Looming before the pair was what could only be the door to the control room.
“Don’t let your guard down,” said Gorshin.
“Understood,” Benelli replied with a nod.
They absolutely couldn’t forget the mysterious individual who lurked somewhere in the Iron Castle.
Gorshin opened the door. It wasn’t locked. That in itself was unthinkable.
Many gangs of human thieves targeted traveling Nobles. When they did so, they always struck during the daylight hours. The Nobility’s vehicles carried astonishingly few armaments. That was on account of confidence in their overwhelming physical superiority to humans. If ensconced in coffins of the nigh-indestructible metal they’d developed during their tribulations with the aliens, their safety was guaranteed until the end of time. In the meantime, humans would have to settle for stealing jewels and items of precious metals—things the Nobility could reproduce ad infinitum. That was best for all involved. A sturdy lock would guard against any stupid savages not content with riches but intent on hijacking the Castle.
The control room of the Iron Castle resembled the helm of a massive ocean liner. There was no one before the curving window that called to mind an enormous screen. Of course, there was no yoke or wheel, or so much as a dial or gauge.
Not at all dubious, Gorshin stood at the middle of the window. Light surrounded him. It took the form of the nonexistent wheel and gauges. This, too, was an illusion. Like the people who assembled in the lounge, it was a fantasy projected by machinery. However, a slight turn of his head allowed him to survey the phantom console, and after one glance at it he said, “Energy level reads as full. The rails are bent, but if we can get the Iron Castle moving, its auto-repair systems should go into operation. Starting it up!”
“Nothing wrong with the drive or power systems?” Benelli inquired, his deeply creased face twisting sadly. Not that he was sad; his face only looked that way.
“Negative. Here we go!”
Gorshin grabbed a glowing lever and pushed it forward. Lights twinkled in the phantom console. Power systems automatically shut down by the accident had gone back on. The vehicle shuddered irregularly, but in no time that gave way to orderly mechanical action. The Iron Castle had begun to rise.
“Gorshin,” Benelli called out from behind him. Though it was his ordinary tone, his voice seemed a little hard.
When Gorshin turned and looked, his body stiffened for a moment. It wasn’t that he was startled by the gorgeous figure in black who was face to face with Benelli. Rather, he cursed himself for not noticing the presence of the intruder.
“You . . . When did you . . . ?”
On seeing Benelli’s right hand reach for his great scythe, Gorshin believed they would triumph. Because live or die, while Benelli did battle with their foe he could make his own preparations for combat.
II
Indications of motion reached Pikk as he waited in a hall.
“We’re on the move.”
Annette looked irritably at the boy, who couldn’t conceal his excitement.
“You don’t have to sound so happy about it. What do you think is going to become of us?”
“Whatever it is, it’ll be better than being eaten by bugs underground, little lady.”
“Stop calling me ‘little lady’!”
“Yes, your majesty,” Pikk replied, his voice rising to a high, snide tone. “For starters, why don’t we try asking that Noble over there some questions? Excuse me, but what did you plan on doing with us?”
There was no answer. After leading the two of them to the first-floor hall, Braylow had put his back to the wall and kept staring at the door before him without moving a muscle.
“What’s this crap?! A Noble acting like he’s a warrior or something!”
On hearing Pikk’s caustic remarks, Annette furrowed her brow.
“When they’re afraid of getting hit from behind,” the boy explained, “human warriors keep their back to a wall and face the window or door, like he’s doing. Only, Nobles don’t do that. They don’t need to, since they’re immortal. But he’s doing it. Which means he’s either an idiot, or he’s an honest-to-goodness warrior. My money’s on idiot.”
“He gives me the creeps.”
“Well, we’ll be okay as long as you don’t try nothing funny. I figure they gotta be bringing us back to their leader. Probably get our blood sucked in the end, though.”
