We found the outer buildings that dwelt in the shadow of the former fortress abandoned. The inhabitants appeared to have recently vacated. Wagon wheels and animal tracks indented the moist soil and an oven still smoldered in one hovel.
“Who lived here?” Magda wondered.
“Vlad’s gypsy servants,” I ventured. “They are gone now. Odd.”
I held onto her hand as she slipped off the horse. I dismounted and released the horse to do as it pleased. I knew it would not wander far. It tossed its head and trotted over to a trough to drink. Magda arranged her scarf and attempted to tidy her long skirt. My hand resting on the hilt of my sword, I surveyed our surroundings. All the small buildings had the windows tightly shuttered under wreaths of garlic and vervain. Large, hastily-made crosses were secured to all the doors.
“If they are Dracula’s servants, why were they protecting themselves from vampires?” Magda knelt down to examine a shattered door. A cross was bashed to splinters near a building that was partially demolished with the windows ripped away and the roof a burned wreckage.
“It does appear that they brought down the fury of the vampires upon them,” I surmised. Peering into the destroyed abode, I smelled and tasted the coppery reek of the blood sprayed across the walls and destroyed furniture.
Magda crossed herself as she regarded the castle with dread.
I wondered if perhaps the Countess had done more than merely ward the castle so it could not be entered from without. Perhaps the ward had also not allowed those within to venture beyond the crumbling walls. All indications were that it was just this morning that the gypsies had found that they were free to flee, which would coincide with when Countess Dracula had agreed to allow me within the ruined castle. I was now certain that the countess held the power of her husband within her veins and my curiosity about his unknown fate grew.
Looking upon Magda’s expression, I could see she was startled, afraid, and attempting to piece together the puzzle about us. Whatever her thoughts were, she kept them to herself.
“We should make haste. We do not need to be here any longer than necessary,” I said.
I walked to the door that led into the kitchen with Magda following in my shadow. The crumbling wall around the castle must have been impressive at one time, but now it was the roosting place for birds that called out as we passed.
“The house in Buda was nothing like this,” Magda observed. “How could he make her live here?”
“His power is tied here,” I answered. “He can never be too far from his native soil.”
“Is that why he carries it with him?” Magda furrowed her brow. “I wondered why he always brought boxes of soil with him. We would have to lay it about the outside of the house and the platform of his bed was filled with it.”
I found this to be intriguing and arched my brow at her. “Truly? That is fascinating.”
Magda shrugged her shoulders. “He is a man of very odd tastes. After a while, we all just ignored the idiosyncrasies. Besides, he is a vampire.”
“True enough.” I tested the door and was surprised to find it unlocked.
We entered a long corridor that led to the castle kitchen. It was obviously in disuse. Over the cold hearth, laundry swam in tepid water. Bed clothes and curtains were strewn about the floor and in one corner a heap of fine women’s garments were shredded.
“The servants left in a hurry.” Magda knelt down beside a candle that had been crushed under someone’s foot. She picked up a discarded candle from nearby and lit it with the touch of her finger.
I was startled by her action.
“I have drunk enough of his blood to gain a few...” she struggled for the word.
“Powers?”
“Gifts,” she answered. “I can will fire into being.” The firelight danced in the depths of her dark eyes. “Sometimes I cannot contain it as I should.” Her voice was tinged with regret and she averted her gaze as she moved toward a door on the far side of the abandoned kitchen.
“We should be careful,” I instructed her. “All of the windows are shuttered. They could still be about in the darkness.”
“Count Dracula will not hurt me,” Magda assured me.
“Yes, but I cannot say the same for me.”
Drawing close to her, we walked deeper into the castle.
Chapter 7
Letter to Lord Astir from Adem continued…
We found the castle to be as the countess had described: some areas were quite pleasant and restored to their former glory while others were in great disrepair. Near the library that the countess had described in some detail, we found the bodies of two gypsies. Magda let out a gasp when the candlelight fell upon their hideously twisted forms.
