by Derek Paterson
originally published in 2004 by
EGGPLANT LITERARY PRODUCTIONS
Raechel Henderson Moon, Publisher

Being a continuation of the adventures of Manfred, master swordsman, who first appeared in the novella, The Kaiserine's Champion published in 2001 by Eggplant Literary Productions.

Part I

In my dreams the vampyre sometimes visits me. I never see his face, which is always wreathed in shadow, but I receive an impression of a fierce and dark intelligence that suggests his age must be measured in centuries. He sits for hours and tells me of his long life, of his loves and his victories. He has made many enemies during the course of his adventures. Most are safely dead but some remain, and are sworn to destroy him. Oaths of blood vengeance have been passed down from generation to generation—vendettas that burn hotter than the sun itself.
      He grows angry when he recalls the ambush in Guttzeig. The hunters trapped him inside the old church, sealing the doors and windows and setting fire to the building. Then they came at him from above, sliding down the bell-ropes, armed with crossbows firing silver-tipped bolts and sickles fashioned from that hated metal. In the running battle he killed a dozen men with his bare hands, but more emerged from the shadows and the wounds they inflicted upon him even as they died sapped his strength until, finally, he accepted that this was the end, the last bloody paragraph of his story.
      Our conversation always ends with my asking, "What has this to do with me?"
      And always the vampyre, laughing, replies: "Everything."

§

High Sazburg, capital of the Prussian Empire.
Six months later.

The stranger who sat down at my table uninvited had the kind of face one might easily remember. His bloodshot eyes suggested a life spent in pursuit of excess, while his broken teeth and scarred chin suggested he was no stranger to violence. Most striking of all, a tin cone occupied the spot in the middle of his face where his nose should have been. A leather thong looped around his head to hold the false nose in place. He laid one hand upon the table top, allowing me to study his thick, powerful fingers with their heavily callused knuckles. I knew enough about people to recognize the hands of a killer when I saw them. I wondered what had happened to his nose, and also what painful fate had befallen whoever had cut it off.
      "They say you're good with a sword," he said.
      "Better than you," I said. I finished my drink while watching him over the edge of my cup. His shoulder dipped and I knew was reaching for something under the table, probably a knife tucked into his boot. How I longed for subtlety but the chances of finding any in the drinking holes of High Sazburg were becoming increasingly remote. The fault was mine I suppose, for frequenting the city's beer cellars too often. Unfortunately I am the type who needs company.
      He leaned forward, granting me a better view of his pox-scarred face and a whiff of his rotted vegetable breath. "That sounds like a challenge."
      "Consider it a challenge if you wish," I said. "Let me have just one more drink, then we'll step outside and you can prove—"
      He slapped my cup from my hand, sending it spinning across the room. It shattered against a wall, narrowly missing a fellow wearing a dark blue cloak. For a moment it looked as if the fellow might take exception—but when he saw who was responsible he quickly took his hand away from his sword. Evidently he knew my charming companion, if not personally then by reputation.
      "Bugger your drink, and bugger you," Tin Nose said. "Outside, now. You go first, I'll follow."
      "What, so you can stab me in the back? No, thank you. I think I'll just sit here and enjoy the bonhomie, if that's all right with you."
      His lips moved but no sound came forth. Then he stood, knocking back his chair in his haste, and thrust his unsheathed knife toward my heart. Truthfully I was almost tempted to allow it to reach its target. My thoughts over the past few weeks had become increasingly melancholic as I contemplated my miserable lot in life. I had wealth, I had fame, I had admirers. I was Manfred, the Kaiserine's Champion, winner of the bloody Arena contest that had seen too many good men die. I had rid High Sazburg of the curse of Otto Thenck, head of the Ministry of State Security, known as "The Magician" because he made so many people disappear. But I'd learned that real friends were hard to come by. More often than not the men who sought my company were only after free drinks or wished simply to boast that they knew me; and the ladies were attracted, not by my personality or my rugged good looks, such as they are, but by the scent I unconsciously exuded. I'd been living in the city for nearly six months and barely knew anyone aside from Duke Wilhelm and the Kaiserine herself. For a while my love life had been excellent—the most beautiful women in the Empire had formed a queue outside my door—but ultimately such activity became meaningless, lacking romance and tenderness and, dare I say, love.
      Such were the unhappy thoughts whirling through my head when I caught hold of Tin Nose's wrist and twisted with brutal force, snapping bones. His knife skittered across the table and fell to the floor. That should have been that, but instead of taking the hint and retreating like any sane man would, the fool reached for the sword hanging from his belt. He died with the blade only halfway out of its scabbard and a look of eternal surprise fixed upon his noseless face. Faster than his eyes could perceive and faster still than his sluggish mind could ever think, the point of my sword had found his heart, thus ending his miserable life. He'd sought the fame and the deadly reputation that would inevitably have become his upon defeating the Kaiserine's Champion. But like so many others before him who'd tread a similar path to false glory, he'd paid the ultimate price.
      "En garde," I said, but he didn't hear me. His body crashed across the table and rested there, a monument to witless stupidity. I wiped my soiled blade upon his grubby jerkin before returning it to my scabbard with a flourish, since my audience expected no less. Some applauded, complimenting my skill. Others wore frightened expressions, which irritated me somewhat. What cause did they have to fear me? I was no wanton killer; I slew no one unless they sought to take my life and my name.
      The beer cellar's doors flew open, scattering the crowd and revealing a half-dozen men clad all in black. They stared at Tin Nose's body, then stared at me. Their leader, a tall chap with a square jaw, smiled. "What have we here?" he said. "A lovers' tiff, perhaps?"
      His men chuckled but oddly enough I didn't share their good humor. "It's none of your business," I said. "Turn around and begone."
      "Not likely. You're to come with us, Herr Manfred." He spoke with authority; I wondered whose.
      "Am I under arrest?"
      He shrugged a shoulder. "If you like. Will you come quietly or will we have to carve you up?"
      "What's the charge?" I said. "I have witnesses who'll testify that this man first tried to stab me with a knife before he drew his sword. I killed him in self-defense."
      "His sword is still in its scabbard."
      "That's because I was faster than him."
      "So it would appear. He didn't really have much of a chance, did he?"
      "None at all."
      "Then that's murder. Anyone as good as you could have disarmed him a dozen times over. Instead, you butchered the poor fellow." He shook his head and tut-tutted his disapproval. "Surrender your weapon. Or else." Upon his signal, his men drew their weapons.
      "If you want my sword," I said, "I'm afraid you'll have to prize it from my dead fingers." Again I drew the handsome blade, a gift from the Kaiserine herself, and smiled at the odds. Six against one. That seemed fair enough.
      Just as I was about to step forward and engage them, the fellow in the dark blue cloak—who'd hurried outside when the six men entered—hurried inside again. He leaned close and whispered to the leader, who listened to what he had to say. No casual observer, this; he moved with purpose and deliberation. A spy? The leader certainly appeared to know him. A moment passed, then the leader and his men sheathed their swords and backed outside, never taking their eyes from me. The crowd looked at me and at each other, their bewildered expressions mirroring my own surprise. They didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved. Nor did I.
      The fellow in the dark blue cloak approached me, his hands spread wide to indicate he wasn't going to draw his sword. He gestured toward the door. "If it pleases you, Herr Manfred," he said, "someone would like to speak with you. She says she's an old friend of yours."
      I was short of friends, so I accompanied him outside.

