Part 7 (2/2)

Perhaps I have been bewitched.

Possibly. Even my father warns that the prince, Vlad, will attempt to tie me to him in similar sanguinary fas.h.i.+on, and that this would make me his unwitting p.a.w.n. Am I then my father's? (How easily I write the term; too easily, with poor Papa so recently dead!) He swears that I am not, that my mind is my own and he will never invade its sanctum, that I shall have to summon him, else he will know none of my thoughts.

The truth? I do not know. I know only that, on that long, strange train ride that literally and figuratively deposited me in a dark foreign land, I trusted him. Trusted even when he pulled open the window and hurled out the contents of my captor's travelling-trunk: fine men's suits; a magnificent array of women's dresses of silks, satins, brocades; and a collection of men's and women's wigs, including the long auburn tresses. And when the trunk was almost empty, he laid the blood-drained body of my former captor into it, covering it with a shroud composed of satin and lace skirts. Then he closed the lid and straightened, saying to me, as though I would understand: ”Vlad has bitten him, and he now will know of my intervention here. His agent has no doubt informed him of your home in Amsterdam. You dare not return there.”

My trancelike complacency was shattered; determination pierced the veil of chloroform and languour. ”I must! I cannot simply leave without explanation my family, my brother-” I broke off before I could complete the phrase: my brother's wife.

The train began to slow; I could see the distant lights of the station.

Fast-moving shadows dappled his gleaming white features as he pondered this a time, his hand upon the now-closed trunk that held my abductor. ”Perhaps you are right,” he said at last. ”Your mother”-and here he lowered his voice, and another wave of unutterable sadness pa.s.sed over his features before he composed himself-”your entire family is in grave danger. Vlad will stop at nothing to find you, even if it means tormenting and killing them all. He has lost his best agent; to procure fresh a.s.sistance, he will require time. Your family will be safe perhaps a week, no more. You must go to them, convince them to take shelter.”

How I was to accomplish such a thing, I could not imagine; but as the train pulled into the Brussels station, it seemed quite reasonable.

So, too, did our exchange with the conductor, when he arrived, and my father-whose name, I learned, was Arkady Dracul-arranged for the trunk to be sent upon the next morning's train to his agent in Amsterdam (for what purpose, I shudder to imagine). He paid the conductor in gold and tipped him quite heavily for his trouble, whilst I stood nearby and marvelled at the misleading normalcy of the exchange. For the window was shut, and any trace of the female man's existence-including the snapped handcuffs-was quite gone.

Nor did my groggy, dishevelled appearance provoke any curiosity; even Arkady's brilliant handsomeness had faded. He seemed a striking but ordinary man, and together we blended in quite successfully with the crowd that exited the train.

I did not understand why he had not also purchased tickets for our return to Amsterdam the next morning; my question provoked a faint wry smile.

”I am obliged to return to Amsterdam before the dawn, Stefan-and while I could return there much more swiftly alone, I insist on personally seeing you safely back. I shall accompany you for as long as I am able.”

Thus it was that, after brief negotiations that involved a startling amount of gold, he procured a small caleche and two swift stallions, and we set off through the cold, dark damp towards Amsterdam.

The emotional exhaustion and chloroform predisposed me toward an uneasy intermittent sleep, which was punctuated by dreams both troublesome and bizarre-but no more so than what I had already experienced in my waking hours. I remember only fragments of that wild nocturnal ride: of my professed father's face and hands, internally aglow like j.a.panese lanterns against the melting ebony backdrop of his hair, his cloak, the mid-night sky; of his urgent whispers to the galloping horses, who trembled at the sight of him even as they obeyed.

At only one point was I called upon to drive: when, after some hours, we came to the river at Geer-truidenberg, the first of the Rhine's three branches that carve their way across the Netherlands to the sea. My companion roused me and with an apologetic smile said, ”As it is not the slack of the tide, I must ask you now to drive the horses.”

So I did, and we made our way by a long, narrow bridge over the river. Three times we crossed water- the Maas first, then the Waal, and at last the lower Rhine-and three times Arkady handed me the reins and let himself be driven.

By the time we pa.s.sed from Utrecht province into North Holland, some fifteen kilometers from home, the darkness was easing to predawn grey. For the fourth and final time, Arkady gave me the reins, saying, ”I must go. Tell your mother that my agent will watch your house during the day, to see you are safe; and I shall see you both to-night.”

Before my very eyes, he disappeared, and a swirling mist surrounded the carriage, unnerving the horses. Just as suddenly, it moved into the distance and was gone.

I arrived home to a magnificent winter dawn: blood-tinged clouds, edged with sungold, and the air cold, sharp, clean. When I stepped from the caleche and tethered the stallions in front of the house, their warm, quick breath hanging as mist, the door slammed like a gunshot.

I looked up to see my mother, barefoot, running through the freezing mud in her dressing- gown. She said not a word as she sped towards me, then flung her arms about me; but as we embraced, she let go a hitching sigh full of such relief and pain, it tore my heart.

We held each other tightly a full minute, perhaps longer; then she drew back and, still silent, studied me: my eyes and face first, then the whole, then at last my hands. She gazed down at them slowly, reluctantly, turning them in hers so that the palms faced upwards.

And at the sight of the small blood-encrusted cut on the tip of my left forefinger, she let out a piteous sound, half-groan, half-sob, and began to sink to her knees.

