III

The Shape of Nobility, the Shape of Humanity

Chapter 4

I

Françoise was fast asleep in an opulent bed until, sensing a certain someone nearby, she awakened. An electronic lamp shaped like a gentian blossom was burning. She could see that a figure stood in the depths of the darkness.

“Vyken?” she inquired in a hushed tone.

In lieu of a reply, the shadowy figure came closer.

Sensing an unavoidable sadness in the face of the young man looking down lovingly at her from beside her bed, Françoise had all she could do to curb her own urge to reach out to him with both hands. All she could do now was shut her eyes tightly and draw her covers closer.

“Leave,” she told him. “If the grand duke finds you here, he’ll—”

“He’s sleeping now.”

“He came back?” she asked, her eyes going wide of their own accord.

“Yeah. Soaked in blood. To have left someone of his standing in such a state, that Hunter truly is the fearsome foe he’s reputed to be.”

“He was so beautiful. Is he dead?”

“No, apparently he’s been sealed away in the Shrine of Information. And that’s on a planet a hundred million light years from Earth. He won’t be coming back soon. Perhaps not ever.”

“Then it was no use after all, was it?”

“Françoise, the grand duke is one of the few fortunate enough to have been allowed to meet the Sacred Ancestor face to face.”

“I know that. And I’m not sure how I should feel, either. Should I be saddened by this or gladdened?”

“This is such a bizarre conversation. It’s one thing to hear about something, and another thing entirely to see it. He’s given us so much, hasn’t he?”

“Serve him as best you can, Vyken. That way lies your reward as a human being.”

“To be honest, I’m not sure what I should do. That’s why I need at least one thing in this castle I know to be real and true.”

Hunching down, he brought his face closer to the girl’s.

“We can’t, Vyken. I don’t know where I stand, either. Do I belong to the grand duke, or am I still part of the human race?”

“Françoise!”

Powerful fingers held her delicate chin, turning her face toward his. His lips came closer—and then met hers.

“Stop it. I’ll call the others in here!” Françoise told him, turning her face away. Tears rolled down her cheeks. In her right hand was a golden bell for summoning the help.

“I’ll come back another time.”

The young man left without making a sound. In this castle, even humans walked as stealthily as shadows.

A different voice drifted through the room, saying, “I have word about Jozen.”

Françoise spun violently in that direction.

“I’ve heard that there’s a young man creating weapons and other technology on par with that of the Nobility for a resistance group in the village. Apparently, they’re to be disposed of in short order.”

Without waiting for a response from her, the presence faded away. It was buried in the darkness.

“Vyken,” the girl said, finally reaching out with her pale hands, but there was no longer anyone there. And not even the glow from the gentian blossom lamp could reach him.

†

You could say that evening was a succession of dangerous situations.

It was just about the same time the battle royal at the abandoned house was ending that somebody banged on the door of Marcella’s house.

“Who’s there?” someone asked, but it wasn’t Marcella directing the question toward the door. Rather, it came from the back bedroom and was aimed at Marcella, who was in the kitchen.

Marcella’s husband was gazing down at her from a picture on the mantel of the fireplace in the living room, as he had for the last five years.

Extinguishing the flame fed by chemical fuel and checking to make sure the hot water hadn’t boiled yet, she went over to the bedroom door and replied, “I don’t know.” Her mood suddenly turning foul, she added, “It’s probably your wife.”

“Are you serious?!”

The man’s tone of unparalleled fear drew a little snort of contempt from her, after which she said, “What should I do? Open it up and see who’s there?”

“No, hold up—I’ll slip out the back way in a sec.”

“Seems like you were expecting this. Think she followed you here?”

“Shut up!”

The mad impatience of his reply was overlaid with another knock.

Marcella noticed something strange. The sound was coming from down too low. As if somebody had crawled over there.

Quickly returning to the kitchen, she got her gun off the shelf. No sooner did she think to herself, Here goes nothing, than the man called to her, “So long. But I’ll be back.”

“Just don’t forget to bring your allowance,” she said in a low tone.

In an even lower one he replied, “I know, I know.”

The hinges of the back door creaked open, creaked again, and then fell silent.

“Piece of shit,” she spat, and then she started thinking about what might happen to her now.