“Stop it,” Annette said, quivering with rage. “You’re such a disagreeable brat, I really can’t stand it. I’ll thank you to stand far enough away that I don’t have to breathe you in.”
“Fine by me.”
Pikk made a light bound of over six feet that left him standing by the window. Looking out the enormous pane of glass, he yawned widely. Pulling back his right hand to cover his mouth, he said, “Getting tired, but I’m hungry too. Say, mister, anywhere to get some grub around here?”
Having said that, Pikk squinted his eyes. A certain sound had reached his ears. There was no need to strain his eyes again. The magic swords of their watchman—Xeno Braylow—had begun clattering together again.
“Hey,” Pikk said, and perhaps sensing something, he kept his voice low.
“Back over to the far wall.”
“What?” he asked because he hadn’t expected the unsettling young Nobleman to reply.
“Back over to the far wall,” Braylow repeated.
“Shut up! I don’t take orders from no Noble!”
Pikk felt a fear he couldn’t properly describe, and in reaction to it his right arm swung into action. The gleam that sliced through the wind as it flew was just about to sink into the base of Braylow’s neck when it vanished. It was a dart that’d been taken from the board hanging between two of the windows, but one wave of Braylow’s arm had deflected it, leaving it embedded in the floor.
However, now Braylow was away from the wall, and he seemed intensely focused, as if the dart hadn’t even existed in the first place.
Almost as if brought forth by the pleasant rocking of the Iron Castle as it raced along, an eerie malevolence now began to fill the hall, and the gap between the supposedly locked door and its frame slowly widened.
As soon as the tall figure in black came in, Pikk felt his consciousness slip away.
Something cold was placed on the boy’s brow, coolness spread throughout his body, and right above his head there glowed an exquisite face.
“D?!” Pikk cried, and at the same time tears spilled from him.
The one person they could depend on had returned.
“Strange thing you’re riding in here,” the hoarse voice said meanly, but even that was a joy to hear.
“What are you doing here?” the boy asked.
“Well, we’re the ones who got the train started. And it’s our job to destroy the Greater Noble who’s on it.”
The boy bugged his eyes. After considering what the hoarse voice had said, Pikk accepted it.
“Okay. In that case, you’ve gotta find the little lady. A big guy dressed in black, like you, took her away. And that Noble named Braylow went with ’em.”
“Took her away?”
“Yeah. Even now I can’t believe it.”
Pikk shuddered. His fear and excitement had brewed chills.
“This guy stood a head taller than you. No, maybe even two—I don’t know. He comes in, and right away that gloomy Noble pulls his swords and tries to slice ’im up. The same ones that made all that rattling noise. No one would’ve figured ’em for having any special power or trick to ’em. Well, in less than two seconds both pigstickers have been batted outta his hands, and the jerk’s been knocked on his ass. Barehanded. He takes the jerk and his swords under one arm like they were light as papier-mâché, and then he comes at us. I jabbed a dart into his arm, but he didn’t even blink. He didn’t even look at the dart or me, like it’d never even happened, but he scooped up the little lady and left. Neither me or her could even say a word. Even though our
bodies and tongues were working just fine. So, what the hell was that guy?!”
“He didn’t say anything?”
This question came from D. Though the boy tried not to look at him, he turned red at the mere sound of the Hunter’s voice.
“Nothing. Not a single word. All he did was stroll right in here, knock Braylow flat, and take off with the little lady—that’s it. Almost like it was decided ahead of time that was all he’d do.”
“Hmm,” D’s left hand said as if it’d just thought of something. “I can understand him carrying the girl off. But a Noble too? Could be he knows what you’re here for. You know, we really should’ve found him by day—but no use grumbling about that now.”
D said, “I hear the Noble who built the Iron Castle even drank the blood of his own kind.”
