V

V

 

One or two flickers, and the light went out. There was no indication that the light would come back on.

"Is the power down?" Darsus frowned. He looked up from the scheduled memorial notes for Gie s funeral that he had been reading. He took the glasses with no lens off his face and looked up at the ceiling.

Most lighting in homes was still powered by gas, but in White Rose House, the rooms were completely fitted with electric lighting. But the power generator wasn't in the best condition, and there were occasional blackouts.

"Time to buy a new one, I guess."

In this darkness, even a Methuselah couldn't see properly. It looked like the rehearsal was over and the plaza had emptied. Using the light that came in from the gas lamps outside, Darsus continued to read over his notes. Just as he was about to correct a grammatical error, he noticed something strange: Why was the mansion so quiet?

Every time the power had gone out, the Terran had caused a lot of commotion. Why not tonight?

"Hey! What are the Terran doing? Get the lights back on!" Darsus rang the bell on his desk and called out to the people who should have been in the neighboring room. However, there was no answer. The darkness and the silence were suffocating.

"Is anyone there?!" Darsus raised his voice. Irritated, he stood up and pushed open the door to the neighboring room with great force. But all that greeted him was silent darkness.

There were usually two Methuselah and four Terran in the room. But the only evidence that there had been people in the room were two half-empty coffee cups on the table. There were also some cards laid out, as if a game of poker had been going on.

"Hey! Where did you go?"

He looked down at the still-steaming coffee in the cups. Darsus was starting to feel concerned at the situation. It was hard to imagine why the Terran and the Methuselah would have left him unguarded without saying a word. Something must have happened. Clutching the long-sword in his hand, the old Methuselah carefully pushed open the door that led out into the corridor.

The corridor was silent. Apart from the sound of a ticking clock, the place was as dead as a tomb. The lights didn't show any sign of coming back on, either. But there was also a dull metallic smell in the air—the smell of blood.

"WHAT?!" The almost three-hundred-year old vampire yelped. It was close to a scream. He took a step back. The two men who should have been in the neighboring room were lying there, dead. Their ribcages had been sliced open. Darsus almost vomited. In the black voids of their chests, he could see absolutely nothing. Their hearts had been scooped out: a sure-fire way to kill a Methuselah.

"What's happened?! What's going on?!" Darsus quickly glanced around the corridor. What were his men doing? How could the electric eyes placed all over the mansion have overlooked this?!

A voice came from behind the confused Methuselah: "Thierry Darsus, isn't it? Of Count Four?"

Turning around, he could just about make out the figure of a tall man in the corridor. It was a young man with a long metal staff in his left hand. His priest's garments were covered in holes and tears. His right arm hung loosely from the elbow.

This was the first time Darsus had seen those burning green eyes behind the blonde hair. But he knew who this man was without introduction: "Hugue de Watteau! Is it you?!"

The priest suddenly turned into a demon, running down the corridor with terrifying speed. He didn't have a purpose. It was like he was trying to run away. He rotated his staff toward the old man. His animal ferocity made the hairs on Darsus' body stand on end.

"How did you get here?!" Darsus couldn't help asking, despite knowing no answer would be forthcoming. He desperately parried the attacks with his sword. Where were the electric eyes and the Methuselah and Terran that should have been watching everything?

The swordsman remained wordless. He only moved to continue the barrage of attacks. Hugue used his weight well and swung his staff toward Darsus' skull. A Methuselah should have been able to avoid a simple attack like that. However, Hugue moved faster than Darsus judged. Although Darsus managed to escape the blow, the tip of the staff caught his forehead.

"Scummy Terran tricks!" Darsus felt rage as the warm blood trickled down his face. Finally, the wild beast within the Methuselah had awoken. With a howl, he launched himself and his sword at Hugue. "Don't get carried away, monkey!"

The sword was aimed straight at Hugue's face. If the priest had incorrectly timed his counter move, the sword would have sliced off his face. The metal clashed. The priest took a defensive stance, ready to take on the super-human strength of the vampire. However, Hugue lost his balance.

