III

Françoise

Chapter 6

I

D had said it. When the sun went down, all kinds of things began to move about. Things that weren’t supposed to move around before that time.

When there was only about two hours remaining before sundown, a half dozen people called on the house of the former mayor en masse. Their nonchalant nature and the baskets of goodies the two women carried called to mind images of a casual afternoon tea party.

They were greeted by the former mayor’s wife, who bade them, “Welcome.”

All six of them were ushered into the living room where they sated themselves with cups of tea and cookies made with flour, sugar, and vanilla before everyone’s expressions became severe.

“And you’re sure you weren’t followed?” the former mayor’s wife inquired, wanting to be sure.

“Trust me,” one of the women replied, thumping her ample bosom, and the other woman nodded her agreement.

“That’s a relief, Pilica,” the mayor’s widow said with a smile. “And how are things at the town hall, Docia?” she continued, her gaze shifting to one of the men. He was young, still in his twenties.

“Not great, as you’d imagine, what with nobody to rally around,” he said, his intrepid features distorting with pain. “Most of the folks who were on the mayor’s side have decided not to rock the boat. Otherwise, everyone would’ve got canned automatically when that clown took over.”

“That leaves that scholar from the Capital and the grand duke free to do as they like. Again, automatically,” the secretary Jacos continued in a grave tone.

“Just how many human sacrifices are they looking for?” the second woman asked.

“Four a month,” Jacos replied.

“Wow. There won’t be a single woman left in the village in less than a year, eh?”

“They’re looking for men, too.”

“They’re really set on having human blood, are they?” the mayor’s widow said with a sigh.

“That’s right. They perfected synthesized blood a long, long time ago. It’s a perfect match for the taste and smell of human blood—but apparently that’s not enough.”

“Well, there’s no way in blazes we can let them get away with this,” the widow said, gnawing her lip. “There’s nothing in the world lower than human beings offering up their own as a sacrifice to the Nobility. It would be to the eternal shame of our village.”

“Well, that bastard Bezo’s still hell-bent on doing it,” said another of the men—a gray-haired old-timer with angry undercurrents to his voice.

A different young man, this one powerfully built, stood up. All eyes turned to him in surprise, seeing in his face a fierce resolve some might take as a kind of emptiness.

“At this point, there’s only one thing left we can do,” said the big man. “We all—I mean, I think so.”

His words drew a special kind of angry stare from Jacos, but everyone else held their tongues. That meant they agreed with him.

“But, Leiden, Bezo and that Professor fella both have their own guards!” the second woman countered.

“Not to worry. We’ve got a powerful ally on our side. We’ve been waiting a long damn time for this day come. The day we destroy the Nobility!”

“How’ll you manage that?”

All eyes focused on the young man.

“Promise not to tell anybody?” Leiden said, playing his powerful gaze across the rest of the group.

Everyone nodded.

At the center of their fascinated looks, Leiden pulled a black and silver gauntlet out of his bag, and once he slid it on, it covered him from the fingertips up to the elbow.

“What’s that?” asked the first woman, Pilica, narrowing her gaze.

“Never mind that, just keep watching,” Leiden said, sounding like he enjoyed the attention, and then he raised his right hand. With the faint hum of a motor, he curled his fingers, then extended them. Repeating the actions several times, he used the same hand to reach into his bag and pull out a foot-long length of inch-thick iron bar, which he dropped on the table. The table shook, jarring the teacups and the plate of cookies into the air. It was the real thing.

“Sorry about that. You’d need a heavy press in a machine shop to bend this thing. But just watch.”

Picking the iron bar up again, Leiden put his thumb to one end of it. It bent like taffy.

An excited buzz ripped through the living room, bouncing off the walls and ceiling.

“Is—is that a piece of the Nobility’s armor you’ve got there?” sputtered the last of the visitors, a gray-haired and gray-bearded old-timer named Rust, eyeing Leiden’s right arm like he was looking at a ghost.