Who’s outside? Who’d be crawling around out there at this hour, and why the hell would they bother knocking? Hear that? There they go again.

Marcella made up her mind. Ignoring this didn’t seem like it was going to be an option. And it might be somebody was hurt out there. Looking up at the photo over the fireplace, she said, “Keep me safe.”

Approaching the door with leaden steps, she grabbed hold of the wooden doorknob. There were protective talismans attached to the door inside and out, and she couldn’t complain about the job they’d done of keeping her safe up until now.

“Oh, hell,” she exclaimed, opening the door and poking her gun out.

Only darkness spread before her. Just as she’d expected. Well, then—look a little lower.

“What the blazes?!” she cried.

A left hand from the wrist down lay there.

You mean to tell me that hand did the knocking?

Knowing this to be impossible all the while, Marcella was mesmerized by the beauty of the hand she should’ve found horrifying.

My gods, the fingers are so elegant. Why, they’d be too good to touch or hold ordinary stuff. I’d just like to leave them here as they are, untouched forever.

“Hey,” said a hoarse voice, but it couldn’t possibly have come from the gorgeous limb at her feet, could it?

Time and again Marcella told herself it was impossible, but eventually she had to accept it as an undeniable fact, and that threw her into a vertigo of despair.

“Steady, there,” the hoarse voice said to her, and somehow that set her right again. “I want your help with something. Come with me.”

“Wh-wh-what kind of demon are you?” Marcella inquired in a quavering tone.

“What you see is what you get. I’d tell you I’m no monster, but I don’t expect you’d believe me. There’s an injured guy just across the road. Carry him over here. All you’ve gotta do is give him a shoulder to lean on.”

She wanted to bellow, Like hell I will! but her eyes were glued to the weird hand. Somewhere out in the night, the owner of that beautiful hand was waiting for help.

I really wanna see him, Marcella thought.

“Okay,” she groaned with a manic enthusiasm. “Lead the way.”

“Much obliged.”

And with those unmistakable words of gratitude the hand deftly changed direction and skittered across the street.

The man in question was flat on his back in a thicket of chicharan bushes on the far side of the street. Despite the black traveler’s hat and coat, which even through the gloom of night were quite clearly stained with blood, and the pale face with a mind-numbingly haggard look on it, the instant Marcella saw him she lost the ability to think.

If I were to faint right now, I couldn’t awaken to a more wonderful sight as long as I live.

“He’s . . . so beautiful . . .”

“Enough about that. Make with the carrying already. He could die if we don’t do something. Damn it, pull yourself together, woman. Save his life, and I’ll have him give you a kiss as a reward for your cooperation.”

“You mean it?!” she asked, her tone as crisp as thunder.

The hoarse voice fell silent.

She forgot all about the blood. Marcella grabbed the man in black by one arm and pulled him up. She felt only the slightest resistance, and then the young man of unearthly beauty got up on his feet, still leaning on Marcella when the hoarse voice said, “This way. Over here.”

Following after the left hand, she took a heavy step forward. Marcella let out a sigh of relief. It occurred to her that she’d sell her very soul just to keep walking arm in arm with him like this.

Shortly after the two of them and the severed limb disappeared into the house, a diminutive figure slipped out from behind the building and moved into the forest with carefully muffled footsteps. Not long thereafter, there was the sound of hoofbeats receding in the distance.

The young man’s gait was unexpectedly sure, but as they went from the living room to the parlor it suddenly faltered. Slipping off Marcella’s shoulder, he fell flat on his back on the floor, where he didn’t budge an inch.

“It can’t be,” Marcella murmured, her words tinged not just with concern but with fear.

“Relax. He’s just passed out, that’s all,” a voice told her from atop the young man’s chest.

“What are you?” she asked, and at that point she noticed that the gorgeous young man she’d helped bring inside was missing his left hand from the wrist down.

“Falling from the heavens has left him drained. No use trying to bring him around with medicine. Just let him lay there a while. I’ll handle the rest. By the way, don’t tell anybody about this. Say one word about it, and you’ll be cursed for all time!” the hoarse voice said in a menacing tone, and naturally Marcella could do nothing but nod in acknowledgment.

As soon as Marcella left the room, the left hand climbed down from D’s chest, working its fingers skillfully to turn itself in a full circle. It had surveyed the room.