“Not only that, but they say he chucked ’em in the fire after,” the hoarse voice added, and there was a certain buoyancy to its tone. “But this time, we’d best figure he’s got another aim. Mainly, putting the blood of a Greater Noble into the veins of the Nobles he drains. They’d come back with a hundred times the strength of the one that got turned to ashes in the control room earlier. And all just to destroy you. Looks like we won’t be getting any sleep the next couple of days.”
Pikk alone trembled at the left hand’s snide remark, while D’s face was as gorgeous and expressionless as ever when he said, “So, four of them all told?” The way he said, it sounded like it really didn’t matter.
The hoarse voice said, “Records say this train carried its own special guards. No telling how many there might be in total, though. Might be as many as ten thousand.”
“Ten thousand?!” Pikk said, showing his teeth.
“Might be a million. Records say he was a pro at manipulating pocket dimensions. No doubt that’s the reason we couldn’t find him during the day.”
D spun around and headed for the door.
“Wait. If you’re going looking for the little lady, I’m going too,” Pikk said, hurriedly heading after D.
“Neither you nor the girly are this guy’s concern. If you both survive till he’s slain the Greater Noble, just consider that gravy.”
“But the little lady’s with that Noble. I’ll just follow you!”
“You’re one brave simpleton,” the hoarse voice jeered. If anyone else had been there to hear it, they would’ve been surprised at the warmth to be felt in its laugh. “First off, we’ve got to see what’s happened to those two.”
An hour later, as the left hand looked down at the gory floor of the control room, its hoarse voice asserted, “Not here, it would seem.”
Annette felt like she was having an endless nightmare. The whole world was stained with blood. It was a crimson room. There were four men there. They formed an interesting tableau. A man in black far larger than the others had one Nobleman under each arm—the ones who’d identified themselves as Gorshin and Benelli—and in his teeth he held another. Braylow had both eyes wide open, and his look could no longer be described as nihilistic. Bright blood dripped from where the teeth clamped the left nape of his neck, making gigantic blossoms on his upper body.
An odd sound battered Annette’s ears.
Slurp, slurp, slurp.
“No . . .” Annette groaned, her hands long since covering her ears. Yet in them the same sound reverberated.
Slurp, slurp, slurp.
It was a sound she’d already heard. Even after Braylow fell to the floor, the sound continued.
The giant had Benelli under his right arm, and after raising him high, he pressed crimson lips to the Nobleman’s neck. In that dark, bearded face two eyes burned like coals.
There was a movement down by the giant’s feet. Even Annette knew what had happened. The only reason she didn’t react appropriately was due to common knowledge. Nobles don’t drink the blood of other Nobles. If drained, a Noble would rise no more. Yet why did it appear that Braylow was going to get to his feet again?
With the jerky motions reminiscent of a marionette controlled by just a single string connected who-knows-where, Braylow was just straightening his knees when Benelli’s body fell to the floor with a dull thud. His pale face met Annette’s gaze. It was a rictus.
Her mind began to flee. For her consciousness, it was but a moment.
When she opened her eyes, she was lying on a bed. It wasn’t the room she had just been in. Even the pampered Annette had never seen a bedroom this luxurious. Everything was made of gold and lavishly set with jewels, yet it didn’t seem the slightest bit gauche, undoubtedly the work of a genius with sensibilities as fine as cut crystal.
However, even though the room had changed, her terror had not. The figure towering before the bed hid his face with the collar of his cape and a scarf, but from the darkness eyes ablaze with red looked down at Annette.
“You . . . Who . . . who are you?”
A fair amount of time had passed before she managed that question.
Surprisingly enough, there was a reply.
“You can speak, can you?” said a voice every bit as manly and exquisite as that of the Vampire Hunter in black. Moreover, the atmosphere that billowed from the giant was different from that of the youthful Hunter, heavy with stagnant death and the stink of blood. And yet, somehow it seemed pure compared to the other Nobility. While she’d witnessed his terrible feeding on the other three Noblemen, Annette felt that her terror wasn’t connected to her own death.