“It was probably based on that, originally. But this baby was perfected by Cor—er, a colleague of mine.”

“Habaki or Elsa?”

Everyone was exchanging doubtful glances with their nearest neighbors.

“C’mon, you can’t be serious,” Leiden replied. “No way in hell they’d be able to come up with something like this. This is a new colleague you folks don’t know about. I may not look it, but I’m a whiz at making new friends.”

“If you’ve got somebody like that on your side, we’d definitely appreciate their aid!” the mayor’s widow remarked with zeal.

“The problem is, even though he’s about the same age as us, he’s not a people person at all. There’s nothing he likes better than sitting off in a corner. Not exactly the type of person we could bring out in public.”

“Can this colleague of yours make weapons? I’m not talking about garden-variety bows and swords, but the kind of stuff the Nobility used to slaughter the OSB.”

“Hell, he made this. Sure, he based it off one of the Nobles’, but the one he had was broken and didn’t work at all. The solar batteries, power amplifier, and drive systems were all shot. And he fixed that crap all by himself. Given proper materials and a machine shop, he can do anything. Come to think of it, all the machines in his shop are things he put together, too.”

“And where is this friend of yours?” the mayor’s widow inquired, leaning forward. “I would most certainly like to make his acquaintance. He could provide a considerable booster to our firepower.”

“I second that,” Jacos said, raising his right hand. Then he narrowed his gaze.

“What is it?” Pilica asked.

Following the secretary’s gaze, Leiden turned around.

There was a window.

Turning back toward Jacos, he gave the man an inquisitive look.

“Back behind the trees—I saw one of your pals out there, Leiden. Habaki.”

“Not a chance,” Leiden said, turning once again, and after staring intently, he got to his feet.

“Was it Habaki?” asked Jacos.

“I don’t know,” Leiden replied. “But I’m gonna go have a look-see.”

“The sun ain’t down yet, but watch yourself out there all the same,” the graybeard called out to him.

Not bothering to reply, Leiden left the room. Though he knew that Habaki had gone to Doc Chavez, he’d been told his friend’s treatment would take a while and that he should head home, which he’d done. He’d talked with Elsa, and it was clear to them at first glance that Habaki had a grim fate clawing away at him. Even without any conclusive evidence, they knew. Frontier people just had that instinct.

But Habaki had been discharged. Either that, or he’d escaped the doctor’s care. There could only be one reason for that—he’d been turned into a servant of the Nobility.

The day was growing ever darker. At this hour, it wouldn’t be unusual for the lowest ranks of the creatures of the night to already be out and about.

Leiden tightened his grip on the iron bar he had in his right hand. He’d beat him senseless. A servant of the Nobility might have the strength of their maker, but they could still be killed with sheer brute strength. Plus, with this piece of armor, the man was sure he could deal with a lowly servant.

No, this is Habaki we’re talking about! Leiden thought to himself, feeling a chill. What the hell’s going through my head?

Circling around to the window Jacos had been facing, he focused his attention on the back yard.

The old mayor had often boasted to his coworkers at town hall about his garden, and those who’d seen it in the flesh would agree it was a sprawling affair. Designed by a landscape architect from the Capital, it stretched out in an endless quilt of orderliness and chaos, clumps of weeds poking from between orderly flower beds and stands of trees.

Leiden stepped into a heavy cluster of trees that shut out all sunlight. The trees and bushes were a unified family of shadow. With his fifth pace, a figure appeared from behind a tree up ahead of him.

“You?!” he exclaimed, swallowing hard.

“Yeah, me,” the lithe silhouette of Elsa replied. “Last night, the grand duke attacked me and drank my blood. My whole family was killed. I loaded ’em into the wagon and brought ’em out to the caves up north. When I woke up a little while ago, the worst hunger came over me. I wanted blood so badly I couldn’t stand it. So I came back to the village, and that’s when I happened to see Habaki.”

“Habaki?”