I caught her arms before she reached the mud. ”It's all right,” I told her softly. ”It was my father. My father. He rescued me.”

”Your father?” She stared at me blankly a moment -in the grey light, her sweet face looked haggard, ashen; I knew she had not slept the entire night-then, with hope asked: ”Arkady?”

I nodded.

She released another sigh-this one uncertain- and said: ”Come inside. We must talk.”

I put my arm around her as we turned to walk inside; but I paused as I looked up to see, in the open doorway, my brother, already dressed, with his wife beside him, her long, dark hair streaming down onto the shoulders of the white silk dressing-gown she had worn the night we coupled.

Guilt stopped me in mid-stride. I saw the anxious joy and tears in Gerda's great dark eyes; she trembled with the effort to restrain herself, to keep from running to my arms. I saw, too, the glance Bram cast at her, and the flicker of anguish that pa.s.sed over his features.

It was still in his eyes when he looked at me. Our gazes locked, and in that terrible instant, I saw accusation there, beyond any doubt: He knew. My brother knew.

But the instant pa.s.sed; his expression softened, became that of the loyal loving brother I have always known. He ran down the icy steps, across the frost-encrusted ground and mud, and embraced me.

My poor mother's anguish had left me dry-eyed, but as Bram held me, I wept. Wept and gazed beyond his shoulder at his wife's pale face, radiant with shame and joy, and found I could not meet her eyes.

Like my mother, he drew back and scrutinised me for damage, then glanced over at the caleche with its two handsome stallions and whispered, ”But what has happened, Stefan?

What has happened?” There was no judgement in his voice, no anger, only concern and typical overwhelming Bram-curiosity.

I left one arm around him, drawing comfort from his unbroken love, and put the other round my mother as we three walked back up the steps. ”You will think me mad,” I said.

”Then you will not be alone in this house,” he replied softly, with a pointed look at my mother.

I think he intended for her to smile; she did not. ”I would much prefer the truth be sane, Bram, but to my sorrow, it is not.”

Confused, I said no more but gave my sister-in-law the customary chaste peck on the cheek-Gerda, why must it be such h.e.l.l? Why must it all be reversed?- which only served to underscore the remembered pa.s.sion of the previous night. I kept my eyes lowered lest they reveal too much.

We all went inside to the kitchen-all but Gerda, who excused herself to tend her crying child; I think she sensed the delicacy of the matters about to be discussed. And in truth, I did not want her to hear them, for her sensitivity is so great, I feared they would trouble her more than she could bear. I have already been the source of enough worry for her.

After much strong coffee, I recounted my night ride to and from Brussels, but I instinctively withheld the supernatural aspects of the affair. I claimed the transvest.i.te was merely overpowered by my mysterious benefactor before being stuffed unconscious into the trunk, and I failed to mention the strange b.l.o.o.d.y exchange, or the fact that this helpful stranger claimed to be my father. In truth, I was reluctant to admit everything, for my memory of it had taken on a rather nightmarish air of unreality, and I was uncertain whether parts of it had not been inspired by the chloroform.

But when I mentioned his name-Arkady Dracul -Bram started so that he nearly dropped his cup, slos.h.i.+ng hot coffee all over Mama's white tablecloth.

An odd look pa.s.sed between them, then Mama said, ”You need not dissemble to protect us or yourself, Stefan. Everything Arkady has told you is true; and I already know the facts about Vlad and the covenant. I have told your brother here the truth, but belief comes difficult for him. Perhaps you should tell us all that really happened.”

So I did, reluctantly; and Bram listened all the while intently, his blue eyes peering over his coffee-cup at me with that calm, stoic gaze. His expression betrayed no disbelief, but I knew from the ramrod straightness of his posture, from his perfect stillness, that an internal war raged, for the more troubled he is, the quieter he becomes.

And when I finished, I sighed and leaned back against the chair, exhausted. For a full moment, Bram neither stirred nor moved his gaze; but then at last he turned to my mother and me and asked, ”What are you suggesting we do?”

”Leave,” my mother said, leaning towards him with such urgency that silver-gold curls spilled down onto her forehead, her cheek; her expression was so animated, so filled with sudden fire that age and exhaustion left her, and I could see the handsome young woman she had been: the woman who had loved the dark, pa.s.sionate Arkady Dracul. ”We must all leave, and go our separate ways; it is the only way to ensure our safety. Otherwise, if we remain together, Vlad will use us each against the other.”

Bram rose at once, his eyes and voice filled with a flat impenetrable anger. ”This is insanity, of course. I will not leave my practise, my home, my family, all based upon . . . ravings. I do not understand what madness has possessed you both, but I pray you soon come to your senses!”

And he left, his determined rapid footsteps echoing behind him.

I no longer knew what to say, what to do; I leaned forward and laid my weary head in my hands. Mama took my arm then and led me to my room, murmuring soft words of comfort.

Like a feverish child, I let myself be undressed and tucked into bed, and sighed at the cool touch of my mother's hand upon my forehead. But before I slept, she sat beside me on the bed and said, very softly: ”I am a horrible woman to have kept these things from you; I should not blame you if you hated me for the way you have been used. Here is the truth of the matter, the whole, entire truth, which I alone can tell.”

She told me everything; more than I could have imagined, more than I dare record here, for safety's sake. I was given a choice, which I made, and we wept together at our complicity.

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