«You wanted to fight me?» I suggested, drew a sharpened stiletto from my inside pocket, and handed it to Charlo.
«Youre insane,» Charlo shrugged back. He could no longer keep up his show of unconcern. Well, I was disgusted with his impertinence to begin with. He was behaving like a normal human being for once, not ingratiating himself or trying to show he was above them all. The mask was torn off, and beneath it, instead of a shadow, just a fearful wretch who feared for the safety of his hide.
«Im sane,» I countered calmly. «But you are sane or not. How can a healthy person observe such hallucinations as the ones youve just experienced? Can people who are even remotely sane see these things in their dream?»
I showed him what Id shown many people, cutting my clear, pale skin with the blade, striking a vein, and dipping my fingers into the wound to leave a few blood droplets on it. Of course, the cut healed on its own, but it seemed to the audience that the scar had smoothed over my skin as soon as the moonlight touched it. A common belief, the moonlight touched the body and the restless spirit returned to it. Id read enough scary books to know that, except that the moon cycle had nothing to do with my invulnerability. I glanced at my renewed skin, wiped the blood from my fingers with the handkerchief Id left in my pocket, and, with a chuckle that would have scared the hell out of any demon, said Charlo:
«If you were in your right mind, you wouldnt have seen anything like that.»
I jumped off the stage just as easily, and then added more kindly:
«I was only trying to persuade you that gold can only be obtained from a lord you serve faithfully, not by robbery. Do not think that I am a conjurer and that the chest is only a trick. If you had ever been to a circus, youd know that people cant perform such a trick. Think hard about what you saw. In the meantime, I advise everyone to go home.»
«Yes, Im going,» Klovis threw off the short black cloak from his shoulders and aptly tossed it at Charlos feet. «Ive had enough of the blackness.»
He staggered away at a brisk pace. Without his cloak he looked like a bird without wings. The cloak, like a tattered plumage, lay near the scaffold.
«No one can escape us,» Charlo shouted threateningly. «And you,» he said suddenly to me. «Why you not burn us. If you can breathe fire, why havent you burned all your enemies?»
«I cant,» I said. «I cant leave just a handful of ashes from everyone. Otherwise, I would put the executioners, who are on duty day and night in the torture chambers of my castle, out of a job. They have to practice their trade on someone, too, lest I turn them away.»
Charlo fell silent. He was uncomfortable with the prospect of my prison.
«I wont be back for a while, but Ill pick my own time,» I said as I left. «Ive taught you a lesson, and now Ill give you time to think. Consider, Charlo, what youve just seen, and conclude for yourself, perhaps your nighttime walks are bad for your sanity, perhaps youve just seen things no one else has, and perhaps I, the dragon, only exist in your sick imagination.»
I waved my hand, glowing like a firefly in the darkness, as if to send them all into oblivion, and ducked into the alley, where Klovis footsteps were already fading around the corner. I knew that someone swift and unpredictable was following him, nimbly leaping from one roof to another, hiding behind chimneys and ledges, scratching the tiles with his claws, and all the while intently observing the figure of the young man, who from a height looked only a dot crawling through the narrow streets.
There was again a nimble, precise leap. Someones claws caught on the ledge of a stacked brick chimney and scratched it. The gutter creaked, the heel of someones boot scraping lightly against the iron-clad heel. Klovis, of course, didnt hear all that. He couldnt have been as sensitive to the presence of another predatory creature near him, his hearing was not as acute as mine, and his thinking was not as quick. Compared to me, he was short-sighted. So, who could he have spotted on the rooftops, if even I guessed the existence of a stalker not because I noticed it, but by the sounds it made as it moved. Even I had a hard time distinguishing him from the average yard cat that climbed up on the roof.
«Dont turn around!» I chased and shoved Klovis aside so that some heavy glass object, thrown from above, whistled nearby and shattered on the sidewalk. One sharp shard killed a mouse that had carelessly darted out from under the basement grate. Klovis barely restrained his nausea from my pushing it to the ground, not so far from the slashed body of the beast.
«It would have been you,» I tossed the ugly corpse with the edge of my boot where it belonged, behind the sewer grate.
The boy swallowed convulsively and nodded, as if trying to say «thank you!»
Someone who had jumped off the roof was now running away from us through the tangled streets. A person could not remain unharmed and uninjured by jumping from such a height. Another man would have been dead by now if he had dared such a maneuver, but this one was still full of energy and was running away almost at a hopping pace. Isnt that monkey agility?