§

I recognized the coach before I recognized its occupant, who pulled open a curtain so that I might see her face. She resembled her late father Otto Thenck not at all; rather, she was a younger version of her beautiful mother, the Kaiserine.
      The men in black must surely be her father's men—Noseys, agents of the Ministry of State Security, High Sazburg's notorious Secret Police, who were waging a very successful war upon the bloodsucking vampyres who plagued the city.
      "Good even, Herr Manfred," Eva said.
      Hearing her voice again prompted memories to dance before my mind's eye. When Eva and I had last seen each other I'd just murdered her father. Or perhaps "murdered" is the wrong word. He'd already stabbed me and meant to complete the bloody job when the enraged vampyre within me took over and I snapped Thenck's neck like a twig. Unfortunately Eva had witnessed everything, but in running away had denied me the opportunity to explain. Or perhaps she hadn't wanted to hear the explanation. I knew she was still around but I hadn't enquired after her, sensing that my attentions would not be welcome.
      The vampyre had been very quiet lately, but now I sensed he had woken up again and was observing events with interest.
      I said, "Hello, Eva. It's... good to see you again."
      "I hear you're still killing people. You really should find a more constructive and rewarding hobby, you know." Her ruby lips curved with apparent amusement, but her blue eyes glittered with what might well be frosty contempt.
      "Did you just happen to be passing by?" I asked.
      "As a matter of fact, yes."
      "Liar."
      This time her smile appeared genuine. "There's no need for unpleasantness between us, not any longer. Come with me, Herr Manfred. We have things to talk about."
      She opened the coach door. I hesitated, not trusting her sweet smile for an instant. The coach driver didn't seem too bothered one way or the other, but if he was a Nosey then he'd have a brace of flintlock pistols under his cloak and probably a set of throwing knives, too. The six men who'd drawn their swords in the beer cellar were still loitering nearby pretending to fuss with their horses while watching everything. One word from Eva and they'd be upon me in a heartbeat. Nor had I forgotten the man in the dark blue cloak who stood just behind me and to my right. I'd already decided he'd be the first to die if anyone made a sudden move.
      I said, "Those buffoons just tried to arrest me. They wanted to cut me up."
      She gave a little sigh. "A mistake, which I rectified immediately when I realized what was happening, as you must surely have noticed? I asked them to bring you to me, not arrest you. They misunderstood the order."
      "You just can't get decent help these days."
      "Will you accompany me, or not?"
      What did I have to lose? My life? I felt I'd lost it already. I climbed into the coach, closing the door behind me. The window blinds gave us total privacy; light came from a glass globe suspended on a short chain from the ceiling. I sat facing Eva and wondered what she could possibly want from me—aside from revenge for her father's death. I didn't imagine for one moment that six months would be long enough to blunt the razor edge of her desire. Not if she was anything like her father. Or her mother, for that matter.
      The coach started up. Its wheels clattered upon High Sazburg's ageless cobblestones, prompting me to remember the other times I'd occupied this vehicle. It had taken me to the Arena, where I'd fought for my life against the Empire's deadliest warriors and, eventually, against the arch-vampyre who'd been dispatched to assassinate the Kaiserine. I'd only survived those bloody events because of the Vampyre's Gift that flowed in my veins, lending me superhuman strength and resilience. The Gift should have worn off naturally after a couple of days, since the vampyre bitch who bit me didn't return to finish what she'd started—but thanks to Doctor Schmidt's experimental elixirs and Otto Thenck's cunning machinations the Gift still remained part of me, no less potent than before. Six months later, although I still possessed vampyre strength and enhanced senses that gave me an unfair advantage over any adversary, I had never crossed that awful division between life and death, between humanity and vampyre. And didn't intend to.
      Six sets of hooves clopped behind the coach—the men in black, who'd relished the prospect of crossing swords with me. Eva's dress and cloak were also black. Suitable for every occasion, and never out of fashion.
      "It was Duke Wilhelm's idea," Eva said.
      "What was?" I hadn't spoken with the Duke for a while. I didn't even know if he'd hired a new swordmaster to replace me. I really couldn't blame Wilhelm if he'd given up on me; he'd given me his patronage and friendship and in return I'd let him down badly by just walking out without a word.
      "Using vampyre prisoners to help train our soldiers," Eva said, with no more significance than if she were talking about the weather. "We learned a lot from the filth. My Noseys are probably even a match for you now, Herr Manfred."
      Her Noseys! Something unpleasant itched between my shoulder blades. "They certainly seemed very confident," I said, trying my best to be nonchalant.
      "So they should. Every man has undergone advanced training—they've all bloodied their swords on vampyres. Did you know that the filth bleed? I didn't. I thought they were bloodless corpses but apparently not. Theirs is simply a different kind of blood. Not as red as ours. Thinner and weaker. Doctor Schmidt"—she looked directly at me, as if expecting me to react at the mention of his name—"has an interesting theory. He thinks that's why the filth must take blood from us. Because their own is so thin. Have you ever heard anything quite so disgusting?"
      "What do you want from me, Eva?"
      "You may address me as Lady Eva."
      "I beg your pardon. What do you want from me, Lady Eva?"
      She pretended to think about it for a moment as if she didn't already have her speech prepared. "Your forgiveness, for one. I was wrong to judge you. I learned afterward what my father had done... learned he'd attempted to kill my mother. Also, when I went over events in my mind, I realized he'd been trying to kill you, too." She gave a little sigh. "And—I need your help, Herr Manfred. Isn't that obvious?"
      Our coach turned sharply left. The external sounds changed. Gravel crunched under the wheels and overgrown branches brushed against the coach. Riding up top, the driver cursed. Eva smiled, childishly amused by his discomfort. Her father's daughter, indeed.
      "May I ask where we're going?" I said, while I considered her words. How far could I trust her? Especially if, as she'd indicated, she had a well-trained force of swordsmen with skills equal to mine at her beck and call?
      "Do you remember Count Laszlo?"
      I most certainly did. The snuff addict had administered the Arena contest. He hadn't seemed a bad sort, just aloof and remote. Much like the Kaiserine and the rest of High Sazburg's nobility, who'd chosen to ignore me after I'd had my one night of fame at the Imperial Palace, in fact. Or was that just my imagination? Perhaps I'd chosen to ignore them.
      "What of Laszlo?"
      "We think he's been taken. By the filth. Become one of them. If he has then it's possible they know certain things of a... confidential nature. Matters of state security that my mother would not wish the filth to possess."
      I gave this some thought. "It's unfortunate for Laszlo, of course. But how can I possibly be of help?"
      "Laszlo maintains he's still human, that this is all a mistake. The problem is, we can't tell if he's lying or whether he's telling the truth. We have no way of knowing."
      "Can't Doctor Schmidt carry out some kind of... test?"
      "Laszlo's family is notoriously thin-blooded. Generations of inbred aristocracy, you know. Doctor Schmidt is unable to determine whether vampyrism is present in the Count's makeup."
      "Expose him to sunlight. If he goes up like a keg of gunpowder, he's vampyre."
      "Very clever. But what if he's only part vampyre, retaining his humanity even though the filth have his full loyalty? You of all people should appreciate this possibility."
      Her pointed reminder of my unusual condition gave me pause for thought. "You think I'll know whether Laszlo is vampyre?"
      "The possibility crossed my mind."
      "Why don't you just ask your vampyre prisoners?"
      Eva snorted, letting me know what she thought about that idea. "Oh yes, I'm sure they would be only too pleased to cooperate with us, considering the fact we're doing our best to exterminate their species."
      "Is that what they are? A species?"
      "Don't play word games with me, Herr Manfred."
      "Perhaps you could try offering them their freedom in exchange for help?"
      "They wouldn't trust us, nor would they try to save themselves if it meant their cause would be harmed. The filth are surprisingly loyal to each other. It's one of the few human traits they've displayed."
      "Interesting. You know, sometimes I've wondered whether the world might be a better place if the vampyres were in charge."
      Eva's chill gaze would have frozen a lake in high summer. It very nearly froze me. "There are those who might appreciate your strange sense of humor, Herr Manfred. Unfortunately I'm not one of them, and neither is my mother. Had she overheard your witty jest your life would be forfeit. Nothing is more certain."
      "How is your dear mother? I haven't seen her for a while."
      "She is much better, thank you."
      I blinked several times, trying to understand what Eva had said. "Better? Has she been ill?"
      Eva pressed her lips tight together as if annoyed with them for letting so much spill out. I sensed that whatever had happened troubled her greatly thus her reluctance to tell me—but finally she said, "Last month, the filth attacked the Imperial Palace in force. My mother's Guardsmen fought to the death, of course, but they were outnumbered and reinforcements were too slow in coming. Some of the filth managed to get inside the Palace. They passed beyond the Hall of Mirrors. We didn't think that was possible."
      I didn't, either. The writings of the ancients tell us that the vampyre is, in essence, an undead spirit that emulates life. Such is their strength of will that they may project the appearance of life about themselves so that those who look upon them see them as they were when they were alive instead of the hideous reality of their rotting, decayed flesh. But mirrors cannot be fooled—the undead's true appearance is reflected in all its bewildering horror. The sight is too much for the undead to bear, and the creature is thus repelled. Taking advantage of this chink in the vampyre's armor, the Imperial Palace's inner line of defense is the Hall of Mirrors, a place where vampyres cannot go. And yet, if what Eva said was true, they'd found some way to bypass this barrier, gaining access to the very heart of the Palace to actually threaten the person of the Kaiserine.
      I forced myself to overcome the shock of this unexpected news, and said, "The Kaiserine...? Is she—?"
      "My mother sustained injuries during the fighting. Things would have been much worse if not for Chloë...." Her sentence trailed off and unfortunately was never completed because the coach rolled to a stop. The horses behind us also stopped and their riders dismounted. A voice I recognized—the leader who'd confronted me in the beer cellar—barked orders. Footsteps moved rapidly away from the coach. Perhaps they were checking the surrounding area, ensuring there were no surprises lying in wait for Eva. I wondered who Chloë was and what she'd done to assist the Kaiserine.
      Knuckles rapped on the coach door. Twice, then twice again, then three times. A prearranged signal. Eva opened the door and the leader offered her his hand; she accepted it and climbed down. I followed her out and found myself looking at the front of a substantial manor house covered in ivy and surrounded by dense bushes and trees. The black-clad men fell in on either side of Eva and escorted us to the entrance. I kept my hand upon the pommel of my sword, vigilant lest this entire affair turned into an elaborate trap designed to rid the world of a half-vampyre swordmaster.
      A long entrance hall led into a large study with a log fire burning in the grate. Several dozen family portraits adorned the walls, lords and ladies whose scowls and mad eyes followed me everywhere I went. Plump couches and chairs offered comfort to visiting guests, but Eva didn't sit down.
      "Captain Abel?"
      The square-jawed leader of the Noseys stepped forward. "M'Lady?"
      "Some wine for myself and Herr Manfred. Then fetch Count Laszlo up from the cellar. See he's properly secured. We can't afford to take any chances—not where filth are concerned."
      Abel signed to one of his men, who performed wine serving duties, and stalked off down another hallway. The clumping of his boots echoed throughout the house. Eva stood by the fire, staring into the flames and lost in her own thoughts. I sat down on one of the couches, hoping she'd excuse my rudeness, because I was damn tired. My sleep had been somewhat fitful lately as my troubled mind reviewed my life and found dissatisfaction in several areas. Some nights I just hadn't been able to get to sleep at all. I tended to drift in and out of slumber during the day, with only myself for company in my huge, empty, lonely house off the Heldenplatz. At night I tried my best to get drunk, but never quite succeeded.
      Eva sat down opposite me when the Nosey brought the wine, dark red and full of body. I resolved to compliment Laszlo on his fine cellar—but such thoughts became mist when Abel returned with his prisoner, a severely beaten, weak and helpless Laszlo, weighed down by a straitjacket of chains and hardly able to walk without assistance. Two Noseys, one bald, the other possessed of a shock of white hair, held Laszlo up between them.
      "Ah, there you are, Count," Eva said. "I see Johann and Markus have been taking good care of you. You're looking well."
      I glanced at her sharply, irritated by the depth of her sarcasm because Laszlo looked anything but well. I rested my glass on a table and stood up. Abel eyed me suspiciously as I took Laszlo from his handlers, led him to the couch and sat him down. Laszlo's bloodshot eyes held a fixed, glazed look that didn't alter when I gave his shoulder a gentle shake.
      "Laszlo? Laszlo, it's Manfred."
      No response. I could only imagine what they'd done to him in order to extract a confession. I remembered the chains set into the walls of Doctor Schmidt's laboratory at the headquarters of the Ministry of State Security. The walls had borne bloody scratch marks created by vampyre prisoners clawing at the ancient plaster in agony, subjected to Gott knew what inhuman tortures. It would not have surprised me in the slightest had the triumphant ghost of Otto Thenck appeared at that moment and claimed responsibility for Laszlo's sorry condition.
      Slowly—so slowly that I could almost hear his brain processes awaken—Laszlo began to respond. He closed his eyes and sucked in a long, deep breath. When he opened them again, I saw him take in his surroundings. I had to lean closer and strain to hear his whispered words: "Manfred, is that really you?"
      "One and the same," I said. "It's all right, Laszlo. I'm here. They won't hurt you any more."
      Abel opened his mouth to object but Eva silenced him with a look that crackled between them like a lightning bolt. He clamped his mouth shut, which pleased me greatly.
      "They did hurt me, Manfred," Laszlo said. His eyes filled with tears. "They think I'm vampyre." The tears ran down his cheeks, making him appear even more pathetic than before. "Dear Gott, they think I'm vampyre."
      I patted his shoulder. "They're mistaken, surely?"
      He nodded thoughtfully—and then he shook his head, with barely a pause between the two actions. "I can't be. Don't let me be a vampyre, Manfred. Please, stop it from happening."
      I opened his torn jacket collar wider and probed his neck with my fingers. The twin puncture wounds were all but invisible to the naked eye, but my fingertips brushed over the telltale crusts. Count Laszlo had been bitten, and recently. The question was, how far gone was he? Was he already thinking like a vampyre or was he still thinking like a human? If he hadn't yet gone over to the vampyres, there was reason for hope. Yes, the Vampyre's Gift pulsed in his veins, preparing him for the miraculous change into a dangerous predator that would resemble Laszlo in appearance only—but would the Gift fade, given time? Or had the unknown vampyre who'd attacked him already taken Laszlo beyond hope? At any moment might his eyes glow a feral yellow and his teeth extend from beneath his top lip to become formidable killing weapons? I realized I was frightening myself half to death with such thoughts and decided to opt for a healthy dose of optimism instead. Laszlo would not change; he would remain human. I held onto this belief and stubbornly refused to let go.
      Eva said, "Well? Is he or isn't he?"
      I ignored her and spoke to Abel instead: "Prepare a room for us. One of the upstairs bedrooms. Have your men lock and board the window shutters. Once we're inside you'll lock the door. If it's going to happen, it's going to happen tonight."
      "You're sure?" Eva said.
      "As sure as I can be. I'll be in there with him. If he becomes vampyre, I'll kill him."
      "Isn't that a little dangerous?"
      I shrugged as casually as I could manage. "I didn't say it wasn't. I simply told you what we're going to do."
      Abel looked at Eva. "What say you, m'Lady? Can we trust this one any more than we can trust Count Laszlo?"
      She stared at me, plainly giving the thought due consideration. "Do as Herr Manfred says. One of the upstairs rooms. Post guards in the hallway and outside on the balcony. Make sure they're using the special ammunition."
      Abel made to do her bidding but I grabbed hold of his arm. "One last thing," I said. I indicated the fellows who'd brought Laszlo up from the cellar and who were responsible for his current state. "Make sure Johann and Markus are here first thing tomorrow morning."
      He shook off my hand, unable to mask his anger. "Why?"
      "Because if Laszlo doesn't become vampyre tonight, I'm going to give them a taste of what they've been giving him."
      The two Noseys who liked to beat up defenseless prisoners looked at each other, then at Abel, whose murderous expression said he'd gladly chop me into little pieces if Eva were to give the command. I smiled so he knew that possibility didn't bother me in the slightest—even though, truth to tell, Eva's revelation that her men now practiced their fencing skills on vampyre prisoners hadn't done anything to guarantee me untroubled sleep o' nights.
      Abel stalked off with the two Noseys, leaving only echoes behind.
      "I would advise you to be very careful, Herr Manfred," Eva said. "You're under my protection, of course, but such unbridled provocation is likely to result in frayed tempers and loss of reason."
      "If you ask me, your men have already lost their reason. I'm disappointed you let things get this far, especially as there's every chance Count Laszlo will be himself again come the dawn. At which time, you'll owe him an apology. I'll be around see that he gets it."
      Beautiful? Indeed she was, but when Eva became angry she lost something, or perhaps gained a measure of unpleasantness that owed much to her father's influence. The slip only lasted for a moment and then she was herself again, serene and lovely. "One day, Herr Manfred, your arrogance will be the death of you."
      "Kitchen staff have a wonderful saying, m'Lady. Perhaps you've heard it before? A dirty pot has no right to insult a stained kettle." I half-turned away from her before she could respond, and offered my wine up to Laszlo. He shied away at first but with soft words and gentle coaxing I convinced him to drink.
      Banging and hammering sounds reached us from somewhere above, reminding me of that fateful morning when carpenters had built a set of gallows just for me, and Otto Thenck visited me in my cell to offer an alternative to having my neck stretched. He hadn't mentioned anything about elixirs and vampyres and his jealous hatred of Duke Wilhelm. If he had, I doubt whether I would have taken him up on his offer…. Then again, desperate men will always take desperate action. Would I really have had the courage to refuse Thenck if I'd had foreknowledge of what was to come?
      Abel returned, looking no more pleased than before. "It's ready," he said.

