by Unknown
A moment later he realized he had spoken in English, and repeated in Rumanian, "Opreste ce va spun ori trag!"
The Count's lips parted and a ghastly dry creaking laugh welled from him as he took another step toward Napoleon and reached out a gloved hand. He was so close his teeth were clearly visible—the two canines unnaturally elongated and pointed, almost like fangs.
Napoleon's fingers spasmed on the trigger of his automatic and it roared in the silence of the forest—once, twice and again, slamming solidly against his hand.
The Count took a small step back, then looked down at the gun. His bloodless lips opened and a gust of demoniacal laughter rang among the trees. He raised his arms and spread them wide, and his cloak fell from them like great black wings for an instant before he clapped them down and leaped.
Napoleon fell to his knees and fired again as the Count soared over his head. A moment later he heard a last burst of laughter echoing down through the fog from somewhere high above him, but the Count had disappeared into the darkness.
He was still on his knees on the ground when his transceiver whistled.
"Napoleon, are you all right?" It was Illya's voice. "Was that you shooting?"
He fumbled out the little silver rod and extended the microphone clip. "Illya? Yes, I'm okay—I think. It was Count Tsepesh again. I'll tell you about it when I see you."
"Okay. I found where the path starts downhill. Shall I start back up to meet you?"
"No. Just keep a sharp eye on everything around you—and above you. And, ah, if you see something in gray and brown running down the path toward you, don't shoot, it's me."
"I'll be waiting."
"Oh, and Illya..."
"Yes?"
"If you do have a silver crucifix, I suggest you hold onto it tight."
* * *
Fifteen minutes later they were standing side by side where the path curved over the edge of the hill and started down again. The long walk through the woods and the passage of time had given Napoleon a little more perspective on what had happened, but he was still upset. He had described the entire incident to Illya with as little emotional coloring as possible, and Illya had made no comment of any kind.
Now the Russian agent was leaning against a tree, having just removed the clip from his automatic. Napoleon couldn't quite tell what he was doing with it, though, and asked.
Without looking up, Illya said, "Napoleon, you understand that I am not superstitious, and I am not falling prey to the blind unthinking terror which seems to grip less sophisticated people than we."
"Yes...."
"And I want you to be sure that I fully agree with you that there is a rational, logical explanation for everything that has been going on."
"Yes...."
"So for the time being I have rationally and logically decided to carve a cross on each of my bullets."
* * *
Some minutes later they started off downhill again. The fog grew gradually lighter as they descended, and after some time only an occasional wisp came past them like a vagrant spirit. The forest was silent, and both were beginning to breathe more easily. Eventually the path would come to a road, and along the road would lie a village. And there would be hot food and warm beds, and safety. The long night was almost over.
And then their necks pricked and their hands started for their shoulder holsters almost together as the forest darkness was filled with a sound—a sound which they knew and remembered.
It was the howl of a hunting wolf.
Chapter 12: "You're Looking Inscrutable Again."
Neither one of them said anything as they slowly turned to look at each other. The howl was echoed to both sides, and then a fourth gave cry ahead of them. They were surrounded.
Napoleon extinguished his lantern at once, and Illya slipped two fingers over his to cut down on the light it gave. Now they both had their automatics in hand, ready to fire. The U.N.C.L.E. Special had, among other qualities, the ability to fire double-action, without working the slide by hand. This had saved Napoleon's life on more than one occasion, and might again. It is generally bad practice to run through a dark forest with a cocked gun in your hand.
When they heard the soft sound of feet padding along the trail behind them, Illya said quietly, "I believe it's time for a tactical retreat."
Napoleon was darting quick glances into the darkness around them. "You mean you think we should run for it," he said.
"Yes," said Illya, and another howl echoed from the night.
They began to run.
The light from the one flash picked up the path before them, and the black shades of trees and bushes fled past on either side. The wolves gave no further tongue after the four howls that had warned them, but there were sounds back in the brush of heavy bodies crashing through dead undergrowth to either side of the trail.
Once Illya's light caught two green sparks from something too far to be illuminated, and both guns barked flame as the eyes disappeared. They ran forward, and found nothing but the pad marks where a great wolf had crossed the trail. They looked around, even directing the light among the trees, but saw nothing more.
Neither of them was about to go off the path to look for more targets—they had too much the feeling of being targets themselves.
The path had leveled off, and the forest was more open, but low dense clouds still covered the sky. Napoleon's lungs began to ache with the cold, and his breath formed puffs of vapor which blew about his ears and hung in the air behind him as he ran.
And even as they ran, they heard sounds behind them that told of deadly pursuit. A deep and vicious growl which seemed to be almost at their heels added to the speed of their flight, and heavy panting and once in a while a barely stifled whine stayed close behind them.
Then miraculously the trees opened out, and the road appeared before them. There would be open ground the wolves would have to cross to get to them, and even at running speed they could pick them off as they came.