Darsus didn't miss his chance. He aimed straight for the right side of Hugue's face. If Hugue didn't move his staff up to block, this was going to be the end of his good looks. Just a few seconds before he met his death, he managed to raise it in a magnificent defense. There was a terrible metallic sound, and the staff was flung from Hugue's hands. He had lost his only weapon. He was completely defenseless now. Darsus had won. "Die, Watteau!"

"Those who live by the sword..."

Just as the blade should have finished Hugue off, there came a murky curse. The deathblow was stopped by a short dagger millimeters from Hugue's face. It was a miracle. Before Darsus had a chance to realize, Hugue had pulled out a dagger; the swordsman had seized his chance and, with a grim smile, he readied to kill Darsus.

"Shall die by the sword! Amen!"

Darsus had lost his balance. There was no chance of escape for him now. From the left side of his chest, through his heart and to his right shoulder, a gaping wound had been opened. The sliced arteries spurted blood. "Ugh!"

For a Terran, the blow would have meant instant death. The Methuselah were more difficult to kill. But even so, damage like that would mean a vampire wouldn't last long. Darsus dropped his sword and tried to let out a scream, but he couldn't...

The impact of the blow had pushed him to the floor. Hugue placed his foot on the old man's chest. Blood gushed from the wound with great force. The old man's eyes were white with fear; he couldn't even scream out in pain. Hugue didn't seem to even register the terror and agony in the old man's eyes. He simply readied his dagger. "Die, Darsus!"

"Wa-wait. Hear me out!" He literally coughed the words out. He looked up at the swordsman. The only thing that indicated that Hugue had a soul was the gleaming within his green eyes.

Darsus continued. It was his only chance. "I didn't have anything to do with the massacre at Amsterdam Church! I promise!"

"Nothing, you say?" The swordsman's words were calm, but that made them all the more terrifying. "Do you think that's why I want to kill you?"

"Am I wrong?" Darsus looked up at the swordsman, silently pleading for something they could work out. He wanted to buy some time. He just had to hold Hugue off until his men reached him. He had to keep the conversation going. "Or is it the Watteau clan's destruction ten years ago? I didn't have a hand in that, either. It was Count of Bruges who ordered that! It was Gie!

"Bruges?" A modicum of emotion flickered in those almost glassy eyes. With the blade still thrust toward the old vampire, the swordsman spoke, his tone harsh and cutting: "Gie. Gie de Granwelle did it, you say?"

"That's right! He gave the order! It was all him. I only heard about it afterward!"

"Bruges..." The swordsman looked into the distance. He pursed his lips as if he had found something suddenly very funny, and he started to laugh. "I had my revenge back then."

"Th-that's right. It wasn't me." Darsus tried to pacify the man whose blade was perilously close to him. He screwed up his face in a half-smile, as if to look like he was joining in with the joke. His blood had stopped flowing, but Darsus couldn't make any sudden movements. If he could just buy himself some time... "Watteau. I think there has been a terrible misunderstanding between us. I have a proposition. What do you think? Let's talk this all over. Gie killed your family, and tonight, you killed mine. Surely we're even now? Gie is gone, so there is no need to kill me now."

"There is one thing I want to ask you." His voice was still cold, but Darsus could hear that something had changed in his tone. "Depending on your answer, I may leave killing you for another day. Ten years ago, a girl of the Watteau clan was kidnapped. Where is she? Is she still alive?"

The tip of the sword wavered a little. Hugue's voice was low but demanding. He squinted, as if watching something just out of his vision. His memories shaped the words for him now: "I didn't see who took her. He was wearing a mask. But he had chestnut hair and purple eyes. He had a tattoo of a flower on the back of his hand. I want to know who this man was."

"Chestnut hair? Purple eyes... and a flower tattoo?" Darsus almost forgot his situation. He couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. Perhaps Hugue had lost his mind. "That was Gie. Gie de Granville. The man you killed tonight. Didn't you notice?"

"What?"

Darsus looked up at the intruder.