§

The upright clock in the corner gave off a muffled ticking noise, marking time. Count Laszlo and I waited, he lying on the bed still wrapped in chains, apparently asleep, me sitting in a chair by the door. A single oil lamp sat upon the table, the flame turned down low and casting a warm glow over the room. Abel and his men lurked in the hallway and on the balcony outside the windows. Eva had mentioned special ammunition. I suspected the Noseys had come prepared to defend themselves against vampyres. When undead rose out of the ground to attack General Beethoven's 5th Army in Transylvania, the soldiers had used silver to good effect. Silver chains had been broken apart and links dropped down musket barrels before firing; ditto for buttons, rings, badges, medals, even the General's silver cuff links. For reasons that the Kaiserine's clever scientists have never been able to explain, the precious metal burns the flesh of undead upon contact. I didn't doubt that the Noseys' ammunition contained silver fragments. If any filth attempted to gain access to Laszlo's house tonight, Eva's men would see them off.
      And if Laszlo became vampyre during the night? It was my duty to see him off. I'd make it as quick and as painless as possible—a mercy thrust to the heart; a single, clean stroke. The human Laszlo would have wanted that. The vampyre Laszlo, if he appeared and bared his fangs, deserved no consideration whatsoever, only everlasting death.
      The hours slid by. I didn't dare take my eyes off Laszlo for a single moment. Abel rotated his men often so they stayed fresh and alert, and provided them with cups of hot wine and plenty of food. Often I sensed Abel standing at the door, listening. I'd moved a chair over to block the keyhole so he couldn't spy on us, for no other reason than it gave me pleasure.
      A sliver of moonlight invaded the room, slowly moving across the bed. I wondered what would happen when it touched Laszlo. Would he change? I unsheathed my sword and laid the bare blade across my lap. If it happened, it would happen quickly.
      The moonlight sliver vanished for an instant, then returned. Had something moved in front of the window? One of Abel's men, perhaps? I rose from my chair and studied Laszlo. He appeared entirely motionless and unbreathing. Was he dead? Had the change occurred while my attention was elsewhere?
      At that moment I became aware of a new presence in the room. Contrary to what people say, the hairs on the back of one's neck do rise when one experiences sudden and unexpected terror. I pointed my sword at the half-imagined shadow and said, "Show yourself, and prepare to die." Brave words, considering my bowels were on the verge of loosening.
      She didn't move, but instead remained sitting in the chair by the window, presenting no immediate threat. For a moment I thought it must be Eva, but blonde hair longer and straighter than Eva's cascaded over her shoulders, and her features were subtly—and pleasantly—different. She wore a cream dress with ruffed collar and sleeves, in contrast to Eva's unrelenting funeral black.
      She laughed, a tinkling musical sound that sent shivers up my spine, but in a good way. "There's no need to fear me, Herr Manfred," she said. "I don't want to kill you, I just want to talk to you. I'm unarmed, as you can see. I am completely in your power."
      An undead temptress with the face of an angel and a silken voice that caressed like a passionate lover! Mein Gott, she could have killed me a thousand times over while I stood there with my mouth hanging open, besotted by her charm.
      "Are you the creature who bit Laszlo?" I demanded.
      She nodded. "Yes. Though I consider myself a person, not a creature."
      "Why did you attack him? What evil plan are you hatching?"
      "I've impregnated him with a million eggs that will soon emerge from his body as giant vampyre bats. They'll take over the city and suck every human dry."
      "What?" My sword wavered; my legs became weak.
      She laughed again. "Really, Herr Manfred, can't you take a joke?"
      "A joke?" I wanted to sit down and take time to recover from the shock, but couldn't afford to.
      "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be so facetious, this isn't the right time... but you did say 'hatching' and that made me think.... Oh, never mind." She looked away, but couldn't conceal the fact she was still smiling. My reaction must have amused her, but she certainly hadn't amused me. I stepped forward and placed the point of my sword over the spot where her black heart ought to be.
      "I'm not in the mood for jokes or idle conversation. What say we settle this right now? Just you, me and my sword."
      She looked at Laszlo. "He's not going to change," she said.
      "Not unless you drink more of his blood, you mean."
      "I didn't drink any of it. No insult to your friend, but his blood tasted like muddy water. He's anemic. He needs a steady diet of fresh red meat and green vegetables. And he could do with cutting down on his wine intake, too."
      I didn't quite understand what she was talking about. And yet, something in the way she said it.... Her words carried a note of sincerity that made me want to believe whatever it was she was trying to say.
      "Why did you bite him, if not to drink his blood?"
      "My principal objective was to obtain information. You know what happens, don't you? When we prepare cattle for feeding?"
      "I have a good idea, yes," I admitted, not wanting to remember but having little choice. As a vampyre I'd first fed upon Eva, and then later, at the Arena, upon poor Rosemarie. The instant my extended fangs pierced their soft necks I'd injected a demonic chemical brew into their bloodstreams that brought them to peaks of intense pleasure, masking what I was doing to them. On both occasions I'd nearly killed my unwitting victims, such was my hunger. The thing I remembered most about these episodes was my own self-disgust when I'd slowly come to my senses and realized what I was doing. Some memories never fade.
      It also hadn't escaped my notice that Laszlo's beautiful visitor had used the word "cattle"—the vampyres' insulting term for humans, whom they see only as a lower food source. This served as a useful reminder of where she and I stood, on opposite sides of an invisible yet nonetheless very real dividing line. Yes, I had been vampyre, I had drank blood—but unlike her I was still human and wanted to stay that way. Moreover, I was prepared to defend my fellow humans against the evil creatures of the night who would prey upon them. I grasped my sword more tightly, preparing to thrust the point into her lovely breast.
      But then she said, "When Count Laszlo and I became one, I detected a flaw in his cardiovascular system." Seeing my blank look, she added, "His heart. An hereditary defect. You saw the portraits in the room downstairs? They are all relatively young. None of his ancestors lived beyond the age of thirty-five."
      I tried to see where she was going with this, and why. After I'd fed upon Eva she'd regrown an entire new hand to replace the one she'd lost. The Vampyre's Gift, that spark of dark magic that is passed from predator to victim during feeding, ignites the fire that Doctor Schmidt calls rapid cellular regeneration. It heals wounds, repairs injuries, and can sometimes pull life back from the brink of certain death. All of which I could testify to personally.
      I studied her face carefully as I said, "And you repaired this... flaw?"
      She shook her head. "Alas, no. It's not something that can happen immediately. But with subsequent infusions, delivered regularly over a lengthy period... yes, I believe the faulty valves could be mended."
      "You're asking me to allow you to bite him again."
      "I'm not asking you anything, Herr Manfred. I'm simply telling you that I could stop Count Laszlo from dying of natural causes in the very near future."
      "I think he'd rather take his chances. Don't you?"
      "Ask him that when the pain becomes unbearable—when he can hardly breathe without clutching his chest and whimpering—when he is reduced to a helpless, pitiful wretch who would do anything and give anything to live a full life. He is well aware of the family curse. That's why he never took a bride."
      "How can you possibly know this?"
      "I told you, we became one. While we were joined, I looked inside him and found his fears. They all but concealed the information I had set out to discover."
      Mein Gott, had she just confessed to having the ability to read minds? Did Eva and the Kaiserine know the vampyres possessed such a power? "Is that how you work?" I said. "You find an enemy's weakness, and exploit it?"
      "Sometimes. If we're desperate."
      "And you're desperate now?"
      "Yes, Herr Manfred, we're desperate, because the Kaiserine is killing the wrong vampyres."
      We stared at each other for a while. Then I said, "You seem to know my name. I don't know yours."
      "Forgive my poor manners. I am Stefanie Lowensdorf von Radenbrach. The name probably means little to you. Among the Families, it has noble connotations."
      I didn't want to admit it, but my sword was becoming heavy. Yet every time I thought about plunging it into this beautiful vampyre's breast, or lowering the weapon and putting it away, our bizarre conversation seemed to take another turn.
      In a voice that was half-whisper and half-sigh, she said, "Do you know what it like to be undead, Herr Manfred?"
      I shook my head. "I have no idea."
      "Neither do I. That's because I'm very much alive."
      She gently nudged my unresisting sword aside, stood up and took hold of my other hand. She laid it upon her breast, forcing me to make physical contact with her. I noticed several things all at once: her eyes were a much more inviting blue than Eva's; her lips were full and pink; and her flesh was soft and warm, whereas it should have been dead and cold like a side of beef hanging in a butcher's shop.
      "Can you feel my heart beating? If I were the undead creature you think I am, it would not be beating at all."
      I was having a hard time breathing, never mind thinking. "How can you be alive, if you are vampyre?" I managed to croak.
      "Because I am bloodline vampyre, not undead. I am a member of the Families, as my name should tell you. We have dwelled in High Sazburg and other cities and towns for centuries without drawing attention to ourselves, without once revealing our presence to the authorities. We harm no one. We control our urges, priding ourselves in never reverting to the animal condition. We feed when we have to, but never take the victim to the point of death. It is against our laws. Against our beliefs."
      She paused as if expecting a response. "Go on," I invited, while she continued to press my hand against her warm, soft, tender breast. I hesitated to pull away in case she thought me distrusting and suspicious. Of course I was, but that was no reason for a show of bad manners.
      "I live, I breathe, as you do," she said. "I eat, I sleep, as you do. I walk in sunlight without fear, as you do. I go to church five times each week and read the Bible to young children at Sunday school." Still she pressed my hand to her flesh, demanding, insistent. "I am human in all respects, save one."
      "Pray tell, what might that be?"
      "I am immortal unless I am violently slain. Immortality is the price I must pay for being vampyre. I must shun the company and friendship and love of mortal humans, because when they grow old and wither and their time finally comes, they will die with a terrible curse on their lips, jealous of my apparent youth and vitality."
      "Just how old are you?"
      "Does it matter? What is age to an immortal? Nineteen, ninety, one hundred and ninety—does it really make any difference?"
      "Probably not. It's just that I'd like to know if I'm talking to someone my own age, or younger than me, or old enough to be my great-great-great-grandmother."
      She chuckled politely. "How old do you think I am?"
      "Old enough to know what happens when a man is alone, or almost alone,"—I glanced at poor Laszlo, still asleep and unmoving—"with a beautiful woman."
      She smiled mischievously and I couldn't help but admire how clever the vampyres were to send this sweet thing to twist my mind and dull my senses to the fact she was one of them, infinitely dangerous and an enemy of humankind.
      I grabbed her by the throat and in two long steps had her pinned against the wall, the edge of my blade poised alongside her jugular. If she lived and breathed then she could bleed and die, too. Her eyes widened in realization. Her little plan hadn't worked; I wasn't under her spell, and didn't ever intend to be.
      "I'm sorry, Stefanie Lowensdorf von Radenbrach, but I'm wise to your deceptive ways. We can end this farce here and now, or I can turn you over to Captain Abel's tender mercies. Which would you prefer?"
      Her shoulders slumped and she sighed, defeated. "You've seen through me, Herr Manfred. I was a fool to think I could manipulate you. What was I thinking?" She shook her head as if berating herself for being stupid—and then she hit me with her main guns, just as I lowered my guard. "Such a pity. I was hoping you'd help me find the vampyre responsible for murdering hundreds of innocent people and turning them into undead," she said.

Part II

Six hundred thousand men had marched into Moskovia, determined to destroy the Tsarina's army and lay siege to her great city of Kalingrad as punishment for her insufferable insults against our beloved Kaiserine. I was proud to be part of Army Gruppe North, a loyal Prussian soldier convinced of my own invincibility. I imagined I would win glory, honor, fame; the Kaiserine herself would pin a medal upon my breast and whisper her appreciation into my ear while her warm breath kissed my cheek. And so I marched with a spring in my step, as did we all, eager to come face to face with the inferior Moskovians and their pagan allies, the Romanis. We would drive them from the battlefield in bloody disarray, and shortly thereafter the Kaiserine's silver eagle banner would flutter from the roof of the defeated Tsarina's palace. Victory would be ours, nothing was more certain.
      The great blizzard swept out of the east, cutting off roads and mountain passes and our lines of supply. A freak, they said, such as only appeared once each century; a devourer of souls. As we huddled around pathetic camp fires at night, growing more sunken-eyed and desperate as our numbers dwindled alarmingly, we wondered if the blizzard was the Tsarina's doing. Rumor suggested that she possessed powers handed down to her by her witch mother, whom the pragmatic Moskovians had burned at the stake. As if these thoughts were insufficient to ruin our chances of sleep, hordes of bloodthirsty Romanis would ride screaming out of the curtain of snow when we least expected it, their huge swords whirling above their heads, while our unfeeling hands fumbled with muskets whose mechanisms had frozen solid.
      As things turned out I was luckier than most, although I didn't think of it as good luck at the time: a Moskovian marksman shot me in the chest. Our regimental doctor stopped me from bleeding to death, and I was ordered home along with a handful of other walking wounded. Our officers wanted rid of us, of course, since they had little enough supplies without having to feed us, too. They reckoned that if the wolves didn't get us the Romanis would, but we managed to fight off both kinds of predator, who had no real interest in our small band—the wolves had plenty of freshly dead bodies to choose from already, and the Romanis sought bigger game. As the great dying beast that was Army Gruppe North struggled to advance toward distant Kalingrad, sometimes gaining less than a hundred paces each day in exchange for thousands of lives, we crept in the opposite direction, unwanted and ignored.
      After only three bone-chilling days in the icy wastes of Moskovia, and with only one man dying of his wounds along the way, we sighted a great airship flying to the south. Its alert crew sighted us and held their fire long enough to recognize our uniforms. The airship's commander conveyed us at once to the nearest Prussian Army base, situated on the Poleski frontier. From there we were distributed to various military hospitals, after being given strict instructions never to mention the fate of Army Gruppe North to anyone. The six hundred thousand men who'd set out to defeat the Tsarina's army had been written off by High Command, their colored pieces removed from the War Board and forgotten. It hardly seemed right that we alone should have survived.
      Discharged from the Army on medical grounds, I'd come to High Sazburg in search of work. En route to the city, aboard the Guttzeig coach, I was attacked by a vampyre and bitten. The rest, as they say, is history. Otto Thenck used me for his own sinister purposes, assisted by Doctor Schmidt, and almost by accident I'd become the Kaiserine's Champion. But while the Vampyre's Gift and Schmidt's damned elixir had conspired to heal the physical damage inflicted by the marksman's bullet, nothing could ever remove my memories of Moskovia. I'd never thought I would ever feel so cold again—but, as I struggled to understand what Stefanie Lowensdorf von Radenbrach had said, a terrible chill fell upon me that rivaled the numbing horror and seeping cold of that dreadful Moskovian blizzard, the devourer of souls....