“Hmm. They’re on the move,” the hoarse voice murmured. Pointing a finger at D, it continued, “But you’re not.”

A man working for the deputy mayor brought an envelope containing a note to the inn where Professor Chaney was staying about a half hour after D was carried into Marcella’s house. Tipping the man and sending him on his way, the Professor read the note, at which point his expression changed.

“So, that little Peeping Tom couldn’t help hanging around her window, eh? Well, if this is true, we might slay him.”

The Professor’s orders were that his four henchmen were to set out. One of them was injured, and another was out drinking, however, so only two of them mounted up on their cyborg steeds.

“They’re closing in,” the left hand murmured. It had spent nearly ten minutes motionless, apparently trying to detect their presence. “Hey, can you hear me, or are you still asleep?” it asked D. “Shit. I’m in rough shape, too. Gonna take me a little longer to refuel. If they get here now, we’ll be in serious trouble. Guess I don’t have much choice. Hey, woman—come over here. Shit, are you asleep or something?”

Marcella was by no means asleep. She sat on the living room sofa staring into space. Though her eyes were trained on the wall of her house, her mind was wrapped around the image of that exquisite young man.

She came over in a sort of stupor.

“Finally decided to grace us with your presence, did you?” the left hand said petulantly from atop the young man’s chest.

“Who made you so high and mighty?”

“Gimme a little help here. I need you to put me on his face.”

“What are you going to do?” the woman inquired, feeling her heart beat faster in her chest.

“Never mind that, just put me there. He’ll do the rest.”

Marcella had no reason not to comply. Her brain wrapped in a feverish membrane, she placed the severed limb on that gorgeous face with a trembling hand. A split second later, a sharp pain shot through her pinky.

Shrieking with alarm, she pulled her hand back, fresh blood dripping from the ball of her finger.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” she bellowed, her rage directed at the left hand, which she’d seen scurrying off into one corner of the room. Its tiny mouth was lined with still tinier teeth.

“Damn it, just hold on,” it said.

Pressing down on the wound to stem the bleeding, Marcella was just about to stand up again. So she could get a broom to clobber that thing. But a cold hand reached up and caught her by the wrist.

“What in the—?!”

Rather than be shocked by the realization that the hand was that of the young man who hadn’t even seemed to be breathing, Marcella was enraptured.

Just look at him, slowly getting to his feet. His pale, handsome face is right in front of me, and he just opened his eyes. But why are they red? How come he’s got a pair of teeth poking from his lips? And why are they pointed? Oh, you . . . you’re a Noble . . .

“They’re here,” the hoarse voice groaned sharply.

The door’s hinges creaked.

II

Marcella hurriedly took a place in front of the door. “Who is it?” she asked.

There was only one visitor she ever got in the middle of the night. And she’d sent him packing nearly an hour ago.

A voice rougher and much younger than that individual’s announced her visitor’s name. “I’ve got a message to deliver. Open up!”

As she hesitated, there was a violent banging against the door, and its hinges squealed in protest.

Marcella was terrified by the explosion of anger she envisioned.

Just as she undid the bolt, a pair of shadowy figures piled in like an avalanche. One man was abnormally thin—and the other wore an iron mask. The skinny one put the nails of his right hand against Marcella’s throat. They were strangely long and sharp. The one in the iron mask headed for the door to the back room. A bundle of fine chain gleamed in his right hand. Turning toward the other one, he gave a nod.

Skinny gave a nod in return, telling the woman, “Not a peep outta you,” and taking up a position on one side of the doorframe, opposite the one in the iron mask. The two of them waited until they were in synch, and as soon as they were, the one in the iron mask hit the door with his shoulder.

Once they were done searching the house, the skinny one went back into the living room and reached for Marcella’s throat with his right hand. The tips of his strangely elongated nails pressed into her flawless, pale skin.

“We’ve been authorized by the deputy mayor. Tell us everything.”

“I . . . I don’t know anything,” Marcella replied. She would sooner die than be responsible for the young man falling into their hands.

“Is that a fact? Watch this,” the skinny one said, his other hand flashing into action.

A tiny form darting across the floor was split in two. A house rat. Its head and body twitched violently in separate locations. And they seemed to continue doing so for ages.