Hugue frowned and started to raise his voice — the first emotion he had truly shown in this altercation. "Don't be an idiot! Bruges didn't have a tattoo! Are you making fun of me, Darsus?! Or are you trying to lead me off the trail?!"

"I'm not lying! The man who stole your sister was Gie!"

The old man's protestation sounded truthful. Hugue was confused, and he was about to make another rebuttal when he suddenly remembered something: "Wait. You said something strange. You said that I killed your men tonight. What do you mean? I killed Renault about three days ago..."

"Look up!" It was time for Darsus to get angry. He was able to move finally, and so he pointed a weak finger up the sky. "You killed all my men. Are you trying to confuse an old man?"

"That wasn't me. Everyone was already dead when I got here — apart from one man. When I entered the mansion, he was looking for a corpse. I thought that there must have been some kind of internal problems." Hugue went quiet as he thought. He raised the tip of his sword up. "Stand up, Darsus," the swordsman ordered the Methuselah. He didn't relax his muscles, though. "I'll kill you later. Right now, I think we've been caught up in something strange."

"Strange? What do you mean by that?" "I don't know. But..." The priest suddenly cut off his analysis. He heard something move. His body turned with the precision of a machine. A sharp shaft of light swiftly moved past him. "Crap! Darsus?!" Hugue exclaimed.

Blood now was pouring from the vampires mouth in pints. A silver arrow was embedded in the old vampire's throat. The area around his mouth was smoking. It looked like there was also nitric acid in the arrow's shaft—it meant instant death for a vampire.

A calm voice reverberated through the corridor: "Good evening, Count of Brussels and Mister Watteau."

There were several shadows now looming in the corridor. About twenty men and women stood there, dressed in plain suits. Standing in the middle of them was a man with a bow that still vibrated from releasing its arrow.

"I answered your invitation and came to visit Count Brussels, but you didn't come to meet me, so I made my own way here. I hope you don't mind?"

"You... You're Gie!" The old man was clearly angry despite the blood dripping from his mouth, choking him. It took all that was left in him to utter the name of his enemy. "Gie... Watteau killed you!"

"Ah, that was my double. If I had made it, you'd have just killed me anyway, right Cardinal Darsus?"

The man's voice held a cruel humor, but his expression never changed. He was wearing a very thin mask over his face. But behind the mask, Watteau could make out his purple eyes glinting with glee.

"Count Darsus, you planned it so that I and Watteau would meet. You then planned to deal with whichever one of us lived. Those are the kind of tactics I've come to expect from you. You did the same to Count of Amsterdam and Count of Antwerp," the new contender said.

"Gie... you... you..." Darsus' voice was breaking up. He desperately tried to point at the masked man, but it was too much. His body stopped moving suddenly, as if someone had flipped a switch inside.

And that was the end of Thierry Darsus—the top man of Count Four.

Words of hatred spilled from behind the mask. "What a disgusting excuse for a life form. He always did exactly as he pleased." The man, bow still firmly in his grasp, shook his head. His purple eyes looked down at the dead man. The masked man was lost in his own world for a moment, but then he suddenly realized the man standing next to him. "Well Hugue, I think I owe you some words of gratitude. You distracted Darsus so that he had no idea what I was doing. Excellent work."

"You're Gie?" He adjusted the grip on his dagger and asked again: "You are Count of Brussels Gie du Granwelle?"

"That's right. I'm Gie. I'm the man who crushed your clan." The man introduced himself without pride or fear. He answered calmly while playing with the bow in his arms: "Ten years ago, I burned your castle, killed your family, and took your arm. I did it all."

A scream never left the swordsman's throat. He ran like a mad dog down the corridor, his dagger ready. Before Hugue could reach his target, some of the black-suited people moved to make a human shield between Hugue and Gie.

"It's all right, Bosch. I will be his dueling partner," Gie told the loyal servant who had sprung to hid defense. Gie twirled the bow in his fingers. He swung it onto his back as if it were a spear and then threw it with terrifying force.

The makeshift bow flew at alarming speed. With a howl, it hit Hugue's dagger, splitting it in two. The masked man reached for the rapier at his waist.

"GEIIII!"