“Yeah. I tailed him, and he led me here. Don’t look at me that way, Leiden. Habaki’s in the same boat as me.”

“What?”

“On account of the poison gas he breathed in back with the monks. Maybe not the same as me, but he’s half dead.”

“Where is he?” Leiden asked, glancing to either side. He looked back over his shoulder, and when he faced forward again, Elsa was standing almost nose-to-nose with him.

“What the—?!” he exclaimed, and he was about to shove Elsa aside, but she shoved his shoulders first.

Leiden was aware that he’d been sent flying. A shock went through his body like he’d been kicked by a cyborg horse. The back of his head and his spine ended up against one tree in a stand of many. Sliding down to the bottom of it, he got up again, at which point Elsa pounced for his neck.

“Stop it!” Leiden bellowed, his right hook being blocked by Elsa’s left arm.

The blow shouldn’t have shaken her in the least, but it sent her flying more than five yards. Slamming against the ground, Elsa leapt back up. Her whole body hung a good three feet in the air. Her muscles were monstrously powerful.

“You’ve got some power armor on, don’t you?” she fairly groaned, the words spilling through vermilion lips. And with the words, a pair of fangs slipped out.

Elsa kicked off the ground. She’d bounded to the left. The instant Leiden turned in that direction, Elsa shot straight at his chest. And there wasn’t even the faintest hint of her trying to change direction.

His massive two-hundred-twenty-pound frame was sent flying once more. This time he snapped through the stand of trees and crashed to the ground.

“Looks like I win,” the girl said, mouth open wide to bare her fangs, her eyes giving off a murderous red glow—no, not murderous, but joyous at the prospect of adding a new member to their ranks.

The tips of her fangs made contact with Leiden’s throat—and then her body was jerked back. Spinning ineffectually, Elsa fell to the ground, then lifted her head. Her look of demonic hatred became one of surprise.

“Habaki?!”

Giving a doleful look to his former compatriot, the figure who’d just hurled the woman away asked, “You okay, Leiden?”

“I’m fine.”

“Good, then go back inside. I’ll take care of Elsa.”

Leiden was left speechless.

“Oh, spare me. Just which of us do you think you’re closer to right now?” Elsa sneered, her words streaming through the world of gloom. “Your eyes are bright red. You might not have fangs, but your breath is awfully cold. Don’t have hot blood running in your veins, do you? How about staying out of my way? I’m hungry. I’m starving. Let me feed.”

“Elsa,” one of her compatriots murmured, but which one?

Habaki bounded for Elsa’s chest.

A cry of pain rang out.

II

Elsa jumped away. A tree branch protruded from the left side of her chest. A deep red stain was spreading across the front of her blouse. Reaching for the branch but quickly taking her hand away again, Elsa got a somewhat pained smile on her face.

“Habaki—thank you. I’m saved at last.”

Though it seemed like Elsa was going to just thud to the ground, she first fell to her knees, then slowly slumped forward. Just as her chest was about to hit the ground, she arched her upper body back and struck her chest against the dirt. The bloodied tip of the branch poked out of her back. Elsa shuddered but once, and then she moved no more.

“What the hell is this?!” Leiden exclaimed in a tone choked with rage as he got back to his feet. He didn’t even know whom he was angry with. Was it with Elsa, for being turned into a vampire so easily and then just as easily destroyed by their friend? Was it with Habaki, for being so quick to drive a tree branch through the heart of their former comrade? Was it with himself, for being unable to do anything?

Habaki turned in his direction. “I’m halfway to being on their side,” he said in a voice that seemed to echo from the depths of the earth. “I’m still half human, but I don’t know what’s gonna happen next. Take good care of Cornet, Leiden.”

“Sure. But how’d you know to come here?”

“Because of the state I’m in, I get these strange hunches,” Habaki replied. “Cornet’s in danger. So I thought of you, and then I wound up coming out here.”

“I see. Well, leave him to me. But what’ll you—”

“I’ll take care of myself. The same way I took care of Elsa.”