“When I cut something in two with my claws, they’re in a world of hellish pain forever. Until I kill ’em again, that is. Can’t even lose their minds. On account of the pain’s too bad. You think I’m shitting you?”

“Don’t . . .”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know . . . really.”

A shadowy fire sparked in the skinny one’s eyes.

Just then, the one in the iron mask said to him, “Give it a rest, Valen.”

“Stay outta my way.”

“Were we sent here to toy with women?”

“Don’t get in my way, Mask.”

“Oh, you think you want to throw down with me? You mentioned before how you were curious whether those claws of yours could cut through my mask, didn’t you? What do you say we find out right now?”

“You son of a bitch . . .”

“Let’s hit the road. I’ve heard about this happening. They say every woman who sees D’s face becomes his slave. Seems you can torture them all you like, but they’ll never give you anything that might put D at a disadvantage.”

“Interesting. Let’s see if that’s really true or not.”

“Push it too far and she’ll bite her own tongue off. We were told not to lay a hand on any of the villagers, or have you forgotten? The grand duke might not have a problem with losing the support of the villagers, but the same can’t be said for the Professor or the deputy mayor. That’d be the end of everything.”

“Like I give a damn.”

“I give a damn. The better this goes, the more we get paid!”

“Shit,” the skinny one said, taking his claws away from her.

In a tone that was ten times calmer than the skinny one’s but a hundred times more unsettling, the one in the iron mask said, “Lady, if you’d like to remain under the deputy mayor’s protection, you’d better not pull any more funny business.”

Marcella nodded.

Once she was certain the two of them had left, Marcella bolted the door again and stared at the center of her living room. The gorgeous young man lay there. Closing her eyes, Marcella then opened them again. There was nobody there.

All that—was it just a dream?

Somebody had come into the room earlier. Then the left hand had pressed against her brow, her head spun around and around—and the next thing she knew, she was standing by the front door. She’d known exactly what she was supposed to do.

“Yeah, it must’ve been,” Marcella said, convincing herself. There was no other way to accept the night’s events. “It was all just a dream.”

She had to catch a little sleep before dawn. After all, working at the bar in the village was pretty exhausting. Reaching around to massage the bottom of her aching back, she turned out the living room lamp and headed off toward her bedroom.

†

Looking up at the carefully stacked stones of the walls and ceiling, it was clear that the long subterranean road was man-made. The caverns that appeared along the way were probably entrances to side roads.

“Hell of a scale to it, isn’t there?” the left hand said, resting on D’s shoulder.

Perhaps feeling the strange flow of air, one of the tiny flames that were set in the walls at critical points wavered.

“And made quite a long time ago—more than five millennia. Most likely there was a gap formed by shifts in the earth’s crust that they excavated in spots to make their way, or else they reinforced it after leveling the place.”

The reply came from someone who’d given D a shoulder to lean on. He sounded young. A lot younger than those three rebels—you could say he was no more than a boy. The white lab coat suited his thin frame. Though he sounded like a man of science, whether or not he had the face of one was unclear. Purple cloth shrouded his head and shoulders, hiding them from prying eyes.

“Go to her house a lot, do you?” the hoarse voice asked.

“No. Nor had I intended to go there today. I just happened to hear you talking through the intercom tubes.”

“Hmm, an eavesdropper, eh?”

“Call it a most necessary return to service for the eavesdropping system put in during ancient times when the place was being carved out, if you don’t mind. I had absolutely nothing to do with their creation.”

“Which means, what, that whoever made this road is responsible for that, too? Even five thousand years ago, humans were all sick little busybodies.”

“I’ll reserve comment on that. I don’t know precisely why they dug these paths, but they’re ideal for moving about unobserved.”

“Just how far do they run?”

“By my measurements, a good forty miles. There’s a web of tunnels exiting in all the key structures in the village. Town hall, the school, the mayor’s home, the spiritualist center, the forests and swamps on all four sides of us, and more—there are more than twenty destinations, all told. They weren’t added later, but rather lead to points on subterranean energy lines, where our key facilities were built as a matter of course—you could say the choice of those locations was inevitable.”

“Still, I’m surprised no one’s found them in five thousand years.”

“The entrances are all concealed by both physical and psychological camouflage. Do you remember where I came out of?”