§

"Herr Manfred?"
      Stefanie's voice pulled me out of my reverie. Then I noticed her concerned expression, and the way she kept glancing at the door.
      I heard it then—a shot. Then another. Muskets were discharging throughout the house. Heavy boots thumped on the landing outside. Abel shouted orders to his men. I distinctly heard him say, "Protect Lady Eva at all costs!"
      "Friends of yours?" I asked Stefanie. We had not shifted position; she still stood against the wall with my sword against her throat.
      "No, Herr Manfred, they are most definitely not friends of mine. They're undead. Attacking in great numbers, I'd say."
      "Am I to believe this is not part of your plan? You distract me, while undead filth launch the main assault?"
      "I swear that is not true. If I lie then may Gott strike me down."
      I gaped at her, surprised. What kind of thing was that for a vampyre to say? But if she was lying then her act was perfect. She showed every sign of being as frightened as I was.
      A key rattled in the lock and the door swung open. Abel glanced at Laszlo on the bed, then stared at Stefanie. Confusion turned to suspicion in a heartbeat. "Your clever plan stands revealed, Herr Manfred," he said. "There's small satisfaction to be gained from the fact you won't live to tell anyone whether it succeeded." Before I could protest my innocence, Abel brought up his pistol and pulled the trigger. The hammer snapped forward; the pistol belched smoke and flame—
       —And the bullet stopped a finger-length in front of my nose.
      When the arch-vampyre assassin had entered the Arena to cross swords with me, he'd exerted his inhuman will upon the universe, halting time itself so that we might have a private conversation without being overheard by the crowd—or more to the point, by the Kaiserine and her Guardsmen. I tore my gaze from the bullet, uncrossed my eyes and looked at Stefanie, who returned my stare without change of expression. By her action she'd revealed much about herself. No fledgling vampyre could have stopped time. How old must she be to have done this?
      "May I suggest you take a step to your right?" she said.
      I did so, and Stefanie Lowensdorf von Radenbrach relinquished her hold upon the physical universe. Time flowed again, and Abel's bullet smashed into the wood paneling between us. Abel cursed, dropped his empty pistol and drew his sword. I moved to engage him, but before I had the opportunity to teach him a lesson he'd never forget other events within Laszlo's house overtook us.
      Behind Abel, a figure climbed up and over the landing balustrade as if this were the easiest thing in the world—never mind that he didn't have a ladder to assist him. The young man wore working garments that suggested his trade might be leatherwork or perhaps shoemaking. Only his eyes betrayed the fact he was no longer alive as we define that state of being. Staring into these dull orbs filled me with horror.
      "Fire," Stefanie said. "They cannot stand fire."
      I snatched up the lamp, shouted, "Get down!" and threw it. Abel ducked, cursing me, and the lamp sailed over his head and smashed against the young man's chest, spattering him with oil. He ignited instantly and burned as if made of dry tinderwood. Abel retreated into the bedroom, shielding his face with his arm. The young man—the undead young man—staggered backwards until he came into contact with the balustrade. Without uttering a sound he topped over the rail and vanished from sight.
      Abel looked at me. A different kind of confusion raged within his skull as he realized I'd just saved his life. "Who is she?" he demanded, nodding toward Stefanie, who hadn't moved an inch.
      "I'm in the process of finding out," I replied. "Let's worry about her later. It doesn't look like Laszlo's going to change. How many undead are downstairs?"
      "Too many."
      I clapped him on the shoulder, pushing him back toward the door. "Get Lady Eva out of here, fast as you can."
      "And you? What will you be doing?"
      "I'm your rearguard."
      His frown said, "How do I know I can trust you?" By way of an answer I touched the point of my sword to his throat before he could react—and then took it away again, telling him in no uncertain terms, I can kill you any time I want. That seemed to convince him. We went out onto the landing together and looked down. The undead I'd hit with the oil lamp lay burning beneath us. Two of Abel's men stood firm at the bottom of the stairs, holding back six undead whose incompetent swordsmanship was a joy to behold. The hallway was littered with bodies, a Nosey among them. Sounds of hard fighting came from other parts of the house, with only an occasional musket shot. Someone screamed in agony—a man's voice, quickly cut off. This seemed to make Abel's mind up for him; he raced down the stairs to join his men, and with a rousing cry the three of them pressed forward into the undead. Abel stabbed and hacked, then broke through and ran down the hallway, determined to reach Eva no matter what the odds against him. Curious, I thought, how the Kaiserine and her daughter evoke such loyalty and love from those who would serve them. I silently wished Abel good luck, even if he was a bastard.
      Stefanie came to stand beside me. "We really should leave, Herr Manfred."
      I smiled as best I could under the circumstances. "The Kaiserine's Champion, run out on a fight? You ask the impossible."
      "I don't think it's just the Kaiserine's daughter they want."
      "Oh? Then who...?"
      The bedroom windows and shutters gave way with a tinkling of glass and a splintering of wood. I remembered that Abel had posted guards out on the balcony. They were dead, of course, slain by the creatures who now climbed into the room, moving with a sinister purpose that raised goose pimples in places where I hadn't realized goose pimples could rise. They ignored the sleeping Laszlo and advanced toward us. Five of them carried swords; two carried the muskets formerly owned by the dead balcony guards, and looked as if they knew how to use them.
      At the bottom of the stairs one of Abel's men fell, stabbed through the heart. A lucky thrust, perhaps, but just as fatal as the unlucky kind. The second Nosey retreated upstairs, fighting all the way, but the undead swarmed over him, dragged him down and cut the poor fellow to pieces. What they lacked in skill they made up for in numbers—which was something that ought to be incorporated into the Noseys' advanced training, I thought.
      "Whoever you are, I suggest you flee for your life," I said to Stefanie. "I'll hold them off as long as I can."
      "There's another way," she said.
      "We grow wings and fly out?"
      When she didn't reply, I spared her a glance—and saw she was staring at the chandelier that hung from the hallway ceiling. Opposite the landing was an ornate stained glass window depicting a forest hunting scene where armored knights on horseback drove their lances through snarling werewolves. They certainly knew how to have fun in the old days.
      "You surely don't mean—?"
      "Have you any other suggestions?" she said, looking at the undead coming up the final flight of stairs, then at the undead who were almost at the bedroom door.
      "Not really."
      Before I could object she climbed up onto the balustrade—and leapt. Her questing fingers caught hold of the chandelier frame and she swung across the hallway, kicking her legs out to give herself more momentum. I'd often watched acrobats perform at fairs and had admired their skills. Stefanie proved no less entertaining as she let go of the chandelier and arced toward the window, flipping over at the last moment to crash through the stained glass feet first. The chandelier swung back, and I steeled myself to leap and catch it, but the ceiling plaster suddenly gave way and the whole thing tumbled to the marble floor below, shattering into a million razor shards. If I'd been underneath I would surely have been skinned alive.
      The undead stared in wonder at the exit hole Stefanie had made in the window, and for an instant I expected them to burst into applause—but then they remembered why they were here. Only a few steps separated us. Things were looking bad; all I lacked now was a fitting epitaph for my tombstone. I retreated along the landing until I could go no further—and then realized there was another door, leading into another bedroom. I kicked it open and leapt inside just as the undead parties joined up and rushed forward together, emitting a terrible mournful groan—the battle cry of the dead. But their murderous enthusiasm worked to my advantage; they pushed and shoved and fouled each other in their haste to catch me. The rail parted with a loud snap and at least two undead disappeared, arms and legs flailing. Another undead made a gurgling sound as he tripped and fell and was trampled by a dozen feet that squeezed the juice out of him like grapes in a vat. Others still began fighting among themselves, trading ferocious blows with their swords. I thought it was simply marvelous, until a musket thundered and the bullet spun me around and cast me down upon the floor, bleeding and stunned.
      The vampyre within screamed for me to get up. He caused me such pain and anguish that I pushed myself off the floor at once, ignoring the sizzling yet much lesser pain in my shoulder. Swords buried themselves in the floor where I'd lain, splintering the varnished wood. I lurched to my feet, stabbed the nearest undead and pushed his body into his comrades, knocking them down. Those behind clawed their way over the fallen, swinging their swords with enormous gusto.
      Outside on the landing, the second musketeer took aim. I ducked and his bullet split the air above me, ruffling my hair before smashing into the bedroom window. Barely had the sound of breaking glass registered but I turned, ran and dived headlong through the opening, into bright moonlight—the foolhardy act of a madman, one might think, but the only choice available other than certain death at the hands of my undead adversaries.
      At the rear of Laszlo's house lay a well-maintained garden, complete with an ornamental fountain adorned with the statue of a beautiful nymphet, half-naked and coy. The fountain basin contained enough water to float an ironclad, but as luck would have it my trajectory directed me elsewhere. The nymphet's smile swelled to fill my vision, and the bang when we collided must surely have echoed all the way to the furthest corners of the world.