“Hey!”

Leiden had been about to step forward, but Habaki stopped him, going over to Elsa and effortlessly throwing her over his shoulder. “See you,” he told Leiden, and then he ran off, melting away into the darkness.

“Yeah, see you,” Leiden replied as he got up again.

“What happened?” Jacos asked as he and Docia rushed over. Apparently the graybeard had stayed back in the house. Both of the other men were armed with short bows.

“Nothing. There’s nobody out here,” Leiden replied. He wasn’t sure how they’d react if he’d told them the truth. “I’m gonna look around a little bit more. Do me a favor and go back inside with the others.”

“All right. We’ll be waiting there for you,” Docia said, turning himself around to leave, and Jacos followed right behind him.

“That’ll buy you some time. I hope you make good your escape, Habaki,” the giant of a man said, and as he put his pained thoughts into words, tears streamed from his eyes.

Docia and Jacos stopped right in front of the former mayor’s house. The door was ajar. They were certain they’d shut it as they’d left. But the mayor’s widow and their compatriots weren’t outside.

“This ain’t right,” Docia said, taking the arrow he already had nocked and replacing it with another from his belt. The next thing he did was horrifying. He drove the sharp arrowhead into his left eye.

Jacos let out a little cry.

Docia soon pulled the arrow out again. His eyeball came with it.

“This is a ‘seeker arrow,’” he stated proudly. Through black magic the eye-bearing arrow would fly in accordance with the wishes of the one who fired it, transmitting everything in its surroundings back to him.

“The eye’s a prosthetic,” he explained. “Whatever it sees I’ll see through my right eye.”

“You don’t say,” Jacos groaned, sweat spreading across his brow.

“Don’t get spotted,” Docia whispered to the arrow, drawing the string tight and letting it fly into the house.

As instructed, the arrow would go quickly at times, slowly at others, creeping along the floor or skimming the ceiling to accomplish its mission.

“I’ve got a picture!” Docia cried out from where he sheltered to one side of the doorway. His tone was charged with self-confidence, but that suddenly changed to shock and fear. “The lady of the house, Pike, and Pilica are all dead. Shit, their heads are still barely connected to their bodies!”

“Who the hell did this? And when?” asked Jacos.

“Somebody who came in this way right after we left. No, I think it might’ve been through the window—at any rate, they got in somewhere.”

“Someone on Bezo’s side?”

“Who else? But I don’t think anybody in the village would’ve killed ’em like that.”

“Think it’s them? The Professor’s thugs?”

“Yeah,” Docia replied with a nod, and then he started blinking his remaining eye furiously. “My arrow got taken down. Run for it!”

Shooting him a glance as he nocked another arrow, Jacos ran off down the street. So blue, he thought to himself. It was already the time of monsters.

Once he was through the gate, the secretary turned and looked back. He saw Docia fire that second arrow. A streak of black shot to his windpipe. And then the archer’s throat split open and, with his vertebrae apparently severed already, his head flopped limply against his back. Deep red blood sprayed out as if from a faucet, recoloring the stepping stones and the walls of the doorway.

“Oh shit!” Jacos heard himself squeal as he raced down the street.

When he’d gone more than twenty yards, from behind a stand of trees a female voice beckoned to him, “Jacos—this way!”

Diving into the trees, the secretary was greeted by a red-haired woman.

“Ann?! You made it out okay?”

“Yes. Now, be quiet,” she told him, putting her index finger to somewhat plump lips. One of the two female co-conspirators, she threw a cautious glance out toward the street.

“What in the hell?!”

Four streaks of black went rushing by like streams of water in the same hue.

“Those things must be what cut everybody’s heads off. Docia said he saw something with his ‘seeker arrow.’ What are they?” asked Jacos.

“Claws!”

“Claws? Are you kidding me?!” the secretary exclaimed, his narrow eyes going wide, but then something suddenly dawned on him, and he continued, “That’s right—one of those guys had really long fingernails!”