The youth had appeared from a wall through a wooden door that absolutely hadn’t been there a moment earlier, informing the people and the limb there that trouble was coming and taking D and his left hand away while Marcella remained behind.

“When I throw the bolt on this side—the passageways—no one on the outside would ever know it was there. You could destroy the whole wall and probably still not find anything.”

“Hmm. Humans might’ve been more advanced five thousand years ago than they are now.”

“It wasn’t necessarily human beings.”

“You saying Nobles dug this? If so, what for?”

“I don’t know. Was it humans or Nobles? What’s it for? I don’t know anything at all.”

“You gotta know something.”

“What’s that?”

“Who you really are.”

“Don’t pry into matters that don’t concern you—isn’t that the code for travelers on the Frontier? Especially one like the Hunter known as D. I hear that he’s particularly sticky on that matter.”

“Oh, so you know who he is, do you? I suppose you’ll tell me that was inevitable, too?”

“Precisely,” the youth said, a tinge of fatigue bleeding into his tone. He’d been carrying D ever since they’d left that house—and that had to weigh heavily on a slight frame like his.

Suddenly the walls to either side of them were much further back. The place overflowed with light. They were in a clearing of about eighteen hundred square feet. A number of bare lightbulbs hung down from cords strung across the place, shining on the huge doors set in the wall. They were steel without so much as a fleck of rust on them.

“Finally getting to the main course, are we? What’s behind those doors?”

“Nothing special,” he said through his purple hood, striking a certain key on the control panel set in the steel doors.

The doors slid off to either side, exposing an unbelievable sight beyond.

“Well, I’ll be—” the hoarse voice said, the way it petered off a testimony to that.

Up until now, they’d been thirty feet below the surface at most. And they’d been moving across level ground. But at the end of that lay an enormous facility that could best be described as a factory or a research center.

“One of the Nobles’ factories?”

In that case, it wouldn’t be surprising for three-dimensional space to have been folded to accommodate it. However, it was so utterly at odds with the words and deeds of the youth who’d led them there—the apparent master of the place. After all, outside the door had been a chamber lit by bare lightbulbs.

“To the medical center,” the purple hood said, and at that same instant the floor began to move. There wasn’t a single crease in it. In fact, it might’ve only been the people on top of it that were actually moving.

Moving on to another corridor, they continued on a bit, at which point the floor—or at least they—halted in front of a white wall. The wall glowed, and the glow became an elliptical doorway. Off in the distance, a lump formed, took on human shape, and became a nurse dressed in white. A woman so beautiful she’d make you want to sigh.

“A liquid metal android?” said the left hand.

The beauty gave D a shoulder to lean on, leading him to a bed in the back.

Quickly moving over the shoulder of the purple-hooded youth, the left hand said, “Computers gotta be in control of all this machinery. So, you can make ’em do whatever you like, can you?”

“I suppose—or so I’d tell you, but even I don’t know for sure.”

“You don’t know?”

“I’m human. There’s no way I’d be able to comprehend every facet of the Nobility’s technology. I can operate perhaps one millionth of what’s in this facility.”

“Just how far back was this place built?”

“That I do know. According to the memory banks, it was roughly seven thousand years ago—which would make it about the time they were at war with the OSB, right?”

“Ah.”

“What do think drives scientific progress?”

“War.”

“You say it so easily. You’re right, though,” the purple hood said with a laugh. “This was a research facility for weapons. Not a manufacturing plant. It was used primarily to study OSB weapons and develop countermeasures.”

“I’ve heard about that. At the tail end of the OSB War, it seems the Nobility were using OSB weapons as their own.”

“That’s right. The OSB shape-change ability is an example of that,” the youth said, aiming a purple-gloved finger where the nurse stood.

“Hmm. The floor, too, eh?”

“Yes. I’m sure the Nobility’s science probably would’ve developed liquid metal at some point. However, I question whether they could’ve come up with something as complex as this. Françoise, I’m sorry, but would you be so kind as to bleed a bit for us?”

“Yes, sir,” the beauty replied in a voice like moonlight, perfectly suited to her resplendent features, and with that she extended her left index finger. It was immediately transformed into a keen scalpel, which then slid into her right wrist. A silvery liquid dripped out, becoming a bead that spattered against the floor. And there it turned red.