There was a spark of white light. The sound of metal hitting metal reverberated throughout the corridor. The two men jumped back like two repellant magnets, putting some distance between them. Hugue ran like a cat up the wall and pushed himself off it. "Your Excellency!" one of the black-suited men yelled the instant that the two rays of light clashed.

The dagger shattered Gie's rapier. Hugue then flicked the knife up, and Gie's mask was cracked.

It was Hugue that screamed, though. Protruding from his stomach were the shattered parts of the rapier. Dark liquid oozed from his mouth. His liver and spleen had taken the hit. He was going to die.

"What?!" But through the pain, Hugue had noticed something. His green eyes had lost their taste for revenge, but now they looked up into the eyes of a man whom he would never forget.

On the other hand, the masked man smiled, clearly enjoying the shock on Hugue's face. Count of Bruges, the man in the mask, grinned at his opponent. "Oh, Hugue. What's the matter? Why are you pulling such a face? Are you in pain?" "It can't be."

He looked up into the eyes he had seen in every nightmare for the last ten years. Hugue shook his head in furious denial. "It can't be. Its not possible."

"What's not possible, my friend?" Gie asked the priest, who was desperately trying to deny what he saw with his own eyes.

But this man had the same voice as the man he had met two weeks ago, when he had saved him from Tres' purge. The same voice as the man he had scolded when he took the offered hand. The same man who had gone on his quest for revenge against the vampires...

Rodenbach looked back at Hugue.

"Maybe you're talking about the false name I gave you so I could get close to you? Or that I pretended to be a prosecutor? Or maybe you're mad that I took your sister Agnes?" Gie de Granwelle looked like a small child who had been playing a trick on his friend. His purple eyes glinted in untold joy. He added one last shameless blow: "I'm sorry. I would like to give your little sister back to you. But that's no longer possible. We toasted with her blood that night. Very delicious."

The swordsman howled as he looked into those cold purple eyes, and he saw his own reflection. He cursed the world itself.

 

***

 

"Priest Iqus, over here!"

When Tres Iqus arrived at the international platform of Gare Central, Professor was already there. He carried a light trunk. With an unfriendly expression on his face, he held his hand out.

"This is odd. You're not injured? But it seems there has been a lot of fun in my absence. Was Archbishop D'Este secured?"

"Negative. Alfonso D'Este has been on the run since the Silent Noise incident."

There were many policemen at the station today, as a result of the terrorist incident that happened a few days ago.

Tres casually checked that no one was too close before speaking again: "Nightroad arrived in Cologne two hours ago. He has made contact with the informant here. It is going as predicted."

"Ugh. Such boring work. The incident in Spain with the syndicate kidnapping was just the first step. Now it's more boring work for me. I need a bold criminal, one that is going to really challenge my brain. It's a total waste!"

Professor knocked some ash out of the pipe that he was smoking.

Only yesterday, he had solved and eliminated a trafficking syndicate in Spain. Finally the incident had been solved, and he had been about to return to Rome, when he was given new orders. He let out a loud sigh. "Well, I'm here now. I guess life is short. Anyway, what is the situation, Father Tres? My incompetent student is still alive?"

"The details of Watteau s well-being will be part of the briefing when everyone is here," Tres replied calmly as he looked at the train that had just entered the platform with his calculating glass eyes. After confirming that the train departed from Prague via Berlin, he robotically walked toward it. "This mission will involve three people, and it is to ensure the safety of Huge de Watteau and crush Count Four. The members are to work closely. These are orders from Duchess of Milan."

"Three? So who is the other?" Professor asked. The train suddenly let out a burst of steam from its engine. With a heavy clunking noise, the doors of the second-class carriage opened. Professor looked up to see who would emerge, and his eyebrow immediately shot up when he saw. "I see. He is the third. The duchess is always spot-on."

The man called out as he walked down the gangway iron to the platform: "William! Long time, no see! You look well. You too, Father Tres. It must have been a year." He looked exhausted from the journey, but his stoic face had broken into a smile when he saw who had come to meet him.

"Hello, AX member Father Vaclav Havel."