“Valen!”

“Yeah, him! No question about it. But are those his nails? We’re more than twenty yards from the house! Can he make ’em grow?”

“Six hundred miles long, easily.”

“What?!” the accomplished secretary exclaimed, giving a piercing look to his coworker, but just as he saw a disturbing smile rise on her lips, a red line zipped across his throat. Black blood gushed from it with terrible force, and the secretary’s head fell against his spine like it was a backpack.

Looking down at Jacos’s body as it dropped to the ground, she remarked, “Poor bastard. But I didn’t really enjoy playing the traitor.” Recalling the toys from the Capital she’d be able to buy her children with the money she’d received for playing that part, Ann Dadorin from Family Records in town hall immediately got a smile on her face.

As she left, a boy watched her go from the dark cover of the trees. Puma, the son of the former mayor. He’d also gone out looking for Habaki before his mother and her friends were murdered.

“That jerk killed my mother—I’ll make her pay! Her, and the Professor’s thugs, too!” the boy cried, his grip tightening on a rifle. But another hand grabbed him by the wrist.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Leiden told him sternly.

“Chaney here,” the Professor said to the grayish figure who appeared on the communicator’s screen. “This is my regularly scheduled report. Nothing out of the ordinary at present,” he stated flatly.

“I see. Continue your negotiations with the grand duke. Our day of victory is close at hand!”

“I should think so. Ah, the Nobility’s devices—it’s said if we knew how to tap even a millionth of their potential, it would be power enough to make a toddler ruler of the world. I think perhaps today I might have an opportunity to see some of them.”

“We’ll be eagerly awaiting your next report. Don’t let us down, Chaney. You know what fate awaits you if you bungle this, I take it?”

“I’m well aware of the consequences.”

“Very well, then,” the figure said, fading away.

Reflected in the black screen, Professor Chaney raised his head. Usually, he had a bitter look on his face. But tonight, a thin little smile took its place.

“You can eagerly await this—marking the day I become supreme ruler of the world.”

Slamming the screen shut, he went over to the closet, opened the door, and began primping himself with the aid of the mirror that hung inside.

Somewhere far off in the distance, Vyken sensed the lid opening. And then the approach of the grand duke. Unsettling footsteps echoing down long stone corridors, the Nobleman headed his way. And now, he was just outside. The knock at the door made the odd-looking young man rise from his chair. It couldn’t be—he was much too early.

“Who is it?” Vyken asked.

The door replied, “Who do you think?”

“I’ll be damned—Baron Agrippa?”

“Right you are!”

Lacking sufficient energy to respond, Vyken stood rooted in his tracks.

“May I come in?”

Sparks flew in the man’s head, bringing him back to his senses.

“Kindly give me a moment, I’ll get the door for you.”

Running over to the door, he opened it.

“Many thanks,” said the massive figure that entered, looking swollen as some anthropomorphic balloon. “Why do you live in such squalor?”

The grand duke’s best friend, Baron Agrippa was a prominent member of the Greater Nobility in the eastern Frontier. Yet here he was, paying a visit on a lowly human guard.

“I don’t have any particularly pressing business,” the baron continued. “But for some time now I’ve wondered if you realize your true worth.”

“My true worth?”

“Yes,” the Nobleman replied, hands clasped behind his back as he grinned and stared at the young man.

“To be honest, I have no idea. Though I like to think I’m of some small service to his grace, the grand duke.”

“And to the rest of your kind—the villagers?”

“I suppose I’m a traitor,” he stated, then turned away in a snit. As a result, he didn’t notice the wicked grin of amusement that spread across the baron’s meaty face.

“Hmm. Just as I thought, you really don’t realize how valuable you are, do you? What an uncommon breed of man you are.”

“Are you here to appraise me?”

“There’s no need for that. Such was already done by the time you came into Bergenzy’s service. And you still live.”

“Is that supposed to mean I made the grade?”

“To my way of thinking, at least. By the way—and this is the biggest question I have for you at this time—how do you feel about Bergenzy?”