Part III

Pain, as a heavy boot buried itself in my belly. I curled up and groaned. Through a spiderweb of dried blood I studied the blurred face that leaned close to my own. Grinning, triumphant, framed by a shock of white hair.
      "Not so tough now, hey?" he said.
      Where had I seen that face before? The memory eluded me. He swung his boot again, this time snapping ribs. I flapped around like a fish out of water. I could hardly draw breath, let alone defend myself. I absently wondered how the nymphet statue had fared. Better than me, I guessed.
      The damp floor beneath me shifted as iron-shod hooves and wheels found purchase upon hard packed earth. We occupied a moving wagon, a sturdy vehicle like a wooden hut on wheels, such as might be used to transport prisoners. At the front of the enclosed compartment the driver slid a hatch open and peered inside. Moonlight reflected off his bald head. My memory cleared enough for me to recall the two Noseys who'd fetched Laszlo from the cellar. I'd threatened to punish them for what they'd done to Laszlo. Upon reflection, not a wise decision.
      "I'm turning back," the driver said.
      "Shut up, you coward!" my tormentor shouted at him. "No one knows we've got him, so keep going."
      The driver snarled a curse and slammed the hatch shut. Markus—I remembered his name—crouched down beside me and smiled sweetly. "Johann's having second thoughts," he said. "He thinks we should let you go. Me, I think that would be a mistake. You'd run and tell Captain Abel, wouldn't you? Or the witch's daughter. Then where would we be? In deep shit, that's for sure."
      I wasn't sure whether he expected a reply so I didn't give him one. Instead I concentrated on trying to free my wrists and hands but the task proved impossible, the thick ropes that bound me were tightly knotted. Not only that, the unexpected collision with the nymphet had hurt me. This smirking brute wasn't helping matters any by inflicting other injuries upon me at a time when my body needed time to heal itself. As if reading my mind, Markus gave my cheek an affectionate pat. I lack sufficient vocabulary to describe the pain. Suffice to say that it hurt; suffice to say that I swore I'd have my revenge upon this craven swine in the very near future. Assuming me didn't kill me first, of course.
      "No, we're not letting you go," he said. "Soon as we found you floating face-down in the fountain I said to Johann, this is our chance, this is fate, go fetch the wagon. He wasn't too sure, but I was. I knew right there and then I was going to kill you, nice and slow. You want to know why?"
      I had to clear my throat and spit blood onto the wagon floor before I could speak. "Why?"
      "Because of what you did to Herr Thenck," he said, punching me full in the face. I writhed in crimson agony for what seemed like an eternity. When it faded to almost tolerable levels an unknown time later Markus was speaking to Johann through the sliding hatch. Johann was still pleading and protesting but Markus shook his head, no. I wondered if the rest of Abel's men were searching for me, or indeed if the victorious undead were combing the grounds of Laszlo's house determined to turn up my body. Had Abel saved Eva from the undead assault? I hoped so, even though I knew she had no love for me.
      The wagon suddenly halted, throwing Markus back against the partition. I wondered whether their difference of opinion had turned to outright disagreement, which might somehow benefit me—but then the horses screamed, and so did Johann. The wagon rocked violently. Markus tried to see what was happening. Whatever he saw on the other side of the hatch made him glare at me. He stood, drew his sword and raised it above his head, and in that instant I spun on the wet floor and kicked his legs out from under him. His blade came down like a woodsman's ax, splitting the floor alongside my skull. Markus snarled, pushed himself up and used both hands to jerk the sword free. He moved his feet further apart, bracing himself. I wouldn't catch him by surprise a second time.
      The door behind me opened—or rather, was torn off its hinges. Moonlight spilled inside the wagon interior. Then something tumbled through the air. It bounced and rolled, coming to a stop at the Markus' feet. He looked down at it, and it looked up at him. The driver's final expression was one of sheer terror. The sight of Johann's severed head provoked a similar reaction from Markus—but only for a moment. Two crossbow bolts thumped into his chest, staggering him. Markus frowned in puzzlement and looked at me as if demanding an explanation. Even if I'd known the whys and wherefores, I couldn't have conveyed the information in time. His eyes rolled and he collapsed, his sword slipping from his dead fingers. One of the bolts had pierced his heart. I experienced a momentary disappointment; I wouldn't have my revenge upon him after all.
      Hands reached into the wagon and took hold of me, not ungently. Once they pulled me outside they turned me around and stood me up. A knife slashed at my bonds. My legs gave way but firm hands stopped me from falling. The wagon had stopped in a clearing surrounded by trees. Markus and Johann had obviously decided to spirit me away to an out-of-the-way place where they might have their fun. But someone had stopped them. Who? A half-dozen men stood with their backs to me, watching the trees for any signs of danger. The two men who held me up, and who had saved me from Markus' tender mercies, looked round as Stefanie walked toward us. Her light footsteps failed to disturb the carpet of leaves that littered the clearing. She stopped before me and looked me up and down. Still soaked from my ducking in the fountain and leaking blood from my many injuries, I must have presented a sorry sight.
      "Why here you are, Herr Manfred," she said. "We were beginning to think we'd never find you again."
      "Now that you've found me," I said, having difficulty forming my swollen lips around the words, "what do you intend to do with me?"
      "Can you stand up?"
      "I think so."
      "Leave us," she said to the men—no, the vampyres—on either side of me. They let go and retreated into the trees. The others followed them. In moments we were alone, save for Johann and Markus in the back of the wagon, and they weren't likely to interrupt.
      I didn't know what was coming next but I prepared myself for the worst. Somewhere along the way I'd lost my sword, and in my present condition I couldn't hope to defend myself against a vampyre's inhumanly powerful attack.
      Stefanie stepped closer. She pulled her ruffled collar open and tilted her head to one side, baring her neck. "Drink up, Herr Manfred. And don't worry, I'll stop you before you take too much."
      I collapsed back against the wagon. "Surely you're not serious?"
      "If you prefer, we can find someone else... a human victim. A girl. Young, pretty, filled with vitality—the city is full of them. We have the means to make her come to you willingly. Is that what you want?"
      "It is most definitely not what I want."
      "Then take me instead. I offer myself to you."
      And a tempting offer it was, too. My injuries cried out, demanding to be healed. The Vampyre's Gift had brought me back from death on more than one occasion. I said, "What affect will your blood have on me? Will I become like you?"
      "Not unless I will it." She swept a loose strand of hair from her neck. "The sooner you begin, the sooner we can set off on the next stage of our adventure. That's assuming, of course, that you agree to help us."
      "Help you?"
      She sighed; the impatient little noise made me realize the importance she placed on our exchange, and the need for haste. "Try to keep up, Herr Manfred. The undead who attacked Count Laszlo's house were driven by the will of the vampyre who slew them—the vampyre we wish to stop. They are his slaves, forever bound to him. He knew you were there. He must have had the house, or Lady Eva, under observation. He directed half his available undead troops against you. The rest went after Lady Eva."
      "What happened to her?"
      "The undead took her out of the house against her will. They suffered heavy losses but the vampyre does not care. We think Lady Eva is still alive. Her Noseys are searching for her but they don't know where she is yet."
      "And you do?"
      "Our agents are following the undead. When they discover where Lady Eva is being taken, they'll send word. In the meantime, judging by the look of you, you're in no condition to do anything except fall down. You need blood to help you recover. Here it is. Don't be shy."
      I shook my head. The sudden pain made me wince and I silently cursed my own stupidity. "Doesn't this strike you as somewhat odd?" I said. "I mean, I thought vampyres were supposed to take blood, not donate it."
      "In this case we'll make an exception."
      "If you bit me, wouldn't that stimulate regeneration?"
      "Yes, undoubtedly it would, but we're doing it this way for a reason."
      "What reason?"
      "Because it's what I want. Please, Herr Manfred. This is not the time for pointless debate."
      "I made myself a promise. I swore I'd always keep it. No matter what."
      She allowed her collar to cover her neck again, then stared at me for what seemed like a long time but was probably only a few moments. "I can guess what that promise must be," she said.
      "Does it cause you a problem?"
      She inhaled deeply, then let it out. "The truth is, the thought of biting you carries little appeal."
      "You bit Laszlo, but you won't do the same for me? Am I so revolting?" I had meant to say it in jest, but it came out sounding far too serious. Stefanie frowned and turned away, for reasons I didn't understand.
      "In Count Laszlo's case I had no choice," she said. "We were desperate to discover what he knew of the Kaiserine's plans. We acted upon the information we took from him. Several Families who would otherwise have been arrested by the Secret Police left High Sazburg last night."
      "And that's why you bit Laszlo? So you could save them?"
      "Of course. What other reason...?"
      "You found the entire business distasteful, but you did it anyway." Despite myself, I couldn't help but admire Stefanie's unselfish commitment to the welfare of her own kind. Then I said, "Why did you come to Laszlo's house tonight? You said you didn't intend to bite him again." When she didn't respond, I had to come up with the answer myself: "You knew they'd suspect Laszlo had been bitten. But, how?" She refused to face me again, which set off a suspicious thought. "You left a clue behind, something that pointed the finger at Laszlo. Gott in Himmel, you're responsible for his being beaten half to death."
      Stefanie spun around, snarling. Her cat eyes glowed yellow and the tips of her incisors were just visible below her top lip, but extended no further. "How can I possibly be blamed for the actions of brutes?" she demanded, sweeping an arm to indicate the late Markus and Johann. Then she closed her eyes and took a moment to bring her harsh breathing under control. When she opened her eyes again they were their original warm blue; the vampyre was gone. She said, very calmly, "I should be grateful if you would not use Gott's name in such a disrespectful manner, Herr Manfred."
      A vampyre, warning me against blasphemy. Could the night possibly become more peculiar? "Don't try to change the subject," I said. "You knew the Secret Police would become involved. You knew they'd place Laszlo under house arrest because it would not do for anyone to see one of the Kaiserine's aides being thrown into prison. That would start rumors—and the Kaiserine does not like rumors."
      She nodded. At last, a confirmation!
      "But that's not all," I went on, having got the bit between my teeth. "Eva became involved. For what reason? What does Laszlo mean to her?" The answer came to me while I studied Stefanie closely. "Why, absolutely nothing. As I recall, she addressed him formally by his title instead of calling him by name... because she hardly knows him! But something about this little affair caught her eye... something unexpected... something that demanded her personal intervention."
      Stefanie had the decency to lower her gaze. She couldn't look me in the eye, and we both knew why.
      "Are you going to tell me, or must I guess?"
      "One of us impersonated you," she said. "He is not unlike you in size and appearance. He wore clothing similar to yours, mimicked your walk, your manner. He secretly visited Laszlo's house on several occasions. Or appeared to. He didn't actually go inside or talk to Laszlo but the Noseys were fooled. They relayed this news to the Kaiserine's daughter."
      So, there it was. Eva hadn't just invited me to Laszlo's house so I could confirm whether or not he was a vampyre agent. Oh no, that would be too simple. She'd also planned to have me arrested for my involvement in some fabricated plot against the Kaiserine! What devilment had she planned by way of revenge for my killing her father? I suspected that come morning I would have found out. Whatever it was, it probably involved Markus and Johann, and very possibly Captain Abel, too.
      "If you needed to explain the situation to me and have me speak for you, why didn't you simply pay me a visit in the middle of the night?" I said. "Why poor Laszlo? Why his house?"
      "Herr Manfred—"
      "He could be dead by now. Or worse, undead."
      "Herr Manfred, please. There really isn't time for all this. We must—"
      "Why don't you stop time? That's what you monsters do, isn't it?"
      She slapped me. Not hard, not viciously. But with sufficient force to inflict a lifetime of agony because of my injuries. I sank to my knees, bowed my head and wept hot tears. Not tears of pain, but tears of rage. When I lifted my head I saw Stefanie through new eyes. She stood exposed before me, every artery and vein visible to my red-hot gaze. The beat of her heart quickened when she saw what she'd done. She took a fearful half-step backward, but went no further. I rose slowly and moved toward her. She gasped when I took her in my arms, then put her hands against my chest and made a pretence of pushing me away, but we both knew this was what she wanted. I nuzzled her neck and kissed her flesh and nibbled her ear lobe.
      Her sudden scream became a moan; her moan became a sigh of contentment as my fluids, injected into her bloodstream at the instant of penetration, mixed with hers. Her body shuddered and became slack in my arms, almost dragging me down, but I found the strength to support her because I was gulping her blood, fueling my weary frame, triggering the blessed relief of rapid cellular regeneration. Gott bless you, Doctor Schmidt, and you too, Herr Thenck. I rejoiced in Stefanie's sweet nectar, which made me into a super man, a giant who stood as far above mere humans as humans stand above insects. Promises were for morons; I was hungry, and I fed.
      My broken bones shifted and knitted together, my flesh repaired itself—delicious sensations that can only be experienced, not described. But the waterfall of life drained from Stefanie Lowensdorf von Radenbrach more quickly than I'd imagined. Memories of poor Rosemarie, the Kaiserine's lady-in-waiting, returned unbidden and unwanted. Once again I sensed I had reached that fateful point where a feeding vampyre must decide whether its victim evolves into vampyre or becomes undead—or simply dies. Except in Stefanie's case, the choices were far more limited. She was already vampyre. She could not become undead. Which only left—
      I pulled away from her with such haste that twin fountains of blood spurted from her neck before the congealing agent took effect, sealing the bite wounds. Her eyes were half-open and unseeing; drool ran from the corner of her lips. Calling her name and gently slapping her face produced no response whatsoever. I laid her down on the bare ground, horrified by my actions and the fact I'd murdered her—or nearly murdered her. A spark of life remained, dull yet discernible. I leapt to the wagon, reached inside and took up Markus' fallen sword which he'd never have any use for again. I knelt beside Stefanie and used the edge of the blade to cut open the palm of my hand. Blood welled and began to drip. I held my hand over her face so that the glistening fluid fell between her parted lips and into her mouth. Stefanie shuddered and moaned, an animal sound that frightened me. I had no idea what the effects of my actions would be upon a vampyre, but I had to do something—I couldn't simply let her slip away and die.
      She grabbed hold of my hand and sucked hot blood from the cut, gasping and slurping as if it were the most delicious meal she'd ever tasted. Still possessed of the vampyre's heightened senses, I examined myself closely to see how this affected me. Very little, actually. The blood loss was minimal; Stefanie was only taking back a small portion of what she'd given me, yet she treated every drop like a feast.
      Eventually she gave a great sob and rolled away, keeping her back to me so that I couldn't see her face. I laid my uncut hand upon her shoulder, intending to comfort her, but she immediately she slapped it away, telling me in no uncertain terms that she didn't want me to touch her or have anything to do with her.
      I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. My senses dulled as the change receded and I became human once more. The guilt—ah, the terrible guilt uncoiled in my stomach, making me want to retch, to vomit forth all the blood I'd drank. But that was impossible, I knew. It had already been absorbed into my body, used to repair my injuries. Penance for my sins was not so easily gained. I threw the bloodied sword away, hating myself.
      Stefanie's entire body trembled. I imagined I'd disgusted her, that she found my animal lust for her blood too awful to accept. That was true for both of us.
      "I distinctly remember you saying you'd stop me before I took too much," I said, trying to make light of the matter, but that sounded like a poor excuse even to me.
      She got to her feet in a single fluid motion and stood with her head bowed and her shoulders hunched, refusing to look at me. What could I say or do that would make things better? I didn't know, and that was the worst thing of all—or rather it was second on the list, after my almost killing her.
      "I do not blame you, Herr Manfred," she said.
      "You did me a kindness," I said, "and I repaid you badly."
      She shook her head as if it didn't matter, when obviously it did. "How are you feeling now?"
      Fool that I am, I couldn't help but laugh. "Wonderful. And you?"
      Stefanie turned to face me. My laughter died in my throat. Her eyes were feral yellow again, glittering in the semidarkness of the clearing.
      "Now you see," she said. "But do you understand?"
      I wanted to say I did, yet her meaning eluded me. But as she continued to stare at me, my confusion turned to discomfort... and a niggling thought clawed its way up from the dark pit at the back of my mind. Someone was laughing back there, enjoying this awkward moment... a cruel voice I knew from my dreams, the voice that had demanded I get up and fight when the undead were almost upon me.
      "You mentioned something called the animal condition," I said. "What did you mean by it?"
      "I think you already suspect the truth, Herr Manfred."
      Horror and fascination washed over me in equal measure. "My blood did this to you?"
      Stefanie shook her head. "No, not just that. When you... when you offered me your blood... I could not resist, such was my weakened state. I lost control. I didn't just drink. I gorged. I savored and relished every wonderful, sweet, life-giving drop." She bowed her head and let out a tortured sob that squeezed my heart. "For just one single, foolish moment, I forgot what makes us what we are—forgot the thing that the Families pride themselves on most. I allowed the animal within to slip its leash." She bared her teeth. "This is the result."
      The longer I looked at her the more my horror grew. "Will it not fade, as is usual after feeding?"
      "I don't know! Something like this... it hasn't happened in such a long time. Not to us. Not to any member of the Families." She sobbed again, then sucked in a long, deep breath. "Only time will tell. But I've touched the side of me I never wished to touch. Opened a box that was never meant to be opened. I pray to Gott that it will fade, because it will not be tolerated."
      She looked past me, to whoever had silently entered the clearing. I'd sensed the presence and identified it as one of the vampyres who'd rescued me from the wagon.
      "Fräulein—" he began, but stopped when he saw what had occurred. Stefanie turned her head away and closed her eyes so he wouldn't have to look at her. I studied the vampyre and noted his disgust. What queer code must the vampyre Families of High Sazburg follow, I wondered, that made them treat one of their own kind so? Evidently Stefanie's mistake carried a high penalty. And it was all due to me.
      "You have news?" I demanded of the vampyre. "If so then spit it out, don't stand there like the brainless undead you resemble."
      He hissed a curse and his hand dropped to the sword hanging from his belt. I badly wanted him to draw the blade so I could take it from him and tie it around his neck in a tight bow, but Stefanie said, "What is it, Dieter? Tell us, please."
      Dieter tore his gaze from me. "Our agents have located the Kaiserine's daughter. The undead took her to a house on the Blumenstrasse. Enquiries have yielded little information—no one knows who the owner is. It may have lain empty for some time."
      "We must go there at once."
      "The horses are waiting." Dieter looked at me. "What of him? Has he declared himself yet? Or is he still the Kaiserine's puppet?"
      I took a step toward the vampyre. "I am no one's puppet. You'd do well to remember that." It hadn't escaped my notice that Dieter was the same size as me and that we were not unalike in appearance.
      "That sounds very much like a threat," he said, smiling his predatory smile.
      "It is a threat. You'd do well to watch your mouth lest you find it full of boot leather."
      "Brave words for a man with no sword."
      "I don't need a sword to deal with the likes of you," I told him.
      "Nonetheless," Stefanie said, stepping between us, "the point is well made, Herr Manfred. You have not declared yourself. For all we know you are the Kaiserine's spy, sent to gather information that will ultimately be used against us."
      "I am no one's spy," I said, wanting her to believe me.
      "Time will tell, but I think we must both learn to trust each other, and quickly. Everything I have told you tonight is true, I swear it. There is a vampyre loose on the streets who delights in making undead out of the living, and is undoubtedly responsible for provoking the Secret Police into taking action against all vampyres in High Sazburg—including the Families, who are entirely innocent. I'll remind you that the undead he commands nearly killed you. If that's not reason enough to motivate you, I don't know what is."
      I said, "Perhaps I'm reluctant because I don't like being manipulated—by you, by Lady Eva, by anyone. Your man here accuses me of being a puppet when tonight, you've done your utmost to pull my strings."
      "For which I apologize. Needs must, Herr Manfred."
      "Does that mean you did it reluctantly? Like when you bit Laszlo? For the good of your own kind?"
      "You already know the answer. Why prolong the debate? Either come with us or go on your way. The beer cellars of High Sazburg eagerly await your custom. Who knows what new friends and lovers you may meet tonight?" She walked toward the edge of the clearing. Dieter stared after her, his expression thoughtful.
      "It's my fault," I told him. "Not hers."
      He gave me a contemptuous sneer. "We don't need you. We can do this by ourselves."
      He made to follow Stefanie but I stopped him with words. "If you didn't need me, you wouldn't even lower yourself to speak to me. Just how many of you are there? And how many undead are you up against?"
      Doubt showed in Dieter's eyes for just a moment; it was enough. I walked over to where I'd thrown Markus' sword and picked it up. The balance was nowhere near as good as my own blade, but it would suffice.
      "I don't suppose you can lend me a horse?" I said.

