Chapter 275 - Last Rites part 6

As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me: I was powerfully attracted to the Benedictine, and he, I quickly sensed, to me. I could smell it as I approached his table, the sudden release of copious amounts of sex pheromones, accompanied by a pungent dose of shame and guilt (he was, after all, Roman Catholic). His eyes dilated as he took in my moving form, flicking furtively to my codpiece and away, his ears and neck flushing. It was all very subtle and quick, unnoticed by the men gathered around him, but to a vampire his desire might as well have been tattooed to his forehead. Lust, as I told you, was his one failing as a man of the cloth.

Introductions passed around the table. All but the priest were locals. A couple of the men claimed to have seen the vampires prowling about their village, while the others had merely gathered to hear their fearsome stories. All of the locals were on edge, and eager for the monk to tell them how they might rid themselves of their affliction.

They seemed quite impressed, and oddly proud, to hear that their woes had traveled as far as Hungary, and that a duke was intrigued enough to send an agent to gather information on their predicament. Justus was also intrigued, and wanted to know where I had studied and what credentials I might have.

I lied, of course. Everything I told them were lies, but they were pleasant lies, and those are the easiest lies to swallow. It was not long before all of the men had accepted me into the company, and Justus resumed transcribing the story of Marko Huzjak, who sold fruit and vegetables in the village market.

It seemed a few more villagers had gone missing in the weeks it took for their story to reach the Court of the Night's Watch. A young man named Gabrijel Zuzic vanished from his bed in the middle of the night, leaving nothing of his person but a few drops of blood on his pillowcase. Two children, boys, one named Dika Jagik and another named Kazim Novoselec, had also vanished recently.

It was the latter, Kazin Novoselec, that the fruit seller claimed to have seen the previous evening, as he was driving his fruit wagon home for the night.

For my benefit, he repeated his harrowing tale. In order to maintain my cover story, I asked him to hold his account for a moment as I fetched my satchel. From inside my leather purse I retrieved paper, quill and ink.

"Go on," I said, and I transcribed his story just as my ecclesiastical counterpart was doing when I arrived at the inn.

Justus set aside his quill, and, massaging his writing hand, suggested we might compare notes later.

I nodded. "Certainly."

"Well, as I told the good friar here," the fruit seller went on, licking his lips nervously, "I was driving my cart home for the night. I was in a pretty foul mood, as business had been poor lately, and I was very tired and ready to have some soup and climb into bed.

"I was just getting ready to cross the Golub, a little creek to the east of the village, when I saw young Kazim stumble out of the woods into the road.

"Terrible, he looked," the fruit peddler said. "His clothes all tattered and filthy. There were brambles in his hair and his flesh was nearly as white as bone. His eyes appeared sunken, as the eyes of people do when they're near to the threshold of death, and his mouth was hanging slackly open.

"I reined back my horse and jumped down from the wagon, thinking the lad had gotten lost in the woods and had just found his way back out of them again. That's what we all hoped when the boys turned up missing. That they'd gotten lost. We even searched the woods for them, brought in the hounds, but we were never able to find them.

"I think I said, 'Hail, Kazim, your mother's been worried to death about you.' Or something to that effect. The boy just stood there swaying in the middle of the road, staring blankly off at the sky, but when I spoke, his head jerked around like a striking snake.

"He hissed at me then, like a cat will spit when it's angry or frightened, and then I took note of his eyes. They weren't normal eyes. They shone like newly minted coins. The setting sun was to my back, and it seemed the sun's vermillion light was caught up in those eyes. They glowed red like the hot embers of a fire, and then he took off running at me with his fingers curled into claws.

"I think that he would have gotten me, that I'd have shared the same fate as him and all the rest that have went missing, only I hadn't moved too far from my Nell. Nell's my palfrey, God bless her. When the Novoselec boy came running after me, Nell got afrightened and reared up into the air, neighing and striking out with her hoofs. One of those hooves struck the boy in the crown hard enough to knock him to the ground. Laid open his skull, it did. Only there wasn't no blood come out of him. Just a foul black fluid that smelled of cemetery gas. Nearly made me retch.

"As the boy mewled and twisted on the ground, I stepped back to the seat of my wagon and took out my rapier. I carry a rapier with me now whenever I leave the house. It's a puny thing, really, belonged to my great grandfather, but it'll poke a hole in you as quick as a bee sting.

