel always made it a point to get to the bottom of their hesitance.
“What were the symptoms of this illness, sir?” asked Benedikte.
“Ah,” said Samuel. “I don’t know much, as I’ve avoided the infected, but from what I understand, it starts with a fever and a cough, and then boils appear upon the skin, though, as I’ve said, I don’t know much, and I’m certainly not a doctor, good sir…By the way, old boy, where is Nandru this fine evening?”
“Nandru is sick with this malady, Sir Gilford,” replied Benedikte in a measured, unhappy tone. “It is a plague that is spreading here within this very city.”
“Oh, a plague is it?” asked Samuel. “Well…I suppose it’s a good thing I’ll be departing soon. I have no wish to be in the middle of that…Not to say that I wish something like that on you fine gentleman or your fair city. I certainly hope the count addresses this matter soon. I wish no ill will upon Luna Plina.”
“No offense taken, Sir Gilford,” replied Grigore. “There have been dark whispers about ever since your professor friend opened that ancient temple at Cele Trei Pietre.”
“He is not my friend,” said Samuel with a roll of his eyes. “Nevertheless, do you think this plague came from there? Moore did mention something about toxic gas being released by an ancient trap, yet he, himself, has suffered no adverse effects, plague or no…Not that I can tell anyway.”
“The first one to suffer the plague was a little boy named Avram,” continued Grigore. “It is said he went to the castle to meet the count’s wives, but when he returned, he quickly took ill and came down with the plague…He died a few days ago, Sir Gilford.”
Samuel was taken aback. He did not favor any news of a child’s death.
“That is terrible…I’m…err…My condolences,” he stammered.
“Since the boy’s death, the plague has been spreading,” nodded Benedikte. “This has been brought to the count’s attention, but what he will do of it? What he will do with a plague?…We do not know.”
“Well, I don’t wish to bring you to low spirits, my friends,” said Samuel unhappily. “Let us speak of something else. I shall order us some fine liquor, and we shall pray for Nandru’s swift recovery.”
The two men across from him nodded in approval. Drinking and conversing of better times was certainly preferable to stewing over the city’s tragedies and troubles.
They sat and had more uplifting conversation for about two hours before Samuel checked his pocket watch and decided to leave. He bid his farewells, picked up his lantern, and left the pub, ready to make his long trek back to the castle.
He walked the lonely streets of Luna Plina, his now lit lantern in his left hand, until he came to the long and wooded road that led up to Castle Recolta. He had not journeyed far before he sensed a presence, so he laid his right hand upon the pistol holstered within his suit jacket. After listening to the locals of superstitious this and that, he could not be too careful.
He turned and saw her there, following him, though Samuel did not recognize her.
A tall and quite beautiful young lady stepped forward into Samuel’s lantern light.
She was indeed quite beautiful and quite young at that, in her early twenties, if his estimation was correct, and she possessed long, straight, fine, black hair and pale, flawless skin. She wore a red and sweeping dress threaded of silk and other expensive fabrics, and this accented her beauty in a dark and mysterious way.
He had not made her acquaintance before now, so he did not know who she was or why she would be travelling alone on this long and winding road.
“Ho, there, good lady!” said Samuel. “Are you in need of assistance?”
This young woman had dark, dark eyes and a slender face, red, red lips upon her, but she shone him a gentle smile without hint of malice.
“You must be Mr. Gilford,” she said in a haunting, almost sad voice. “I was hoping I might find you out here this night.”
“Is that so?” asked Samuel. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, my lady. Who might I have the honor of addressing?”
“I am Irini Stoia-Recolta,” replied the woman. “I believe you are a guest of my husband’s.”
Samuel felt his heart skip a beat. He was all too familiar with his local friends’ warnings about the count’s wives. Nevertheless, he was a gentleman first, if anything.
“Then a good evening to you, madame,” replied Samuel as he tipped his hat. “As you can see, I am returning to the castle and to my guest quarters…It would be best if I accompany you. It’s not well to leave a woman to walk alone to her own manor at night.”
“How quaint,” said Irini with a slight smile. “I suppose I cannot refuse such an offer.”
Upon closer inspection, he did not feel her to be a threat to him specifically, though he could sense something under the skin of her aura, a vibration of sorts, like a savage beast held in check by sheer will alone, but he tossed aside this concern as leftover superstitious nonsense.
He offered her his left arm, and she took it, and off they traveled toward the castle. He did not feel awkward about this, even as beautiful as she was, as he was a married man and she a married woman, so there was no untoward notion of any ill thoughts there.
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” said Samuel as politely as he could. “I’m afraid I’ve not walked in the same circles as your travels since I arrived here.”
“Ah,” replied Irini. “I must say I would have preferred to have made your acquaintance upon your arrival. I’ve been quite lonely and starving for conversation for some time.”