III

“If you were to analyze it, you’d see that its composition doesn’t differ in the slightest from human blood.”

“You don’t say,” the left hand remarked, not sarcastically but with admiration. “Well, I don’t know about all that. You can’t play Nobles for a fool, you know. By the way, how’s he doing?”

“There’s no problem. Give him some blood and he’ll be back to normal in no time. But it must be human blood.”

“How about that metal blood?”

“There are still things about the Nobility, legends and facts, that aren’t completely understood. Though its components are exactly the same as human blood, drinking it wouldn’t help a dhampir recover. It’s not a matter of the composition, the problem is it must be human blood. A Noble can stand under an artificial light that creates rays exactly like the sun and he won’t be turned into dust. Because, ultimately, that is artificial light, not the light of the sun. These very issues are something the surviving Nobility investigate even now. And probably will until the end of time.”

“Hmm. Got any blood lying around?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

“What about you?”

“I have none to offer one of Noble descent.”

“Then why’d you bother helping us?”

“Because it looked like he could help destroy the Nobility,” the purple hood replied, as if the answer was obvious. “That being the case, I can call someone in. I could get that woman from earlier, but she’s already linked to dangerous matters unbeknownst to herself.”

“Hmm, you know everything, do you? What are you doing down here, anyway?”

“Living. I have nowhere else to go.”

“Is that all there is to it?” the left hand said, its fingers closing on the edge of the purple hood.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” the youth replied, ready to knock the severed limb free.

“Make another move and I’ll tear this thing off!” the left hand threatened.

The youth froze.

“I have a pretty good idea what’s under this thing. And it’s on account of that that you’re down here hating the big man up in his castle.”

“What are you talking about?” the purple hood replied, trying to force a laugh.

“Have it your way,” the left hand continued. “This is your castle. Far be it from me, the lowly retainer, to complain about what the lord of the manor chooses to do. But let me make one thing clear: He owes that woman back there his life just as much as he does you.”

“I see,” the youth in the purple hood replied, looking over at the nurse— Françoise. “How’s the condition of that gorgeous individual?” he asked.

“Poor,” the beauty answered. “It wouldn’t be surprising if he were to expire at any moment. To the contrary, it’s amazing he made it here in this condition—where on earth was he and what did he do to wind up in a state like this?”

“He passed through an unbreakable wall, then shot across a hundred million light years in zero seconds flat.”

The purple hood was at a loss for words. He could tell the left hand spoke the truth. “Dhampir or not, D or not, I simply cannot believe that,” he finally said.

“There are a mountain of things in this world that are true but you’d never believe. But enough about that. Do something for him.”

“Leave it to me.”

The youth in the purple hood took a metal bar the general size and shape of a pencil from the breast pocket of his shirt, pressed a tiny switch, and held one end of the device up by his mouth, saying, “It’s me, Cornet. Are you up, Elsa?”

After a little while, a female voice that’d shaken off sleep replied, “Elsa here. I’m up—actually, I wasn’t, but I’m up now.”

“Sorry. I’d like some blood from you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your blood. There’s someone in need of it.”

At that point the youth cocked his head and looked at the severed left hand.

“Long time no see, little missy,” said the hoarse voice.

“Is that you, D? No, it’s not. I know it’s not.”

The purple hood—Cornet—hurriedly switched off the stick, saying, “Don’t go scaring her off. I’ll do the talking.”

“Hmph!”

“Sorry about this, Elsa. A certain handsome man of your acquaintance suffers from a life-threatening lack of blood. Help us out. I suppose ten cc’s will suffice.”

“Fine. But where do I have to go?”

“I’ll send someone for it. A woman named Françoise. She’ll take care of it. All you have to do is wait in your room.”

“Roger that. Hurry.”

“Thank you. See you later.”

“Er, yeah.”

“What? Was there something else?”

“The handsome man in question—is he gonna be okay?”

“That all depends on you.”

“I see. You can have a couple hundred gallons if you need it, then!”

“Thank you,” Cornet told her, putting the communication device away. “Françoise, see to that, will you?”

“Anything for you,” the metallic beauty said with a smile, and putting a protective cover over D’s body, she then left the room. Her smile was angelic.

“For somebody so young, you’ve sure got your irons in a lot of fires,” the left hand remarked, its tone of amazement speaking volumes. “But it looks to me like you’re cold to the ladies.”