§

A delightful place, the Blumenstrasse. Fragrant flowers lined the street and filled small islands that had been laid out with great care by an army of gardeners. Six months ago I'd ridden along here at the head of a victory parade following the formal announcement that I'd won the arena contest—after I'd recovered from my wounds and from almost being blown to pieces by my arch-vampyre adversary, not to mention being stabbed by a vengeful Thenck. Cheering crowds had called their adoration to me as I passed by; smiling young ladies had clung briefly to my reins and boldly thrust scraps of paper into my hand. I'd taken more than a few of them up on their invitations. Now, months later, I couldn't even recall their faces let alone their names, which seemed a great pity. Odd how hindsight makes one realize how shallow one has become.
      En route to the Blumenstrasse our number had grown to an even twenty, including Dieter, Stefanie and myself. I experienced disappointment; I'd hoped for a far larger group considering the size of the undead force we might be up against. Now we crawled into the bushes at the edge of the garden, the better to scout the enemy's fortress. Lamplight illuminated windows on the ground floor and the upper floor—the vampyre fiend was making no attempt to conceal his presence. Several of his undead troops guarded the front door while others stood alert on the upper floor balconies, looking out over the gardens. Some carried muskets, presumably taken from the Noseys who'd died at Laszlo's house. I wondered where Abel was, and how many of his men had survived that unexpected battle.
      Dieter had made it plain from the start that he didn't like me, but now that I'd shown willingness to involve myself in this business he included me in his plans. "I suggest a two-pronged attack," he said. "Ten of us make an assault upon the door while the rest climb the ivy to reach the balconies, overcome the sentries and enter through the upper windows."
      He looked at me as if expecting an argument. I didn't want to disappoint him so I said, "That's precisely the same strategy the undead used when they attacked Count Laszlo's house. The only reason it worked for them is because the Noseys were outnumbered. We don't outnumber them, therefore such an attack is doomed to fail. Especially when you take into account that these muskets are loaded with special ammunition."
      "What's so special about it?" Stefanie asked.
      "I suspect it contains silver. Am I mistaken, or does silver not cause you vampyres to break out in a rash?"
      Dieter continued to stare at the house but I saw a flash of white teeth in the darkness and knew he was thinking ill of me. "Since you're so clever, Herr Manfred, you must surely have a better idea?"
      "Tell me about the undead. They are subject to their master's will, correct?"
      Stefanie said, "That's how it works, yes."
      "Does that mean they're somehow connected with the vampyre who made them undead?"
      "It's difficult to explain. From what I've been told—I have never created any undead myself, you understand—the vampyre is aware of where his undead are and what they are doing. They in turn sense his desires and carry out his instructions as far as their limited thought processes allow."
      "How limited is 'limited'?"
      "The older an undead, the more its brain has deteriorated. Only the infusion of fresh blood stops them from rotting. You'll be relieved to know that unlike their vampyre master they cannot create new undead, thank Gott, otherwise the world would be overrun by them. An unpleasant thought, to be sure."
      "Is this getting us anywhere?" Dieter demanded.
      "Go ahead, mount your bold frontal attack," I said. "You and your people will be wiped out. I'll tell the Kaiserine you died bravely, if you think that will help, although she's more likely to reward me for helping dispose of a vampyre coven."
      Dieter made an angry hissing noise. I gripped Markus' sword. It wasn't inlaid with silver but it had a sharp edge, and legend suggested that cutting off a vampyre's head was as good a way of killing them as any.
      "If you have an idea, Herr Manfred, we'd like to hear it," Stefanie said, once again assuming the diplomatic role to prevent war from breaking out.
      "I'll need your help," I told her.
      "Very well. What must I do?"
      "Stand up, please." She got to her feet, and I did, too. Trees lay between us and the house, so the undead couldn't see what I did next. Stefanie gasped in surprise when I tore the front of her dress and ripped one of the sleeves. Dieter rose and drew his sword, but I'd no time to explain. I pulled Stefanie close to me and said, "Forgive me."
      "I most certainly will not," she said. "Do you have any idea how much this dress cost—?"
      My fist caught her jaw and I steadied her as she slumped, stunned. Dieter made that hissing noise again and I sensed the point of his sword very close to my spine. Ignoring him, I shifted Stefanie's weight over onto my left arm leaving my right arm—my sword arm—free.
      "Give us five minutes," I said to Dieter. "If you don't see or hear a signal by then, do as you wish."
      I made to step past him but Dieter gripped my shoulder. "If we somehow live through this, Herr Manfred," he said, "and if anything should happen to her, I'll seek you out. Your final moments will not be pleasant, that I promise you."
      I shrugged his hand away. "Almost certain death awaits me in there, and all you can do is threaten me? For all your haughty arrogance you're no different than the humans you so despise." Having said what might well be my own epitath I dragged Stefanie's limp body up the path toward the house, wondering how this would all end. I had a pretty good idea already.