“Oh?” asked Samuel.
“Yes,” said Irini sadly. “My husband is a busy man, and Odeta has been…cold and distant as of late. I worry for her…She speaks often with your professor friend, so I have not seen her in two weeks.”
“I’m afraid I’ve not made her acquaintance,” replied Samuel. “I did not realize she has been speaking with Professor Moore…He is not my friend, by the way, merely an acquaintance…We do not get along, so to speak.”
“Then I will speak frankly, Mr. Gilford,” frowned Irini. “I do not like him. I find him to be a rude little shrew of a man with a callous indifference towards everything.”
Samuel released a short guffaw without intending to. Her description of Moore was spot on, and it was refreshing to hear someone else say it for once.
Irini gave a quiet giggle and shook her head once.
“But I digress,” she continued. “There are strange things afoot at the castle. Odeta has not just been distant towards me; she has also been hostile at times…Valeriu, the head servant, is now afraid of her, and that man fears no one but my husband…
“Also, there is the plague in the city, and now I hear some of the servants are ill. A favorite of mine, a young maid, Simona, has come down with the disease, or so I’ve heard.”
“Yes, I’ve been hearing of such things as well,” said Samuel in honest sympathy. “However, I’m afraid I’ll be leaving soon, my lady, and I truly am sorry to hear that such troubles are upon you. I wish there was some suggestion I could make, but I’m afraid I’m at a loss for words.”
“I don’t know what my husband will do,” said Irini. “I honestly don’t think he knows…He will not listen to me…Perhaps it would take someone else to garner his attention, an outsider perhaps?”
Samuel knew where this was going. The real dangers with women were the games they played on the side and the manipulations and machinations they put in motion to play such games. Perhaps this was just Irini’s way of getting back at Odeta for some perceived slight or another, or perhaps this was genuine concern, but Samuel honestly did wonder if the count knew about the plague or not…
Had no one brought such important news to his attention?
Perhaps fear was at play. Perhaps the common people had no desire to bring up something to the count which might invoke his wrath. Being a powerful ruler did have its drawbacks.
Well, there was no sense in pussyfooting—as the Americans liked to say—around the request.
“Ah,” replied Samuel. “You would like my intervention…I say, I’ll bring the plague to the count’s attention if he does not already know, but as for Odeta…I’m afraid I don’t know what to say on that matter.”
“Perhaps you could simply mention—” began Irini.
Her thinly-veiled plea was cut short as a black shape crossed their path, just outside the lantern light. That shape, at first, looked like that of a feral dog, a pitch-black thing that ran about on all fours.
The fine hairs on the back of Samuel’s neck stood on end, a feeling of danger so pervasive, so invasive, he reached within his vest pocket and withdrew his pistol.
“Stand behind me, my lady,” he said quietly.
Irini withdrew her right arm from his left and then gripped his left arm out of—what he could only assume—fear, backing behind him as she did so. However, her grip was like a steel vise, but Samuel suffered it for her sake.
Samuel lifted the lantern in his left hand, and Irini released him, only to grip him around his waist.
“What is that…thing?” she asked in slight horror.
“I…I don’t know…” said Samuel hesitantly.
“I sense a darkness unlike any other,” whispered the count’s wife.
“Do you?” asked Samuel in slight stupidity.
He was rather addled by all of this, but he had his pistol, and he had his lantern, and his father was a military man, so he was a decent shot. It wasn’t like they were defenseless.
The dog-like creature turned its shadowy shape to face them.
“I like the ducks,” came a child’s voice.
“My God…” said Samuel in audible horror as the creature padded forward into the lantern light.
The black thing that stepped into the light spiked Samuel’s blood to new heights.
This ebon thing appeared to be an amalgamation of tar and wood, though it was dressed in the dirt-covered clothes of a child. Perhaps it had once been a child, but no longer; what stood before them was a mockery of humanity, a slathering of sticky black over plastered bark, the head wrong, all wrong, with leafless sticks making up one half of it, the left half, a great glob of pitch or tar constructing the other, the right half.
It opened thin lines that made up its lips to reveal rows of white, human teeth, three or four rows of them one after the next in strange succession down its throat.
“Come see the ducks, Mommy,” it said, once again in a child’s voice, that of a little boy.
It raised its right arm, that arm a sticky black tendril, and that tendril shot forth with blinding speed, far faster than Samuel had expected.
Samuel was jerked aside by sheer and tremendous force, jerked aside a few feet by the sudden and insane strength of Irini Stoia-Recolta. The tendril of inky-black tar missed them both with its whipping slice as it pulled back into the abomination of the boy.
“Don’t let it touch you!” cried out Irini.