«What did I ever do to deserve your help?» Klovis got to his feet and shook down the dirt.
«Normally, help is required of me. But, believe, if I were to come at you from around the corner, no amount of help would bring relief.»
«He wont let me get away. Wouldnt he?» Klovis turned as if he could see the flaming footprints left on the stones by someones soles.
«He is strong, but he is not omnipotent» I remembered that I had not only escaped the dungeon myself, but I had broken all relations between us.
«What do you mean by that?» Klovis looked to me hopefully, as if I were someone smarter and more experienced, someone who could answer any question correctly.
«Sit back somewhere, and then, who knows, things may turn in your favor.»
«Sit back? I must sit back as a fugitive?» There was a sound of doubt in his voice. Klovis wasnt sure he could do nothing for a long time without growing tired of it. He was the sort of man for whom any work was better than forced idleness. Even doing useless work he would know that life goes on and maybe one day work would bring success, but lurking somewhere and fearing for himself was tantamount to burial for him.
«You are a fugitive,» I reminded him, though he knew it already.
«And where would I hide, they scatter through the city as night falls, as numerous and inescapable as the cloak of darkness that descends on the earth toward evening.»
«I would suggest you go to a monastery, but Im afraid that, though it is the only escape, it would be unacceptable to you.»
«Is there somewhere else I could take refuge?» He wished to prolong his life, but his adolescent recklessness prevailed.
I waved with my hand in the direction of the rounded golden domes of the church belfry.
«Only there,» I said, and then added. «I dont mean to turn you into a monk or lay-brother, but if you can get there youd better not go out yet.»
I turned and wanted to go, but he stopped me.
«Does the Infanta really live with you?» He asked me hesitantly.
«Yes,» I said easily. «Did she call herself Infanta?»
«She said we could call her Infanta of the Shadows or Rosabella,» he admitted. «We didnt know each others real names until you came to us.
«I mustnt be too long, but Ill see that you get to the porch safely, otherwise youll have to rely on yourself,» I did not add that Rose was already waiting for me. He was already a little upset.
«See you later,» I said goodbye to Clovis at the door, and added to myself, «I hope that you will be still alive.»
On the way, after picking up the gifts for Rose, which had remained untouched only by the cloak of invisibility, or their bright wrappings would have attracted someone even at this late hour, I headed back to the castle. Even before I flew over the square, I already knew that it was empty. All the shadows had scattered. There was no sign of Charlo on the platform, not even Cloviss abandoned cloak. To the casual observer it would have seemed as if nothing had happened. The silence that followed the storm seemed unnatural to me, too. The storm had passed, the fire in the night had gone out, and the rage had at least reluctantly but temporarily subsided, if not cooled.
I returned to the castle at the moment that fate seems to have given us on purpose, to learn how to resist temptation. The writing-case I had noticed Vincent carrying more than once lay lonely on the table, while the owner himself was away. It would have looked abandoned had there not been a half-written sheet of paper on the writing-stand beside it, and the ink-stained quill had not yet had time to return to its hole in the inside of the case. A stack of neatly beaded sheets lay on top of the blank paper. The sandstone inkpot was half-empty, and small vials and bottles of colorful ink were designed specifically to highlight the most important lines in the manuscript. The pen-sharpening knife at the tip of its blade was painted in scarlet ink, as if the author had slit his wrists to sign the epilogue to the work in blood. A signature made in the wizards blood would burst into flames in a moment of danger to protect his copyright, but against my peeping, petty sorcery was powerless.
I could not resist the temptation. I had long guessed that Vincent was writing a book, most likely his own biography. It was something like a long confession. I wanted to know what he had experienced before he first met me and during our long separation, but I was too lazy or too delicate to dig into his thoughts or ask him directly. I feared that as soon as I began to read, some evil spirit would laugh at me, saying that the manuscript was only a decoy, the inked paragraphs would spread on the paper, and the paper itself would scatter with papyrus dust, but nothing of the sort happened. I settled myself in the chair in front of the fireplace, looked back at the door almost thievishly, to think I felt like a thief in my own house, but putting aside conscience and morality, I began to read, and I was unspeakably surprised. No confession on Vincents part. The charming weasel was too careful for that. What I held in my hands was the story of my own life, that is, of the section of it Vincent was watching. An incorrigible romantic, he had, either with Roses help or his own initiative, turned the whole novel into a love-adventure story. There was, of course, more fiction than truth. If Vincent had dared to put my entire background on paper, I would not have forgiven him. It was my right to tell the whole truth about myself, and I could not have a dodgy hanger-on confessing it for me. Fortunately, Vincent decided to be a fantasist. He sang the dithyrambs of my looks on almost every page. I was, of course, flattered. More than that, I was embarrassed for the first time. It turns out that Vincent saw me as a noble, almost blessed creature, which I had never been.
