The Division of the Damned (7 page)

"A room has been prepared for you upstairs. It is cleaner than down here," she added by way of explanation.

"I really should go have a wash, if you don’t mind showing me where
my room is.”

She led him out of the library and took him upstairs. It was two thirty in the morning.

*  *  *

Alone in his room, Smith went over the events that had just unfolded. It was unbelievable. On the one hand he was elated to find that he was not alone in the world. He had a family (however out of the ordinary it was), and he had a past. His whole life had been guided and steered from outside by people who were loyal to his clan.

However, why now? Why let him wait so bloody long? Why was he called back to the fold at this precise time? The
c
ount
had said that he had to help carry on the bloodline, what did that mean? Did he have problems in that area? Why
was he
the twin that was sent away and what the hell was this
Cronica Insangerata
thing and
the son of Utu
?

He washed himself and went to the bed. It was a large four-poster, with spotless white sheets and a thick eiderdown quilt decking its large expanse. The whole room was a complete contrast to the filth of the ground floor. Tiled flooring, a roaring fireplace, carved wooden panels and stained glass windows,
a bit too Gothic and Bela Lugo
si for Smith’s tastes but nevertheless clean and warm.

His thoughts turned to Maria. The way she had looked at him tonight had raised his hopes and warmed his loins.
She was beautiful, mysterious, fragile, and yet, in the blink of an eye, he had seen the predator that lurked beneath that delicate surface.
It hadn’t scared him but it had changed his perception of her. Would he have to carry on the bloodline with Maria?

The thought pleased him and yet that pleasure was tinged with the fear that perhaps he must marry her, live with her. As an object of desire, she was perfect, but as a prospective wife she was far too volatile. Was he being too British about this? Did they even marry in Transylvania? Certainly the
c
ount
hadn’t mentioned a wife.

The knock on the door was so soft that at first it didn’t register. He turned round just as Maria snuck into the room. No words were spoken and all his doubts and worries fell from him as his ardour rose. He went to her.

*  *  *

He woke early. Maria had gone. She hadn’t answered any of his questions and he hadn’t pressed. He had enjoyed both the sex and the afterglow, and she had shown a softer, more feminine side that was as reassuring as it was pleasing.

He got up and went to the bathroom. The water was cold, and it woke him and his stomach up. After getting dressed, he went to open the door but it was locked. He tried again but it was no use. It stayed locked and he was trapped.

What the hell was going on? He went back and sat on his bed to think this through. Why had they locked his door, to what end?

To keep him in, obviously.

He went over to his bag and checked that his weapons were still there. To his immense relief, they were so, sitting back down on the bed, he pondered his next move.

The door clicked sharply and swung open with a loud creak. The man who had let them in the night before stood silent and staring in the doorway, holding a tray. Smith stood up as he walked in. He appeared older in the daylight and his pale, sickly complexion was covered in red blotches of dry, raw skin. His eyes were ringed dark and the hair that had looked carefully swept back in his photo was lank and greasy. It fell back off his forehead and dangled onto his stained and scuffed shirt collar. He looked in his faded and worn uniform the personification of the degradation and decay of the rooms below.

"Do you speak English?” Smith asked. The man nodded and we
nt to the night
stand to put the tray down. He turned to go but Smith stood in his way.

"Why was the door locked last night? Am I a prisoner?”

The man, who by now Smith had realised was a butler of sorts, just shook his head and pointed to the tray.

"Am I free to leave the room or are you going to lock it again?” he asked.

For the first time the butler spoke. He had a deep, rich voice that seemed at odds with his appearance. "You are free to leave your room if you wish, but the
Master
asks that you stay inside the grounds and wait until tonight for more answers.”

With that he turned and left, leaving the door open behind him. Smith went over to the tray and uncovered the food. Bread, fried eggs, a sausage of some sort and bacon. It looked good so he ate it before leaving the room, determined to explore.

Chapter 10

Daylight made everything seem a lot cleaner and more normal. Perhaps he had just imagined the filth the night before. He couldn’t really say. Although there was a layer of dust over everything it didn’t look as bad as he remembered it. He walked slowly down the hall, looking at the portraits and the statues that decorated the building. He tried to identify a likeness to himself in the pictures but it was to no avail.

Deciding to try the rooms, he opened the door next to the library and discovered a large sitting room. It was dusty and stale. Empty candleholders stood in frozen pools of wax and the musty aroma of damp furniture besieged his senses.  As he entered he was immediately struck by a large picture that hung above the fireplace. It looked like him, or his brother. Walking closer, he realised that it wasn’t him as the man in the picture had dark hair. He should have known but something held his attention to the likeness. It was the eyes. The eyes glared at him in anger, the rage and violence palpable and all too real for
Smith
’
s liking
.

"That was your father, James.” It was Maria. "A great and fierce ruler who looked always to the future but never forgot the past.”

He turned and wanted to go to her but, somehow, it all seemed different. Whatever chemistry they’d had the night before was spent and inert. She seemed unaware of his unease and walked up to the portrait. She caressed the canvass and turned to Smith.