Part IV

It isn't easy, marching toward lines of naked steel and cocked muskets. Trained soldiers make it look simple but it isn't; and, trained soldiers are motivated by the fact they'll be shot for cowardice if they stop marching. I hunched my shoulders, bowed my head and affected a staggering limp that would hopefully make the undead think I was one of them. If those watching from the balconies above started shooting I'd throw Stefanie into the bushes bordering the path then charge the entrance like a madman, chopping down as many foes as I could before they got the better of me. At least that would give Dieter and his troops more of a chance. Part of me—the intelligent part—questioned why I was taking such a suicidal risk. Maybe I was trying to atone for what I'd done to Stefanie. Or perhaps it was because Eva was inside the house and I still felt guilty for ridding the world of her father, which effectively left her alone. Trying to reason why proved an exercise in futility; I kept my head down and advanced into the jaws of death, tensed for the first thunderclap that would signal the collapse of my audacious plan.
      Incredibly, the undead musketeers held their fire. Those guarding the door blocked my progress and closed in about us. They emitted grunting noises, animal sounds that sent shivers running up and down my spine, and they sniffed at us. Could they smell our blood? Would their bestial hunger drive them to attack us? I grunted back at them, then snarled when one put laid a dirty paw upon Stefanie. The undead seemed to take the hint and retreated a half-step. I snarled some more, trying to convey the fact I had been commanded to bring Stefanie inside. For a nasty moment it looked like I'd have to fight my way in past them—but then their ranks parted, allowing us through. I didn't dare look at their faces for fear of betraying myself, and because—well, because it was not inconceivable that, if things went badly I might end up like these poor creatures, neither living nor dead, subject to someone else's will. I would rather die than let that happen. The problem was, of course, that I might not be permitted to die....
      We reached the door! Sweat made my hands slick but I fumbled with the handle and twisted it, lifting the bar. The shadowed hallway beyond lay empty. Now that we'd passed through the line of sentries they didn't seem interested in us. I carried Stefanie inside, closed the door behind us and looked around. A winding stairway led to the darkened floor above and rows of doorways lined either side of the hallway. Ahead, the hallway split left and right, with lamplight coming from both sides. Which way?
      An undead soldier wearing a City Warden's scarlet uniform and carrying a musket emerged without warning from the right-hand junction. He clumped toward us, spurs jingling. I slipped my hand behind Stefanie and gripped the handle of my borrowed sword more tightly, ready to slip it from its scabbard, but the undead Warden walked by without paying us the slightest attention. He opened the door and passed outside, slamming the door shut behind him. The noise echoed throughout the house. I held my breath, expecting the door to suddenly open again and the undead guards to charge inside—but it didn't, and neither did they. However, the Warden's appearance suggested that something of interest might lie ahead and to the right.
      "Herr Manfred...?" Stefanie looked up at me, her golden eyes dazed. "Is it my imagination, or did you hit me?"
      "All part of my clever plan," I said. "I wanted the undead guards to think I was bringing a tasty morsel for their master."
      "Obviously it didn't occur to you that you could simply have asked me to feign unconsciousness. " She stepped away from me and looked up and down the hallway. "Where is Dieter?"
      "I told him to wait five minutes, then come in after us. I wanted it to appear real. Your being unconscious, I mean. If the undead or their vampyre master suspected you were acting—"
      "Do you know where he is?"
      "I'm still working on that part." I drew my sword; its weight gave me enormous comfort. "Best if you stay behind me. Should the worst happen, never mind me—just get out of the house as quickly as you can and don't stop running."
      "How chivalrous you are." She rubbed her jaw. "A pity you didn't exhibit such traits before you decided to demonstrate your pugilistic skills."
      "Will you allow me to apologize?"
      "No. You should feel guilty instead." She paused, then: "Herr Manfred?"
      "Yes?"
      "About Count Laszlo...."
      "What is it?"
      "I was not entirely truthful when I told you his condition would require subsequent infusions over a lengthy period."
      "You mean he's going to die?"
      "No, I mean the Vampyre's Gift I passed onto him was sufficient to repair his heart defect. I won't need to bite him again. I only said that so you would agree to cooperate with us."
      I stopped and stared at her. "Are all vampyres as devious as you?"
      "Oh no, I'm probably unique in that respect," she said, with a ghost of a smile playing about her lips despite her protruding teeth.
      The right-hand hallway led to a room large enough to hold a ball with full orchestra. Perhaps that was its function. Crystal chandeliers dangled from the ornate plaster ceiling; I supposed that if Stefanie needed a fast way out she could always repeat her earlier acrobatic performance. The lights we'd seen from outside came not from the tinkling chandeliers but from oil lanterns that dangled from nails crudely driven into the paneled walls. They cast their glow over what was, I slowly came to realize, a chamber of horrors.
      A half-dozen undead lay on the floor in the middle of the room, their wrists and ankles bound with lengths of rope. They'd been impaled in the most awful fashion and left there to perish. Their pitiful moans and helpless writhing caused me to shudder in revulsion at their fate. Stefanie gasped and turned away. I wished I could do the same, but intuition told me that something else awaited discovery in this ghastly room. Unfortunately I was right; a shadow stirred in the far corner. I clenched my buttocks and raised my sword, ready to meet whatever ghoul lay waiting to make my acquaintance.
      "Come out and face me," I said, "whatever you are."
      The shadow obeyed without hesitation, gliding forward into the lamplight so that we might see what we were up against. I'd expected a snarling vampyre capable of overcoming a score of swordsmen, but instead found a witch-like crone as ancient as time itself. If I had a pfennig for every wrinkle and line that lent character to her weathered visage I'd be a rich man. She wore a dark green silk dress that might have sat well on a young woman, but upon her shapeless, shoulderless, waistless body it had all the charm and elegance of a flour sack. A shock of unbrushed white hair framed her walnut face as if in testament to her age. Just how old was she? I could have taken a guess and easily been wrong by a thousand years or more.
      "Is it vampyre?" I asked Stefanie, as the crone drew near.
      "Most assuredly," she replied, and something in her expression warned me that looks were deceiving—that the old woman who stopped a mere five paces from where we stood and looked us up and down with undisguised scorn was not to be trifled with.
      A queer thought struck me then. Could this be the arch-vampyre we were searching for? The idea seemed entirely ludicrous. The old woman appeared so frail that a strong wind might bowl her over. Perhaps she was the owner of the house, living in thrall to the vampyre?
      "Imagine my surprise," the crone said, her voice a rasping whisper, "when I set a trap for the Kaiserine's daughter, and you showed up." Which statement dispelled all doubts as to her identity. Muscles in my legs twitched as the urge to turn about and run from the room sought to overwhelm me.
      Stefanie looked at me. "You know this creature?"
      I shook my head, puzzled. "I don't believe so." To the old woman I said, "You set a trap? How? And why?" Even as I spoke, I wondered what would happen if I were to lunge at her and stab her through the heart. If the undead were indeed hers would they fall down, or wander off, or otherwise cease to be a threat?
      "It's all thanks to you, my dear," she said to Stefanie.
      "Me?"
      "Indeed. My servants reported your intimate relationship with Count Laszlo. And then the Kaiserine's daughter suddenly expressed an interest in the Count, which caught my attention." Her lifeless gaze fell upon me. "And then, wonder of wonders, you turned up. I thought my love lost to me forever but no, here he is."
      "Perhaps I should fetch some chairs?" I suggested. "If you're going to talk in riddles all night we might as well get comfortable."
      The crone smiled, showing weathered teeth. "Enjoy the sound of your own voice while you can, swordsman. Soon it will no longer be yours."
      I threw my head back and laughed. "If I'm going to die then I hope you'll at least satisfy my curiosity first." I hoped I wasn't being too theatrical. If the crone sensed how close I was to releasing my bladder then she'd be the one doing all the laughing. I masked my terror by pretending to be amused. "You surmised that Lady Eva would return to Laszlo's house—which she did. Did you intend to kill her, or take her as a bargaining counter?"
      "I would never throw away such a valuable playing piece. Through her I will control the Kaiserine."
      "I seriously doubt that, but I applaud your bold plan nonetheless." I thought about what else she'd said. "You were surprised to find me in Lady Eva's company. Why should you be interested in me?"
      "You still don't recognize me, do you?"
      "Sorry, no. I don't believe I know anyone as old as you."
      Her flashing eyes betrayed her displeasure. "I did not always look thus. When you knew me, I possessed an altogether more charming aspect. And shall again, very soon. Think back, swordsman. Think back to the coach journey. You remember the journey from Guttzeig to High Sazburg, don't you?"
      Her words caused memories to unfold in my head. The Guttzeig coach... the mountain passes... my pleasant conversation with the friendly young woman who'd introduced herself as Fräulein Ulrike Dornier whose husband was a naval officer stationed in Bremhagen....
      "Impossible," I said, but she ignored me. I slowly came to realize why. While I'd stood there recalling the fateful events of six months ago the crone had directed her full attention toward Stefanie, who'd become uncommonly still and now stared ahead with unseeing eyes. Somehow, using powers beyond my ken, the crone had grasped Stefanie's mind and now denied her the power of conscious thought.
      "Perfect," the creature who'd masqueraded as Fräulein Ulrike Dornier of Dorfund said. "Simply perfect. I should thank you for bringing her to me. Now that the two key elements I require are here, we shall proceed."
      "Wait," I said, holding up my hand. "I have a question."
      "You seek to delay me, swordsman. It will do you no good. Your friends outside have launched their brave attack but are being driven back." As if to confirm this I heard muskets discharging outside, and a distant clash of steel upon steel.
      "Not at all," I said. "Genuine curiosity. Indulge me, I beg of you." I indicated the undead moaning on the floor, who continued to suffer the agonies of impalement. "Why did you do this to your own creatures?"
      She gazed at them without emotion. "I ordered them to bring you to me safely and without injury. Instead, they attacked you and tried to kill you. Now they must pay for their stupidity." Her cruel smile betrayed her pleasure at their torture. "Don't worry, swordsman. Without a supply of fresh blood to allow them to regenerate their rotting flesh they will perish in a matter of hours."
      "But you would have them suffer until they expire?"
      She sighed. "That is the problem with you mortals. You cannot appreciate the rewards of absolute power. These things are mine to use or discard as I see fit." She looked at Stefanie, then fixed her evil gaze upon me. "The same can also be said for you and your companion. But enough time-wasting. I have looked forward to this moment for too long; I must push events toward their conclusion. First her, and then you, I think."
      I lunged, aiming the point of my sword at the spot where the crone's heart should be. I'd hoped to catch her by surprise but perhaps she read my mind, or perhaps my desperate expression betrayed my intention. Whatever, her bony fingers closed around my blade, anchoring it solidly in mid-air and stopping me in mid-thrust. The shock damn near dislocated my shoulder. She wrenched the sword from my grasp and threw it away. A greater demonstration of her confidence would have been difficult to devise. She feared me not at all, this ancient vampyre, and in doing so caused me to fear her all the more.
      She walked to Stefanie and took her hands gently in hers. "This won't hurt at all, my dear," the crone said, and she moved in close, tilting her head so that her gaping mouth closed about Stefanie's neck, her fangs sliding from beneath her top lip to penetrate her victim's exposed flesh; Stefanie didn't move or utter a sound.
      "No!" I cried, rushing to stop her, but she lashed out with enormous strength, straight-arming me across the room. I skidded across the floor and finally came to a stop against the wall, gasping for breath and marveling that my ribs hadn't exited through my back, taking my spine along with them. When I finally recovered enough breath to push myself up I discovered that four undead stood between us, one of them the Warden I'd seen in the hallway. Behind them the crone continued to feed on Stefanie—the same Stefanie that I'd fed upon a short time ago and had only just managed to pull back from the very brink of death.
      The four undead chose to wrestle with me instead of drawing their weapons. Maybe they'd learned something from seeing what happened to those who'd displeased their insane mistress—or maybe the crone had taken particular care to give them instructions regarding not inflicting physical harm upon me, for reasons which only she knew. I did my best to fight my way past them but the blows I rained upon them had little effect. Almost I despaired—until my hand closed around the handle of the Warden's sword. I slid the weapon from its scabbard before its dim-witted owner realized what was happening—and then I slashed and stabbed, hacked and slew, until bits of them littered the floor and I was finally free of their cold, grasping fingers. By no means did I employ gentlemanly rules of combat; I was in a hurry and the undead were in my way.
      The crone staggered and dropped Stefanie's limp, unresisting body. "Not enough!" she rasped. "Not nearly enough!" She turned in time to meet the point of my purloined blade. Such was my crimson rage that my strike took her in the shoulder instead of the heart. She shrieked and threw herself away, sliding and skittering across the floor like a demented spider. I pursued her for several steps, intending to carve her up, but then I remembered Stefanie, poor Stefanie, a rag doll discarded by her uncaring owner.
      I knelt beside her and took her in my arms. She didn't stir, nor could I detect breathing. I looked deeper, willing my senses to become vampyre-sharp. Life still existed but where a flame should have burned only the weakest of sparks remained. I cut my hand and pushed it between her lips, praying it would help. Damn and blast! The cut stopped bleeding almost immediately. I cut myself again, but within seconds this wound also dried up. Whatever had passed between us earlier had left me in a queer state that lay somewhere between human and vampyre, where rapid cellular regeneration ran amok. Steeling myself against the pain I sawed the edge of the blade into my wrist until the artery burst, then thrust my arm against Stefanie's mouth. The blood flowed longer this time, until the artery and the surrounding flesh and tendons healed themselves regardless of my wants and desires.
      Stefanie took a deep breath and let out a groan, which I took as good signs. Barely had I time to sigh with relief before the crone struck from behind. Something smashed against the back of my head, scattering my senses. I dropped Stefanie and sprawled on the floor, fighting against the blackness that sought to overwhelm me. The crone struck again; I cried out and rolled away, raising my arms to fend off a third blow. The spear-shaft she'd used as a makeshift club snapped. She threw the other piece away and leapt upon me. Never had a frail old woman possessed such strength! She threw me over onto my back and sat upon my chest, holding my wrists down and pinning me to the floor. Try as I might, I couldn't break free.
      "Come out, Bodo, come out!" she shouted into my face. I tried to make sense of it all even as I struggled to throw her off. She shouted the same words again, over and over, until it seemed they filled the room. I relaxed rather than fight against her, adrift on a soft island of tranquility. "Come out, Bodo, come out!" All thoughts of resistance seemed to melt away. Why should I resist her? What reason did I have? I closed my eyes and allowed her to do whatever she wished.
       An avalanche of memories.
      Just as our coach made ready to leave Guttzeig, a disturbance off the main square attracted everyone's attention. Concerned citizens ran to investigate. A horseman galloped to the burgermeister's office, dismounted and rushed inside. Black smoke drifted above the rooftops and someone shouted, "The old church is on fire!"
      We witnessed the town fire brigade swinging into action. Two limping mules made hard work of pulling an ancient water pump toward the church. A score of old men waddled after the wagon, clapping brass helmets on their wizened heads and fastening chin-straps. The smoke spread over Guttzeig like a shroud. I wondered if the fire brigade would arrive in time to save the church, and indeed whether the blaze might spread to endanger nearby buildings.
      The final passenger sat down opposite me—an attractive young woman whom I would soon know as Fräulein Dornier. I hadn't even realized she'd boarded the coach, which was a-buzz with rumor as the other passengers suggested reasons for the fire. Everyone was blamed, from mischief makers who'd consumed far too much beer at the local sauerkraut festival, to Moskovian spies who'd decided to carry out their first act of sabotage in Guttzeig for reasons only their devious foreign minds knew. The young woman said nothing; she simply stared out of the window as our coach departed the town. What was she thinking? I had no idea, but her eyes carried a haunted look that suggested she had much on her mind.
      We left Guttzeig behind and passed through other towns on the long, winding road to High Sazburg. The passengers alighted in ones and twos until only she and I remained aboard. She proved a charming conversationalist; the more she talked, in fact, the more I envied the husband she said was waiting for her in Bremhagen. But then, later that fateful night when the full Moon rose above the mountains and its silver light filled the coach, she transformed into a fanged beast who pinned me to my seat with irresistible strength and sank her teeth into my neck.
       That wasn't all.
      More memories peeled open like pages of a book. A group of determined riders from Guttzeig overtook the coach some hours later, led by the burgermeister himself. They'd ridden through the night until they caught up with us. The cause of the fire had been established. A vampyre had been caught and slain by hunters in the old church. The battle had been ferocious, with much loss of human life. But the handful of surviving hunters claimed that the vampyre's mate had escaped their fatal trap, a female no less dangerous than the creature whose dark soul now writhed in the cleansing flames of Hades. Could I vouch for my companion? Indeed I could; I assured the burgermeister that I was traveling with my dear wife of four years, and that we had not been apart the entire time we were in Guttzeig. They were much disappointed until I told them of the woman who'd disembarked in the last town we'd passed through. Very furtive and mysterious, she was, always looking out the windows as if she expected to see someone chasing the coach.... They turned around and rode back the way they'd come before I'd even finished my story—the story planted in my mind by the vampyre enchantress who'd used her witch powers to bend me to her will.
      I opened my eyes, and as I looked up at the vampyre crone who'd drained Stefanie and was in the process of working more witchcraft upon me, I saw how she'd changed during the last few minutes. Her white hair had become darker while her wrinkles were fewer, the deeper lines far less pronounced. She'd explained to me that the undead need fresh blood to regenerate their rotting flesh. Evidently she needed to partake of blood to recapture her youthful appearance. But why hadn't she done this before now? The answer sickened me. Because she needed to drink the blood of a vampyre. Ordinary human blood was insufficient to trigger the huge transformation she required. Fool that I was, I'd brought Stefanie straight to her in a weakened state that made her susceptible to the crone's power.