“You are riding in a moving castle of my creation. As you boarded without permission, I am free to deal with you as I wish. As I did with those three pups.”
“P-pups? Those Nobles . . .”
To Annette, Braylow and the others were Nobles and rightly the object of fear. One glare from them was enough to make her blood run cold. Yet this giant nonchalantly dismissed them as pups. The gruesome sight of him drinking their blood had been proof of that.
Annette felt like no more than an insect led out before a wild beast. It was a wonder that she could even speak.
“What . . . do you intend to do . . . with me?”
“Stay here for the time being. I forbid you to leave.”
“You’re . . . you’re not going to drink my blood?” she said, a gentle relief spreading through her chest.
“At present I am sated.”
That relief turned to ice.
“My sleep was to continue for all eternity in this castle. Someone has prevented that. And it wasn’t those pups!”
There was a pregnant pause from Annette.
“You know who it is, do you not? The other—the one who has such power, such an aura it makes even my heart beat faster. How sweet his blood must be. When you think of it, he is a most unfortunate man. For he has awakened me only to become my prey.” And then the giant said, “What’s this? You’re crying? No, the gleam in your eye is not that of grief. Are you happy? Ah, it is as I thought. He is that great of a man, is he? Great enough that one who has known me still embraces hope.”
Annette wiped away her tears. The giant was correct on all counts.
“You’re right. He’s here. On this train. It’s okay now. I—I’m not afraid of anything!”
“That is good,” said the giant, and his tone had no trace of mockery. “Until this matter is settled, you should enjoy the journey. There’s no telling how long it will last.”
And then his form appeared to waver for an instant before he stepped out the bedroom door. The door closed without a sound, and for a while Annette didn’t move, then she very carefully stepped to the floor.
She was still fully dressed. Taking her shoes from the floor and putting them on, she turned her attention to all sides, then quickly dashed to the door. When she grabbed the golden handle and pushed, the door immediately opened.
“Eeeek?!” she cried, her shriek sailing forward, then bouncing right back.
The area beyond the door was filled with shadowy figures beyond number. They were men in gray capes. On their hips or backs they
wore longswords, while some also held firearms or weapons that looked to be heat rays.
It was neither their bizarre air nor their terrible weapons that caused Annette to recoil. All of them wore black masks over their heads. In the vicinity of their eyes, they burned with crimson. Those were the eyes of a Noble. They pierced the girl with all the keenness of a blade. Annette felt as if she’d die.
“Pardon me.”
That steady voice slipped into the girl’s ears, freeing her body from the grip of ice.
Pushing her way through the men was a woman so beautiful it caused Annette’s cheeks to instantly flush. Clad in a deep purple dress that obscured none of her sensual lines, her looks were so exquisite even the glittering diamond necklace and golden bracelets she wore couldn’t begin to compare.
“Greetings. I am Countess Genevieve. Grand Duke Drago has requested I serve as your guardian.”
The words dripped seductively from the woman’s crimson lips as she made a light bow in greeting.
So, the giant’s called Grand Duke Drago, Annette thought dimly.
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. May I come in?”
“Ah . . .”
Annette backed away out of reflex, watching as the countess reached back and closed the door behind herself. The countess walked right past Annette and over to a gorgeous cabinet, from which she took a golden liquor bottle and two glasses.
“You needn’t fear me so—I won’t suck your blood.”
The glasses made a melodic sound as she set them down on a small marble table.
It took Annette a few seconds to grasp the meaning of that startling remark.
“What did you just say?”
“I informed you that I don’t drink blood—care for a drink?”
A pale hand extended a glass with fluid grace, and Annette accepted it without a word.
“You say you don’t drink blood—but how? You’re not a Noble . . . ?”
“No, my full name is Genevieve Vasa. And I am a Noble by birth. Do you find a Noble who doesn’t drink blood odd?”
Annette didn’t know what to say.
Throng of Heretics Page 13