“He’s a respected member of the Greater Nobility who—”

“Oh, please, spare me!” Baron Agrippa interrupted, his massive form suddenly executing a succession of backflips. His feet never touched the ground. Spinning around and around in midair, his prodigious stomach quickly became almost impossible to see, moving so fast it was nearly transparent, but then he gradually slowed, plopping to the ground.

“Oops,” the baron said, massaging his battered rump as he got to his feet. “A little more of that and I would’ve assimilated everything. I really must do something about this habit I have of getting overexcited too easily.”

Sensing something unsettling in the Nobleman’s leisurely tone, Vyken looked all around him. Having lost most of their color and shape, the stone walls were distorted, as if they were being viewed through water. The same was true of the floor and ceiling. If allowed to continue, the man wondered if they might not turn into thin air.

Is that what he means about assimilating them?

Feeling like his heart was caught in someone’s grip, Vyken raised his right arm. He intended to wipe the sweat from his brow. But his hand stopped. Vyken had noticed that his right hand was half transparent.

“You’ll recover soon enough. Although it may not work exactly the same as it did before.”

Here the baron gave a mirthful laugh, but he quickly reverted to a serious face. Vyken was biting down on his right forearm. As a stream of red linked his arm to the floor, color and shape returned to his surroundings.

“So, that’s what you’re capable of,” Baron Agrippa said with amazement. “I can see why Bergenzy would keep you around. You may be able to give me what I want.”

“What you want?”

The baron sat down in a rustic chair. The chair was bent to its limits.

Looking concerned about it, Vyken continued, asking, “What might that be?”

“I want you to torpedo the agreement between Bergenzy and this ‘Professor’ individual.

Vyken nodded without a second thought. After realizing what he’d done, he hastily looked up to see the Nobleman’s roly-poly face beaming and nodding in agreement.

“But why, my good baron?”

“Because he has forgotten the pride of the Nobility.” Planting the soles of his boots on the floor, the baron leaned back, chair and all. Looking up at the ceiling, he continued, “The humans will get our technology and the knowledge of its use, and in exchange we get regular offerings of blood from them. How is that any different than the basest peddler of vices? Why must we even enter into a give-and-take arrangement with human beings in the first place? The Nobility are an honored class that reigns over the human race. The great take from the small. Fly in the middle of the night to the home of some beautiful maiden. Kill her guards, kill her family, and burst into her bedroom. And let us not forget the sublime pleasure of sucking the blood from her pale throat after overcoming all her resistance. That is what it means to be a Noble, that is what we are—and don’t look at me that way, now. I believe you understand what I’ve left unsaid. Bergenzy must reclaim his pride in being a Noble. And in order to do that, I need you to die.”

Vyken had no reply for that.

“And no, it won’t end there. I swear this to you, as sure as my name is Baron Agrippa. You have my promise that once you’re dead, or even in the unlikely event you make it back alive, I shall make you one of our kind.”

“That’s a very kind offer, but I’m afraid I have to clear up a misunderstanding here,” Vyken said, staring at the baron. “Not once have I ever wished to become a Noble. And the grand duke is well aware of this.”

“Why are you here, then? Humans who serve the Nobility do so with an aim toward being made Nobles—is that not the eternal truth?”

“There are exceptions. In my case—well, I suppose I wanted the sort of life of luxury I could never know in the village.”

“I see. So, you’re a traitor, then?”

Smiling wryly at the baron’s matter-of-fact remark, Vyken replied, “That’s precisely why I don’t want to lose his grace, the grand duke. I would do anything to keep him here forever.”

“Even take action against other human beings?”

“Yes.”

“That might include your fellow villagers.”

“I’ve been prepared for that ever since I came to the castle.”

“Very well,” the baron said with a satisfied nod. “Let us move on to the nuts and bolts of a more concrete plan of action.”