Samuel steadied himself and then steadied his aim in turn. He pulled the trigger of his pistol and fired once, twice, and then a third time, the first bullet impacting underneath where the heart would be, the second within the right lung, and the third directly where an eye would have been in the mass of sticky black tar-substance that made up the right half of this thing’s head.
It jerked backwards three times before dropping down to all fours again, and then it began to melt, melting like coal-stained snow in a London mid-April.
“Come see the ducks, Mommy,” it said as its limbs merged with the black dirt beneath it. “The feathers are so…pretty…”
It melted into a bubbling pool of black slag with bark and twigs and dirty clothing protruding from that foul substance, melting into the sable earth until there was nothing left of it.
Samuel was severely shaken by this strange attack, but his first instinct was to thank Irini for her timely intervention. He did not know what weird monstrosity had attacked them, and he did not wish to dwell on it, so he shoved down the unnamable fear growing within him and concentrated on the noblewoman currently under his protection.
“You have my thanks, my lady,” he said in a tremulous voice. “That was too close for my comfort…I shall be wary from now on when walking about the countryside. I had no idea such things existed in your country.”
“They do not,” breathed out Irini. “We must return to the castle. I must warn my husband of this.”
“Yes…” said Samuel shakily. “I think that is a wise idea.”
It took them some time to reach the castle by foot, though they had no more encounters during their journey, but Samuel was still on edge. He had made a connection during that time, though it was a farfetched one…Perhaps that “boy” had been the child his local pub friends had discussed, the young boy who had died of the mysterious disease that was currently afflicting Luna Plina. If this were the case, then this “plague” was far worse than even Samuel had imagined.
Irini led Samuel to the study; she somehow instinctively knew where her husband was currently located at this time of night.
The count shut close a dusty tome and looked up in muted surprise as Samuel entered unannounced with Irini in tow. The ruler of Luna Plina stood and eyed the both of them with suspicion.
“What has occurred?” he asked in a wary tone.
Samuel was impressed that the count could automatically sense the dire urgency inherent within the situation.
“I was out on the road when I met Mr. Gilford as he was returning from the city,” said Irini. “We encountered…something…something horrific that Mr. Gilford disposed of.”
“Something…horrific?” asked the count in audible curiosity.
“I cannot begin to describe it,” said Irini. “It held an aura beyond death. I felt an ancient evil…one so foul that it could only exist in the depths of madness…At first, I thought it was a boy, a little boy, but it…it was…”
“Monstrous beyond imagination,” finished Samuel. “I had heard rumors that a plague has made its presence known in both the city and the castle. I fear this…creature…was one of the victims of this plague, a little boy who had supposedly died of the disease just recently.”
True, he had made this connection during his journey to the castle, and this was a legitimate way to address the plague to the count, but the implications of it were so terrible that he truly had no desire to think on it further. No, all he really wanted to do was to leave Luna Plina at this point, but there was still business to finish with the count.
“He speaks the truth,” said Irini. “This plague is more than a plague…In fact, this creature melted into a pool of black ichor after Mr. Gilford shot it…I believe its touch is infectious, spreading something more than just disease…It spreads…It spreads…abomination.”
She had whispered that last word, but Samuel had to agree with her. Abomination was the only word that seemed to fit.
The tall and imposing man who was Count Alexandru Recolta looked them over for a brief few seconds, and then he nodded his head in agreement.
“I sense the truth in you,” he said in a grave voice.
Samuel breathed out a sigh of relief. He would normally not involve himself in a foreign country’s affairs, but after his harrowing experience with the creature on the castle road, he had made an exception.
The count turned his piercing gaze upon Irini.
“You will take Valeriu and quarantine those of the staff who have contracted the plague,” said the man in a stern voice. “I have been aware of this malady within the city, but I thought it no more than a peculiar illness, but now…now I feel this…infection…would not have occurred if Cele Trei Pietre had not been disturbed.
“Mr. Gilford and I shall travel to the city to survey the situation and speak to the people of this. I shall question the good professor upon my return…There is something foul at play here…I can feel it.”
“You wish me to travel with you?” asked Mr. Gilford. “I…I have no objections, my lordship, but I wonder why you would need someone such as—”
“You have regularly visited Luna Plina, have you not?” asked the count. “I will need you to speak to the captains of police and the Gendarmerie. You must tell them everything you have witnessed and heard.”
“Yes, my lordship,” replied Samuel in audible reluctance.
It appeared he was in charge of duties the firm had not signed him up for, and he was not happy about it, but Samuel was not stupid, so he would not refuse the count. Nevertheless, he would keep his pistol loaded and his belt ready with extra ammunition…just in case.
Castle of the Betrayed Part I Copyright © 2024 bloodytwine.com Matthew L. Marlott
The art for this story was generated via artificial intelligence courtesy of canva.com.