Taking her candle, I drew closer to the corpses. Both were completely drained of blood and only their clothing revealed they were women. Magda looked away from their wretched faces filled with terror even in death. Setting the candle near me on the floor, I began to examine them. Their clothes were bulging around their withered limbs. With gentle hands, I pulled back their clothing and uncovered bags full of jewels and other valuables such as a gold goblet.
“They were stealing from the castle,” I ascertained.
Magda glanced over her shoulder to see the loot. “Why would they steal from him? In Buda, all of us knew that to steal from him was death.”
“Maybe because they do not fear him anymore,” I answered, my thoughts quickly sifting through the various possibilities.
Instead of commenting as I expected, Magda instead bit her lip and averted her gaze. I found this reaction to be intriguing and set aside the looted goods. Returning her candle, I took hold of Magda’s elbow as I guided her to the stairway that would lead us down into the dungeons.
As we passed through a long room filled with armor, I plucked a torch from the wall and lit it using Magda’s candle. The light scattered the shadows and illuminated the dusty floor. Though the darkness lingering in the stairwell was daunting, I did not sense any lurking danger. I am old enough to not let my nerves rule over my imagination and I gave Magda a reassuring smile. The candlelight flickered in her dark eyes as she returned a strained one.
“Stay behind me. Their resting place is nearby, but is not accessible from the dungeons,” I whispered.
She glanced over her shoulder into the blackness behind her. “That is where they rest, isn’t it?”
I nodded my head. “The other stairwell at the opposite end of this hall leads to the chapel and their resting place.”
Swallowing hard, she returned her gaze to me.
“We shall hurry and be gone.”
I do not have the preternatural instincts of a supernatural creature, but even I could feel the distinct lack of Vlad’s power in the castle. The man’s presence is overwhelming even when he is sleeping. His power is as majestic as it is evil. Yet, despite this castle being his haven, I could not perceive it. In that moment, I believed that he was dead.
I crept down the darkened stairwell, my ears attuned to the slightest sound that was not our footfalls or breath. The air was heavy and cold, reeking of mold and rot. The stairs spiraled downward until I reached the torture room filled with rusting devices of pain and death. Magda coughed on the dust that rose as we tread over the ancient floor, approaching the door that had once kept the countess' mother captive. Countess Dracula had not recounted the tale of her mother’s death in any detail, but sorrow had filled her eyes and spilled from her words as she had instructed us where to search for her mother’s rosary.
The light from my torch revealed that the door was ajar. Darkness loomed within. I saw Magda cross herself as I reached out to the door.
It creaked open on ancient hinges and I thought I heard the startled gasp of a woman. I raised my torch swiftly, directing the light over the small room that reeked of death. It was empty. Realizing it was most likely Magda who had let out the soft cry, I stepped further into the cell.
Dirt and decomposing hay littered the floor and a small pallet was shoved into one corner. I could not imagine the woman who had given birth to the countess being in such a place, yet I understood too well the cruelties of times past. Vlad Dracula was a man born in a time of violence and war. This would be the norm for a man such as he.
Following the countess' directive, I began to search along the far wall, digging through the dirt for the small rosary. According to the countess, her mother had hidden it during her vampire daughter’s visit to her cell. Brushing aside the dirt and rotting straw, I held the torch low over the ground, hoping to find the relic of the late Lady Antoinetta.
“Is she safe?” a voice whispered near me.
I looked up swiftly, but found I was alone in the cell. Magda was not to be seen. Though the voice startled me, I realized it had spoken in Italian. I may have lost my faith long ago, but I understand the reality of specters.
“Yes. She is safe. I watch over her,” I responded in the native tongue of Countess Dracula’s mother.
Sweeping the torch back and forth, the light fell over nothing more than the cold stone walls and the dank floor. The voice did not speak again, and I bowed my head with respect.