†

The eastern sky was still dark. Elsa’s house stood in the center of the village, a modest “shield farm.” The shields, which could control the growing environment so that any and all vegetables could be grown year-round, were said to be a product of the Nobility. They were treasured across the Frontier sectors, but it was unknown how in five scant years these shields had fallen into human hands, their operation had been mastered, and their use had been promulgated.

By the time Françoise got there wrapped in a coat, Elsa was standing out by the gate to her house.

“This is for you.”

The bottle she held tight to her chest had over a hundred cc’s of blood in it.

“Thank you.”

When Françoise took the bottle, Elsa’s hand closed around her wrist. Françoise stiffened at the strange coldness of it.

“You’re welcome,” the girl said with a grin, her crimson lips revealing a pair of pearly fangs. “I’ll be going with you,” Elsa informed her with delight.

“I think not.”

Françoise tried to pull her hand back, but it wouldn’t move an inch. A vampire had the strength of fifty humans.

“It’s no use,” Elsa told her, an even more disturbing smile spreading across her face as she put more strength into her fingers. She intended to shatter the other woman’s bones. But her fingers sank into the nurse’s wrist, as if she’d dipped them into water.

Still clutching the bottle, Françoise spun right around.

“What in the—?!”

The nurse stopped in her tracks.

A young man was standing there. A foreign-looking face gazed at Françoise from beneath a mop of black hair. Oddly enough, there was no sense of hostility from him.

“Do you know me, Françoise?” the man asked. He had a calm way of speaking.

“How do you know my name?”

The man shut his eyes, then immediately opened them again.

“So, you don’t know my name?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“Good,” said the man, hostility radiating from every inch of him as if her response had been the signal to switch into combat mode. “My name is Vyken, and I’m the head of the grand duke’s guards. Remember that, you who look so much like one I know!”

“She’s not human,” Elsa cried out.

“Interesting,” Vyken remarked, stepping forward.

The coat-clad figure sailed over his head, easily landing on her feet on a road some five yards away. And the instant Françoise landed, she went into a sprint.

Vyken landed right in front of her without making a sound. Both of them had bounded to the very same location.

“The blood in that bottle is hers from before she became that way. I’ll deliver it for you. Where’s D?” he asked in a triumphant tone, but it became a grunt of surprise.

Françoise had suddenly charged right at him. The arms he instinctively spread to catch the nurse passed right through her, and she went on to run right through him. Looking over his shoulder, Vyken saw the woman more than thirty feet away, still running like the wind.

“Liquid metal? Who knew we had a woman like that in the village?”

As he said that, he shut his eyes. They quickly opened again.

“You really aren’t human, are you? My power doesn’t work on those who don’t dream.”

And then, with a great yawn, he turned back in the direction of Elsa’s house. Elsa was standing at the gate.

“I suppose it’s no use, but let’s see if it works on you.”

And saying that, he closed his eyes again. The result was the same.

“Not very pleasant dreams you have, are they?” he spat. “When humans become vampires, are their dreams always such a bloody morass of savagery? Why would God make such a hopeless species?”

When Françoise came back and gave her report to Cornet, he got a bitter look in his eye.

“How did they know you were going to her house? Could it be they’ve been watching our exits?”

“If that were true, they’d have busted in on you long before now,” the left hand replied. “No, they haven’t found this place of yours yet.”

“But they were lying in wait—”

“They must’ve been keeping an eye on Elsa’s house for a long time. Young they might be, but she and her two buddies have drawn a lot of attention. If I were the grand duke, I’d have somebody watching ’em all day every day.”

“Then you don’t think my cover’s blown yet?”

“Probably not.”

“Good. There’s a mountain of things down here purloined from the grand duke’s castle. Were he to discover that, I’d be drawn and quartered for sure.”

“Well, wonders never cease. Once you have him drink what’s in that bottle, I’d like you to show me some of stolen merchandise.”

“That’s fine by me. But as I simply took whatever was close at hand, I haven’t the faintest idea what they’re actually used for. I offer no guarantees that I won’t make some error operating them and blow us all to kingdom come.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

The left hand’s devil-may-care reply drew applause from the youth in the purple hood. The two of them seemed to get be getting along surprisingly well.