“Please, wait a moment,” Vyken said, stopping him. “I know this isn’t a matter of life or death for his grace the grand duke. To the contrary, I believe the grand duke truly wishes to bargain with the humans.”

“Because he doesn’t realize the road he treads leads to ruin. If this folly is allowed to continue, the humans will see how easy this is and dangle even sweeter bait in front of the Nobility to learn their secrets. Bergenzy won’t be able to prevent it.”

“But that’s—” Vyken began, but his words faltered.

“I know what you’re trying to say. No matter how much we may compromise, when push comes to shove, we are still the Nobility. We can incinerate a million humans with a snap of our fingers. But will he still be able to do that once he learns how sweet it is to negotiate with the human race?”

“My good baron, you should say no more.”

“Oh ho! I’ll stop at that, then,” the obese Nobleman chortled. “I didn’t expect you’d immediately take me up on this impromptu offer. Take some time to mull it over. Let’s get together again. But with or without you, I will take action.”

The baron rose from his chair and left.

Not bothering to see him out, Vyken mused, “So, ultimately he’s asking me to kill the grand duke, is that it? Damn you, baron, just what have you got up your sleeve?”

He looked out the window. It was dark. A deep blue hue.

III

D’s physical condition improved with the coming of darkness.

“I can’t believe it!” That was all Françoise could say when D got to his feet. “Where are you going?” she asked.

“The grand duke’s resting place.”

There was no place else he’d want to go.

After some hesitation, she countered, “But no one knows where he sleeps.”

“Only one place it could be. In a coffin underground,” said the hoarse voice. “We’re going. You’d better come along, too. Sooner or later it’s gonna come to light that you helped us out. That’s something only you or the grand duke could’ve done, right?”

Françoise quickly made up her mind, saying, “Okay, I’ll go.”

As D headed for the doorway, the woman followed after him without the slightest hesitation.

“Are you sure we’ll be okay?”

Françoise’s question wasn’t really a question at all. In a manner of speaking, it was just the sort of thing you said in a situation like this.

The real Françoise was entranced by the beauty of the young man walking ahead of her. He seemed to project an alluring glow as he pushed on in silence. Françoise felt like she was held by invisible bonds. And if D had willed her to die, there was no doubt she’d have complied in her throes of rapture.

There was no reply. D pressed on without even looking back at her.

“You’ve only been inside the castle twice, is that right? So how do you know your way around so well?”

“Instinct,” he replied in the hoarse voice.

“Instinct?”

“What’s got you so jumpy?” the hoarse voice jeered. “Any road my friend here’s taken once, no matter how complicated, he can retrace without ever getting lost. Not only that, but he can even follow a path that isn’t there, like he’s doing now.”

Françoise grew bewildered.

“What the—?” the hoarse voice groaned.

A glow like that of a fable ghost light had sparked in the corridor. It quickly took on the shape of crystal candelabra and large candles ensconced along either wall.

“The sun’s down at last. The creatures of the night will be on the move.”

D’s voice overlapped with the hoarse one, saying, “Let’s go,” as he wrapped an arm like steel around Françoise’s waist. An instant later the girl was moving like the wind past the glowing flames, flying toward the head of a staircase leading underground that had been visible a short distance away.

Nothing displayed the Nobility’s nostalgic tastes more than their castles. Walls, ceilings, and floors were all carefully crafted of rough-hewn stone. Light in that era was provided by sconces. The corridors they traveled twisted and turned to make eternal prisoners of any invaders, and staircases stretched on forever. As a result, even the residents feared to set foot in areas outside the bounds of their daily activities. A single step could confuse their sense of spatial recognition and suspend the functions of the semicircular canals, which detect movement in three dimensions.

As D advanced into the depths of the castle without the slightest hesitation, stark bones began to appear down at his feet.

“Why—they’re wearing servant garb!” Françoise exclaimed in horror.

“Butlers who took a wrong turn,” D told her by way of explanation.

Françoise was stunned. “Who—who are you?”