"Nell kept trying to stomp the Kazim boy. I swear, that peaceful old nag had a fire in her belly that night! The boy twisted and rolled under her like a ball of snakes, but she finally managed to get him again, and he let out an earsplitting squall, like nothing I ever heard before, and leapt clear of her.

"In fact, he jumped clear across the road-- further than I seen anybody jump in my life-- and then he crouched down in the grass and hissed at me, his scalp hanging over one eye. And still he didn't bleed. Nothing issued from his wounds but that foul black humour.

"I took my crucifix from my tunic with my free hand hand and told him to begone, that I would have no traffic with Satan or his ilk. But it wasn't until I began to recite the Lord's Prayer that he snarled at me and went loping off into the woods. I waited for a little while, listening to him crash through the underbrush, and then I jumped in my wagon and whipped my poor Nell all the way back to town. Nell saved me from that terrible demon-boy, but I flogged her without mercy, something I've never done in my life. My only defense is fear. I was terrified that night. I did not want to be on that road after dark. Or during the day, now, if I'm to be completely honest with you fellows. I've been sleeping here at the inn ever since that terrible evening. I'm afraid to stay at home by myself now."

His fellows consoled him as I finished transcribing his tale. "That's a terrific story," I said, my quill scratching rapidly across the paper. "May I ask, are you certain you saw no blood when your horse cleaved the young boy's scalp?"

"None. Only a vile black humour, as I said," the fruit seller replied.

"And you said he had a odor about him, as of the grave."

"Yes. 'Twas the smell of something wet and rotting in a ditch."

"Curious," I said. "Most who report they've seen a vampire claim the creatures gush forth bright red blood when injured. That they are fat with blood, like leeches."

"No, my lord. It was black, not red."

I glanced toward the monk, who was looking at me thoughtfully.

Oh, those beautiful green eyes! They were mesmeric.

Don't be a fool, Gon! I commanded myself, but I knew I had to have him.

Together, Friar Justus and I interviewed the rest of the men, those who had tales to tell. The interviews continued until sometime past the witching hour, at which time the innkeeper told us in a frustrated tone that she was retiring and she'd thank us to show ourselves to our rooms. "Or your homes, if you're not taking a room for the night," she said.

The locals bid us good night most reluctantly, loath to forsake the safety of the inn. They paused visibly at the door to gather their courage. I overheard them discussing their travelling arrangements as they donned their hats and cloaks: who would accompany whom to whose home. They finally decided to draw straws to see who would be the last, and thus the unlucky one who must finish the journey unescorted, and then they departed.

"Well, my fine gentlemen, I bid you both a good night," the fruit seller said, rising shakily from his chair. He was quite drunk, and stumbled as he crossed the common room to the stairs. He paused at the stairwell, turned back to leave us with the fearsome caveat: "Leave not your windows unlocked tonight, gentlemen, or any night you dwell within the borders of this cursed village, lest Madame Damilan come and try to make a meal of you." He wagged his finger. "She's an ugly old hag, and not worth the biting." He laughed, belched, and went on to his room, boots thudding on the risers.

"I'm afraid Madame Cupic retired before she could show you to your room," Friar Justus said. "Would you like to sleep in my bed tonight? Your presence, I confess, would be a comfort to me. All these wild tales have made me as nervous as a rabbit."

A lie. I could tell by his scent that he was not frightened.

I counseled myself to decline the offer. I had planned to lock the door of my room and exit through the window, to go in search of the degenerate blood drinkers tonight.

You cannot allow yourself to become entangled with any mortals here in Getvar, I said to myself. Especially a Christian. You know it will end badly.

The faces of all my spurned lovers marched through my imagination then, and let me tell you, after 30,000 years it was a long parade. I opened my mouth to decline his offer, and yet I found myself answering, "Yes, I would like that."

We rose as one, and gathered our papers and writing supplies. Madame Cupic's room was at the far end of the kitchen, but we could hear her snoring even in the common room. We put out the lights for her, then walked together to the stairs.

As we moved side-by-side through the dark, I felt his warm mortal fingers curl around my own.

"My goodness!" he gasped. "Your hand is cold as ice!"