"You are his son. You are also
the son of Utu
. Do you understand what that means?” she challenged.

"Of course I don’t
.
I didn’t know I had a bloody family until yesterday. I don’t even know the family name or if I was given a name before I was sent away.”

He walked over to one of the windows and took in the scene stained into it. It was a knight, turning his back to hide his face from the sun. On his chest
was
the Cross of Lorraine, the cross of the Eastern Orthodox Church
,
which vaguely reassured him. It was good to know that his ancestors had Christian connections, especially after all he’d heard about his own family recently. At the knight’s feet lay slaughtered men. Smith presumed they were his enemies. Their bodies were decapitated, with the heads stuck on poles on the horizon behind him. The colour red was predominant and Smith vaguely wondered what gruesome story lay behind the display.

"Is that one of my forefathers?” he asked.

"Yes. His name was Szaran. His is the second name in the
Cronica Insangerata
and he, together with his lover, started the bloodline. He was a mighty warrior king who defied the Gods, so the story goes, and
starte
d a war for love. I’m sure the
Master
, your brother, will tell you all about your family tonight
.”
She smiled at him for the first time that morning and his heart skipped a beat.

"Why don’t you tell me?" he flirted.

"I cannot.
it’s
not my place.
I’m sorry I spoke in such a manner to you
,” s
he backtracked quickly. "All will be revealed tonight, I promise.”

Smith looked through the pane of glass and saw a path running off to the west of the building.

"Where does that go
?” H
e turned to Maria and pointed out of the window.

She didn’t need to look to where he was pointing and answered him straightaway. "It leads to a
…”
She paused as if contemplating how to answer him. "It leads to a village.”

"What village? I didn’t notice any village when we came last night.”

"We travelled the main road that leads up to the house and comes from the south. You wouldn’t have been able to see it," she answered. "The castle is very big. Would you like me to show you around?”

"What’s in the village?” he asked.

"People, soldiers, children and wom
en.
It’s just a village, come." S
he held out her hand, gracing him with another smile
.
"
L
et me show you around. There’s s
uch a lot to see.
”

"What sort of soldiers?
Romanian soldiers?”

"The
c
ount
's soldiers.
Your soldiers.
This all belongs to your family.
You and your brother.
Come with me and I’ll show you the grounds.”

She seemed playful and charmingly girlish, and Smith wondered at the differing personalities he’d witnessed in Maria. She was a leader, a servant, a siren and now she played the girl. He wanted to abandon himself to her charms but the inconsistencies within her character disturbed him.

She led him out to the hall and up the staircase, the whole time chatting and throwing in little titbits of information about one member of the family or another.
The castle seemed to be a large hollow square made up of four long wings. Each wing was three storeys high and had numerous stained glass windows that gave it a distinctly church-like appearance. In the middle was a large court and Maria proudly told him that that was where they used to carry out executions.

"Anybody who broke the law was taken to the
s
quare to be dealt with by the
Master
." She looked at him and continued by way of explanation, "The
c
ount
. They flogged, burned, hanged and strangled, all down there.”

"Burnt, burnt alive on the stake?”

She nodded and Smith didn’t know what to say. His sense of affinity to the family he had just acquired was now replaced by unease and a distant notion of fear. He looked to Maria as if to seek reassurance.
"When was the last person burnt down there?”

"1914
,
” she answered readily.

"But that was thirty years ago. That couldn’t have been my brother," he started and then trailed off.

Maria spoke his realisation. "No, it was your father.”

Smith had known the answer before Maria spoke and yet still he was speechless. His father, a man he had never met and yet a man who had left his mark on his soul. The whole circumstance of his return had taken a darker turn, Smith needed answers and he wanted them now.

"Where’s the
c
ount
?” He couldn’t bring himself to say 'my brother
.
' "I’ve got to know what is going on.”

"The
Master
is away. You wil
l see him
later,
” Maria stalled.
"Please, James, calm down. You will learn everything later, I promise.”

Smith was almost beside himself but slowly managed to control h
is unease. He needed to get out.

"Take me to the village, Maria. I need to see other people and breathe clean air.”

Maria looked at him as if weighing things up and nodded her assent.

A fresh wind whipped through the hall as they opened the main door to go out. Smith squinted against its frozen assault and pulled his collar up tight.

A voice
from behind stopped them. "The
Master
said he should stay within the grounds.” They both turned. It was the butler.

"We’re going to the village. If the
c
ount
wants to see me, he can come and get me," Smith replied and marched out into the snow.

Maria followed him, pleading,
"
Come back, James. I didn’t know you had to stay here.”

"What is this?" he retorted. "Am I a prisoner? I’ll go where I damn well please. You can come with me or you can stay here. It’s your decision."

He turned again and walked to the path that led to the village.

Chapter 11

She followed him in silence. The path led down a hill and through the woods. There were no forks or turn offs and, after a short three minute march, Smith found himself on the edge of a ring of thatched cottages. No dogs barked and no soul challenged him.