      I might have protested only I had other things to worry about. I was not alone. I came to realize that I shared my body with another. I'd never seen his face when he visited me in my troubled dreams, but I recognized him at once as he stepped forth, figuratively speaking, from his hiding place in the shadows inside my skull. His laughter mocked me, and with that mockery came knowledge of what had happened. She'd come across his dying body in the burning church. Knowing there was nothing she could do to save him, she'd plucked his black soul from its physical repository and absorbed it into herself. I couldn't even begin to imagine the complex sorcery required for such a feat. But she was old, and had spent centuries studying the darkest, most arcane arts. Her lover also possessed such knowledge and thus was able to prepare himself for the transference so that nothing was lost as he left his enfeebled body to take up temporary residence in hers.
      I say temporary, because Monika von Drache, to use her real name, never intended to carry Count Bobo Adelhaben within her for any length of time. The effort of storing the essence of a male vampyre for even a short period took its toll upon her, robbing her of her apparent youthful vitality. She'd transferred him into the first suitable human vessel available—me, whom she'd met by chance aboard the coach. And now, six months later—six long months wherein I sensed she'd searched the city for her lover without success—she intended to finish what she'd started. She would destroy my mind but leave my body intact. Her Count would take it over as his own, and become her lover again.
      All of which came to me in an instant of wondrous clarity, a mere fragment of the time it takes to tell the tale. Monika von Drache laughed, perceiving my new-found knowledge. It would not save me; the sorceries she'd woven in preparation for this great moment were locked in place. Already her lover was stronger than before. He flexed his huge mentality like a prizefighter flexing his muscles before a barefist match, and prepared to oust me from my own mind.
      "Your prowess cannot help you now, swordsman," the woman said, her face inches from mine. "Come to me, Bobo! Have done with this fool and return to me."
      In response to her summons Bobo towered over me, blotting out the world. I looked over my shoulder and beheld a chasm filled with eternal darkness. I didn't want to go there but their iron wills pushed and pulled at me, dragging me to the edge. I wanted to say, "Can't we talk this over?" but the time for talking was past—Monika wanted her lover back and Bobo wanted rid of me. He'd been forced to lurk in my subconscious for months, an all but powerless observer subject to my capricious whims, a situation he'd found infuriating. I'd risked my life—no, risked his life—far too often and sometimes for the most foolish of reasons. And on top of this, despite my occasional vampyrish outbursts, I was mortal. To them I was little more than a buzzing annoyance, best swatted and forgotten about. I peered into the yawning chasm and saw my own reflection looking back at me, terrified and helpless. My final thoughts were of Stefanie. I feared what they'd do to her after they cast me into limbo. My fault, all my fault....
      A metallic click made me turn my head and look toward the hallway door. Monika did the same. We found ourselves staring at Stefanie, lying on her stomach on the floor, peering back at us with one eye shut. At first I didn't understand but then the way her head leaned to the right and one eye remained open and unblinking stirred a familiar memory. The frozen hell that was Moskovia. The marksman who'd put a lead ball in my chest had lain still among the snow-covered trees some three hundred paces distant, at the very limit of his range. Just before he fired I caught a glimpse of him. He lay in exactly the same position as Stefanie, peering at me over the barrel of his musket, one eye shut. The undead Warden's musket! The Warden must have left it at the door on his way in, when Monika von Drache summoned him and the other undead to wrestle with me and hold me down. Stefanie had crawled unnoticed to the hallway door and obtained the weapon. Questions tumbled through my head. Was the musket loaded? Was it primed? Would it fire when Stefanie pulled the trigger? Who was she aiming at? And in her weakened condition would her marksmanship be adequate unto the day?
      Inside my tortured skull Count Bobo smothered me. His incredible mental strength could not be denied. With an enormous effort he cast me screaming into the pit of blackness. The last sound I heard was the sound of his cruel laughter—
      My defeatist thoughts were rudely interrupted by the boom of a huge cannon discharging just a few feet away from me. As my senses slowly returned, accompanied by a loud ringing noise in my ear, I came to realize I was still alive. Where was Bobo? I searched inside my own head, expecting to find him there, a malevolent presence eager and willing to take over my body—but his mocking face and his cruel laughter were gone.
      And where, for that matter, was Monika von Drache? Her weight no longer pressed down upon me. I raised my head and discovered her lying some distance away, spattered with blood and with a huge hole in her chest. For a blessed moment I thought she must be dead, but then her hand moved, much to my disappointment. I rolled over and pushed myself up onto my knees, gasping as pain lanced through my skull. Was this a renewed assault from Count Bobo Adelhaben? No—my hand came away from my forehead covered in blood. My blood. I focused at last on Stefanie. Still on hands and knees I crawled to her and lifted the smoking musket out of her hands. Both her eyes were closed. I took her in my arms, cradled her against me and begged her to stay. Perhaps she heard me; she gave a little moan and I half-expected her to open her eyes and smile up at me. But then the flickering spark that was Stefanie Lowensdorf von Radenbrach went out forever.
      I lowered her gently to the floor, got up and found me a sword. Sadness and anger are not easy bedfellows. They quickly evolved into rage, a pounding, crimson rage that drove me to seek out Monika von Drache. As I approached the vampyre I saw how badly injured she was. Her breathing came in rasping painful little gasps. A thin plume of smoke curled from her chest wound. Her hands trembled and her legs twitched. She looked up at me. Her expression contained, mostly, astonishment. Of all things, she hadn't expected this. I almost felt pity for her. Almost.
      "Bobo," she said. "Bobo, my love, help me."
      I crouched down beside her and took one of her hands in mine. "I would very much like to help you," I said, leaning close so I might whisper the words into her ear. "But there is a problem with that, you see." She frowned, puzzled, and so I explained, "My name is Manfred, not Bobo. And you are my enemy, not my love."
      Awful realization struck her then. I didn't enjoy her grief any more than I enjoyed my own, but it was hers to deal with and I left her to it. As I walked away, she gave a choked cry. Then the room lit up briefly as she burned, a result of the silver fragments embedded in the lead ammunition employed by Eva's Noseys. I touched my forehead; my wound had stopped bleeding thanks to the Vampyre's Gift. Stefanie's ball had grazed my head on its way to Monika von Drache's evil heart, as fine a piece of shooting as there ever was.
      Footsteps echoed down the hallway. I tensed and raised my sword ready to fight whoever came my way. The last thing I expected to see was Captain Abel and Dieter running side by side, swords drawn, charging at an unknown enemy together. They skidded to a stop when they saw me. The men behind them—a mix of Abel's Noseys and Dieter's vampyres—did likewise.
      Dieter immediately fell to his knees beside Stefanie. He touched her face tenderly and spoke her name but she didn't respond.
      Abel glanced around the room, taking in the scene. I noted that the impaled undead whom Monika von Drache had punished for almost killing me—and thus almost killing her lover, who hid within me—had stopped moving.
      "What happened?" I asked Abel.
      "The undead stopped fighting and fell down," he said. "They just fell down." He gave a hand signal to his men. The Noseys began searching the house room by room. A couple of vampyres went along with them and no one seemed to object.
      I glanced back at the burning pile in the middle of the floor. "Their mistress, the vampyre who created them, is no more. They died when she died."
      "I'm relieved to hear it."
      I indicated Dieter's vampyres. "How is it you are here, with them?"
      Abel shook his head as if he didn't believe it himself. "The damnedest thing," he said. "We were scouring the streets searching for any clue that might direct us to the Lady Eva. The sound of musket fire brought us to this place and we stumbled into a pitched battle. I didn't know what to do. But then the worse-looking of the two sides attacked us as well. That made the decision easy."
      I looked back at Dieter, and quickly wished I hadn't. Still embracing Stefanie's unmoving body, he radiated grief. If I had ever doubted whether vampyres could love each other those doubts were dispelled by this touching scene.
      "She's the one who was with you at Laszlo's house," Abel said.
      I nodded. "You know they are vampyres, don't you?"
      "Yes," he said, and he didn't say anything else on that touchy subject. I couldn't bear Dieter's pain any more so I grabbed hold of Abel's arm and led him to the spot where the vampyre witch's remains lay smoldering. He grimaced at the sight.
      "Her name was Monika von Drache," I told him. "The vampyres dwelling in High Sazburg were searching for her so they could put a stop to her killing spree. It was her evil will that manipulated the undead who kidnapped Lady Eva and brought her to this place."
      Abel frowned. "You speak of vampyres and undead as if they're two different things."
      "They are. You've been hunting down vampyres who only want to live peacefully without troubling anyone. It's the restless undead who have been up to mischief." I stirred Monika's smoking ashes with my toe. "She'll trouble you no longer. The threat is over."
      "And what about you, Herr Manfred? What's your role in all this?"
      Eva looked none the worse for wear—just a few ruffled hairs and scratches—even though her encounter with the undead must have been nothing short of terrifying. Her Noseys surrounded her, not that she needed their protection because the vampyres made no attempt to open hostilities. She eyed them suspiciously but that was all. Dieter stood and drew his sleeve across his eyes as if wiping sweat from his brow. I didn't look too closely for fear of embarrassing him.
      "I played little part in the final drama, m'Lady," I said. Going into details concerning Count Bobo Adelhaben's displaced soul and Monika von Drache's vile witchery seemed pointless. "The vampyre demoness responsible for all this—and for the undead attack upon your mother's palace, I think you'll find—is slain, and it is not because of me." My gaze met Dieter's and his eyes widened. He knew perfectly well that this was a lie, and so did I. It was the Families, not the undead, who had attacked the Imperial Palace, driven by desperation. After what Stefanie had told me, it made perfect sense that the Hall of Mirrors would have no effect upon bloodline vampyres. But I wanted to force a truce, therefore lies were necessary. The only question was, would Eva believe me? "The only reason we are standing here talking is because of the courageous actions of another vampyre, who lost her life in the struggle. If not for her I suspect we would all be dead, or perhaps undead, if not at this precise moment then in the very near future."
      "You'll have to do much better than that, Herr Manfred, if you wish to ever see the light of day again." Eva signed to Abel. "Captain, take his sword and arrest him." She looked at the vampyres, her distaste evident for all to see. "And arrest these... creatures, as well. They are enemies of the Empire."
      Abel looked at Eva, at me, at Dieter and his vampyres. And did nothing.
      "Captain Abel?" Eva's voice carried disbelief and impatience in equal measure. "Is there a problem?"
      "M'Lady, it's just...." He shrugged. "It's just that they're not attacking us, m'Lady. To be sure, there are more of us, but they're fine swordsmen. If we must cross blades, I cannot guarantee m'Lady's safety."
      "Then what do you suggest we do, Captain?"
      "Perhaps we should withdraw, m'Lady. Especially since the undead—the creatures causing us so much bother, by all accounts—no longer pose a threat to your person."
      Eva appeared to consider his suggestion. Then she looked at me. "Tell me, Herr Manfred. If I command my Noseys to fight—will your sword be on their side, or will you fight for your vampyre friends?"
      Dieter, who hadn't spoken during the exchange, also wanted to know the answer to that question. I avoided his curious gaze and said, "I can only hope, m'Lady, that we don't have to find out."
      Her brittle smile told me she didn't much like that answer, but it was the only one she was going to get tonight. It was Abel who broke the silence. He returned his sword to his scabbard, a meaningful gesture if ever there was one. Dieter did likewise. And the other Noseys and the other vampyres did the same. Abel gave a signal and his men escorted Eva out of the house. She didn't look back; I was already forgotten, which suited me just fine.
      Dieter lifted Stefanie's body and carried her out. The vampyres melted after him until only I remained, friendless and unwanted. For the final time I gazed upon the remains of Monika von Drache, and then I slowly made my way outside, into the cool night air. Stars blazed across the entire sky; I'd never seen them look so beautiful before. When I reached the end of the path I discovered one of Dieter's vampyres waiting for me. He gave me my own sword, which they must have recovered from Laszlo's fountain basin. I nodded my thanks and the vampyre disappeared into the night without a word. I knew this was more than a simple errand. It was a thank-you from Dieter, an acknowledgement that he did not, after all, blame me for Stefanie's death. He wasn't going to come after me seeking revenge, which meant I wouldn't have to kill him. Stefanie wouldn't have liked that. Nor would I.
      Poor Stefanie. Like so many others before her the curse of the Kaiserine's Champion had struck her down. She'd suffered the fate that should have been mine. Did I say the stars were beautiful? Upon initial inspection, yes, but they were also cold and remote and heartless. Just like High Sazburg—and the Kaiserine and all those who served her. Eva cared nothing for Stefanie's death. All that mattered to her was that the threat to the city's security had been removed. Would the persecution of vampyres by the Secret Police continue? I suspected it might, but I couldn't do a damned thing about it. I possessed neither the rank nor the influence. All I had was a name, which I finally realized wasn't worth spilling a single drop of blood for.
      I rode to Laszlo's house. His servants let me in and assured me they'd released their master and were looking after him. Laszlo was fast asleep in bed, recovering from his ordeal. I told them to barricade the doors and expect a friendly visit come the morning.
      Next I returned to my lonely house on the Heldenplatz—the Square of Heroes, ironically—and packed a bag. Before I blew out all the lamps and left the house I sat down and wrote a letter to Duke Wilhelm, telling him I was going away for a while, and expressing the hope that he didn't think too badly of me for being such a miserable fool over the past months. I promised to look him up when I came back, whenever that would be, but in the meantime would he please check on Count Laszlo soonest and ensure he was well? I underlined this last phrase, whose significance would not be lost on Duke Wilhelm. I signed the letter, folded and sealed it, and scrawled the Duke's name on the outside. Then I saddled a fresh horse and rode to the Duke's house. The door sentry recognized me and saluted. He promised he'd pass the letter to Duke Wilhelm first thing in the morning. Knowing the Duke he'd come charging round to Laszlo's house at the head of a company of his Wardens, good men I'd trained personally. Laszlo's servants would tell him the full story. If any of Eva's Noseys tried to bother Laszlo again they'd find themselves in deep water.
      And that was that; my business in High Sazburg was concluded. I rode out of the city by moonlight, leaving everything behind. The deadly intrigue, the unfathomable goings-on, the war between the Secret Police and the equally secretive vampyre population, were no longer things that concerned me. I felt an enormous weight had been lifted from my shoulders, a weight I could no longer bear. I wanted peace; I wanted solitude; I wanted to return to the simple country life that had been mine before I became a soldier, before I met Otto Thenck and became the Kaiserine's Champion by means of blood and violence. It had to end. I wanted it to end. It would end.
      The Fates must have heard my thoughts and laughed, for as dawn touched the sky some hours later I chanced upon a coach being waylaid by highwaymen, and no sign of the Road Wardens anywhere.
      The two outriders already lay dead on the ground. Their horses galloped back down the road, terrified. The coach driver held his hands high, anxious not to share the same fate as the outriders. Three masked men were in the process of relieving the coach's occupants of their wealth when I arrived upon the scene. One aimed his pistol and shot at me but I threw myself flat so the ball whipped past my head. He cursed, threw away his pistol, drew his sword and urged his horse to charge. I drew my blade and we clashed. The thump of his body hitting the ground followed me to the coach. Seeing what had happened, a second highwayman pulled his pistol from his belt and cocked the weapon but my blade took him through the heart before his finger could squeeze the trigger. He hit the ground, too.
      The third masked man turned his horse about and spurred off, having seen enough to convince him that staying would severely curtail his criminal career, and indeed his life. I let him go, although I could have caught up with him and executed him if I'd wanted to. The fact I didn't gave me cause for relief. If anything this was an indication of the change I so desperately sought. I saluted his retreating back with my sword, wiped the blade clean and returned it to my scabbard.
      A young lady occupied the coach together with a much older woman and man, possibly her servants judging by their garb. "Who are you, sir, who have come to us in our hour of need?" the young lady demanded breathlessly. Her dainty gloved hand went to the jeweled necklace that adorned her lovely throat—an expensive item that would surely have vanished into a highwayman's pocket had I not intervened. And who knew what else they might have taken? Highwaymen are hardly renowned for their gentlemanly conduct.
      "My name is Manfred," I said, "and I am pleased to have been of service."
      The driver squinted at me from his seat above. "Are you, sir, by any chance, the same Manfred who won the Arena contest?"
      The lady's eyes widened. Part of me wanted to tell the driver no—wanted to tell him that I'd left that title behind in High Sazburg along with my other unwanted baggage—but pride is a terrible thing that gnaws at the hearts of men. It cannot be dismissed so easily, especially when presented with a beautiful lady's admiration.
      "I am he," I said.
      "I knew it," he said, slapping his hat against his thigh. "Rescued by the Kaiserine's Champion! I knew it."
      "My outriders are dead, Master Manfred," the lady said. "Who knows what dangers lie ahead? Will you escort our coach so that we may safely reach our destination?" She hesitated, then added: "I do not intend any insult when I offer you reward for your time and trouble. My father is a wealthy man." Her flushed face and dark eyes told me that an even greater reward was on offer. Ah, well. It wasn't her fault that she found the subtle scent of the Vampyre's Gift irresistible.
      "May I ask who my lady's father is?" I said, wondering if I might know him.
      "The Graf Krazny, Master of Wentgarten. That is where we are bound."
      I did indeed know the name, if not the precise location of Wentgarten. Wherever it might lie it sounded suitably far from High Sazburg, and that was all that mattered.
      "Then to Wentgarten we shall go," I said.
       And the cruel Fates, listening, nodded their approval.

The End