Finally, D stood before a massive iron door. Françoise saw him press the palm of his left hand against its black surface.

“We’re too late,” the hoarse voice remarked at the same time D lowered his left hand.

“What’s wrong?!” the girl inquired.

“The grand duke’s not here.”

“What?”

“This is undoubtedly the crypt, though. It seems we were just a little too late.”

“What’ll you do?”

“Search him out.”

D sped back the way he’d come, the wind churning in his wake. And it wasn’t just from his change of direction. The wind had carried a voice. Even Françoise had heard it.

The grand duke is in the subterranean power room.

“It’s a wind comm,” the girl said. “People in the castle use the wind to convey messages.”

“Whose was that just now?”

“They all end up sounding the same. But usually the speaker will give their name and location.”

“It’s probably a trap,” said the hoarse voice.

Françoise was gazing at D. He’s the kind to say he’s going anyway, she thought.

“Let’s go.”

“This is where we part company,” said the hoarse voice.

“Huh?”

“Hunting Nobility is dangerous business. You’d only get in the way.”

“But where am I supposed to go?”

“To the village. You’ve gotta know somebody there—oh, yeah, there’s that guy underground.”

“Underground?” Françoise said, furrowing her brow.

“Damn it,” the left hand said, and it was just about to cover its mouth when it was jerked away. D had given it a good shake.

“Underground—that’d be Sagan’s Kingdom!” the girl exclaimed.

“What the hell’s that?” asked the hoarse voice.

“About a hundred years ago, a little boy named Sagan accidentally discovered a series of crisscrossing tunnels under the village. But by the time I was a kid, people just said it was only a legend. Not a person alive had ever been in there.”

“Hmm. Well, that ain’t the case anymore,” the hoarse voice said, punctuating it with a chortle that was abruptly choked short.

His left hand balled tightly, D said, “I don’t know whether or not it’s your brother who’s down there. But he’ll probably help you out. And I’m not saying that you have to stay there until I get back.”

Françoise’s expression was one of bewilderment with the faintest touch of anger, but it firmed into surprise. For she understood what D meant. I could end up dead—that’s what D was saying.

This is just a way of life for him! she thought, feeling like she’d been dunked headfirst into a cold, clear stream. “I see,” she said. “I’ll head back. And I won’t worry myself too much about you.”

A faint smile wafted across D’s lips—or so it appeared to her.

“Good-bye.”

What she really wanted to say was See you later. But Françoise choked back those words.

D turned his back to her. And he didn’t pause for even a second before walking off.

Taking a deep breath, Françoise set off on foot. She felt like there was a gaping hole in her chest.

After she’d gone about a hundred feet at a rapid clip, something odd happened to the wall to her right. A six-foot-square stone slid out of the wall and fell to the floor. There was no crash of it making impact. What were clearly metallic legs stretched out from all four sides of the stone to support it.

“A trans-forcer . . .”

Mechanical creatures with the ability to mimic anything, they were scattered throughout the castle. Although Françoise had seen them on a number of occasions, not once had one of these enforcers ever blocked her path. That was because they’d confirmed her identity with the main computer. Now, that computer viewed her as some unknown intruder. Undoubtedly something had seen her with D.

Françoise moved to the left. The trans-forcer also shifted to that side.

“I guess I don’t have much choice,” said the girl.

Realizing that this passageway led out of the castle, the trans-forcer commanded, “Halt. Resist and I will be forced to fire. Come with me.”

“Sure, whatever you say,” Françoise replied, raising her hands so the backs of them faced outward. The particle launcher concealed in the bracelet around her left wrist sent a blinding band of emissions at the six-by-six cube. The cube raised an antenna-like paralyzer to strike, but it was swiftly reduced to a molten mass.

“Poor thing. This is some of my handiwork,” said Françoise.

Racing past the boiling mess of stone and machinery, the girl soon halted. A figure had appeared from around a corner about twenty yards distant. One glance at his black hair, and Françoise cried out to him, “Vyken?!”