«Whats your opinion?» Suddenly Vincents voice came from behind the back of the chair. Rose had already crept quietly into the room, too, and it seemed to me that both she and Vincent had not entered through the doorway, but had grown right out of the ground.
«Who was that for?» Rose humbly clasped her hands behind her back and stared intently at the newly brought boxes.
«It is not for him,» I remarked about the gremlin, who, wielding his paws much more deftly than human hands, had already removed the lids from the boxes and was enthusiastically touching the soft orange ruffled skirt with his claws. He seemed to think that the whole pile of fancy rags had been brought here specially to make a cozy nest for him to sleep in.
«So how about my first well, almost first literary audition,» Vincent insisted.
«Are you telling me youve written anything before that?» I grinned, and then met his disapproving gaze. You cant joke when someone has opened up to you about the most important thing. «Well, I guess no ones ever made a villain a positive hero before.»
«Hmm» Vincent was clearly expecting something more, at least praise for his labors, but instead of chiding me for being disrespectful, he nodded toward the carrier and suggested. «Open the secret compartment. Theres a hidden spring, push it.
I didnt want to touch his personal belongings, the inviolability of which had already been violated, but since Vincent suggested it himself. I opened the stash easily and pulled out a stack of letters. There was no address on the envelopes. Half of them had a capital «B» written in ornate handwriting, and the other half had something like a red-ink-soaked fingerprint. All the letters were already printed out, so I unfolded the first one I picked at random and read it out loud:
«Your grace! I am your humble former secretary, having served under you as chief assistant, archivist, housekeeper, bookkeeper, housekeeper, cook, etc., etc.» I didnt have the strength to list all the things I had read. My tongue was bony from what I had already read out loud. After skipping three lines, I continued. «Overcoming my innate shyness, I take the liberty of disturbing you, not through impudence or immodesty, but by virtue of grave circumstances. Our illustrious monseigneur has taken possession not only of the Lara, but of every acre of land around it, and there is not even a corner where I can rest my head without fearing every moment that it is about to fall off my shoulders. If I could find a corner in a warehouse or a cellar, where I could hide without the fear that a bat might fly past and report to its lord that there was an extra in town. No attic, alas, though it looks uninhabited, is actually so. Everywhere the servants of our sun-like monseigneur live, fly, or nest. Your humble servant would never trouble you with a request for intercession, knowing full well that it would be an impossible burden on you. You may wish to ask why I should not leave Lara, so I will answer in advance that, first, the protective ring of spells does not let anyone in or out of the city, of which you yourself are well aware, and that, second, I cannot afford to live anywhere else. On this point I dare remind you that you still havent paid me three-quarters of my regular monthly wages, and the whole of last months. Do not think that I resent you. I could have lived with my usual trade if all the purses in the city had not been counted among the servants of the new lord. Where one strong robber has gone, there is nothing for the smaller ones to do. Again, I would not have disturbed you if it hadnt been for the utmost need. I heard recently that somehow you had managed to find a remedy for the return of youth. You have always reproached me for being too young, but time passes, and now, sitting in my fragile shelter, the doors of which may at any moment be blown open by a fiery explosion or a visit from a terrible guest, I feel like a decrepit old man. Even, my hand trembles when I write, unable to write out the letters accurately. Please tell me the secret of your transformation, if only as a reward for the one year, seven months, twenty-nine days and five hours I served you in so many positions before you not quite politely chased me out. I served you faithfully, and this sudden dismissal can be explained either by an empty treasury or the appearance of a new favorite, but I am not offended. As a reward for all the services I have rendered you, out of infinite respect for your person I do not demand a penny of money, only send me a prescription so that I can, like you, rejuvenate myself. P.S.. A blank piece of paper, so you dont waste any money, enclosed. I would also enclose a postage stamp and printing wax, if you and I were to use regular postage. Thank you in advance, eternally yours, Vincent.»
«Its a good thing I didnt correspond with you,» I said with a sigh of relief as I read the letter. You show a meticulousness in your written explanations that you would have been beaten for in real life.»