There was scarcely a moment of hesitation as they hit the road. Downhill was to the left, and downhill they continued. The going was easier now, and the sounds faded away behind them.
Eventually they slowed down, panting a little from the exertion, but listening sharply between breaths. Only the occasional crack of a tree branch in the deepening cold broke the quiet.
At last Napoleon stopped and leaned against a tree. "I think we've lost them," he said.
"I wouldn't count on it," said Illya, sitting down on a rock. "Maybe they're just quieting down before sneaking in for the kill."
Napoleon shook his head. "The cold," he said sagely. "Wolves don't hunt when the temperature gets below freezing."
Illya looked at him in amazement. "You're thinking of rattlesnakes. Wolves just get more active when it's cold. I remember when I was a little boy in Siberia, being chased by a pack of wolves all the way from Yakutsk to Kirensk in the middle of winter—and the temperature was about forty degrees below zero."
"Oh, come on," said Napoleon. "It's seven hundred and fifty miles from Yakutsk to Kirensk."
Illya shrugged. "Well, we were on a train...."
"And the wolves chased you at sixty miles an hour for seven hundred and fifty miles?"
"Twenty-five miles an hour—this was the Trans-Siberian Railway. And I don't know if they were the same wolves all the way; maybe they ran in shifts and slept in the baggage car."
Napoleon gave up and started laughing. "Never mind," he said. "Besides, the last time you mentioned it, you were a little boy in the Ukraine."
"We moved around a lot."
Napoleon stood up again. "Well, this is only Rumania, but it still gets cold enough for me. Let's head on down the road, and see what we can find in the way of civilization." He squinted up at the sky and shook his head. "Besides, I wouldn't be surprised if it started to snow before morning. Look at those clouds."
Illya got to his feet slowly. "As long as it doesn't just get colder." He glanced at his watch
. "It's still about three hours until dawn."
They started off down the road again. After some time Napoleon said, "I wonder just how many roads there are in this area. This one looks familiar. Weren't we chased along here by wolves just a few nights ago?"
"I shouldn't be at all surprised."
The cold seemed to lessen as Napoleon thought about that and realized how near they were to the village. Just a few more miles down the road were warm beds, hot food, and civilization. They'd be there in just a few more...
There was something in the road ahead of them, too far way to be seen clearly. Illya looked hard, and said, "I think it's the car!"
Napoleon smiled with satisfaction. "The end of a perfect evening," he said.
And a chorus of howls went off right behind them.
Napoleon and Illya broke into a dead run. But the pack had been right behind them when they had given tongue, and as Solo threw a quick glance over his shoulder he could see the running gray shapes fifty feet behind them. He didn't look around again—all his attention was devoted to running.
Then the car loomed up in front of him and he sprawled across the hood before he could stop. His back tensed, expecting a furry weight to hurdle itself upon him. After a moment, it hadn't, and he looked up.
The wolves had stopped in a half-circle twenty feet away from them, and stood with lowered heads.
Slowly and cautiously, making no sudden moves, Napoleon reached for his pocket, where the keys to the car waited. His hand slid in and found the chill metal. He spoke quietly, keeping his eye firmly fixed on the wolves.
"Get ready, Illya. I'm going to try to get the door open. Once we get inside we'll be safe."
"Right. I've got my gun ready, but I won't use it unless they start towards us."
"Check." The key was in Napoleon's hands now, and he began to edge along the side of the car. When he started to move, a couple of the wolves growled warningly. He stopped, one foot slightly lifted, and waited for a count of twenty before lowering it again. Then he moved much more slowly.
When he felt the door behind him, he reached around and began searching for the handle. A couple of the wolves took a slow stiff-legged step forward, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Illya's automatic swing slightly towards them.
"If I have to shoot," said his partner tensely, "get that door open as fast as you can and I'll try to hold them off and jump for it."
"Check."
The handle was there—now where was the lock? There. And which way did the key go in? Did he have the right key? It didn't seem to fit....There! It slipped in. He turned it carefully to the right, hoping the lock hadn't frozen. The tumblers caught with a sharp click as the key turned.
The noise triggered two wolves. They sprang forward so fast he could barely see them move. Illya's automatic blasted twice, and a shaggy body slammed against Napoleon's chest and drove his instinctively raised arm hard against his face. His other arm jerked desperately at the door handle and the door came unlatched and banged his leg as he tried to open it.
The wolf that had hit him fell away from him again, its jaws locked in his overcoat and blood oozing from its chest. The other wolf had fallen just short of Illya, and lay in a crumpled heap with an exploded skull from the head shot, almost at his feet.
Napoleon tore his coat from the death-grip of the fangs that had so nearly met in his throat. Then, as he swung the door open and leaped inside, he saw to his amazement that the rest of the wolf pack was disappearing—fading back into the forest.
Illya stood, amazement and disbelief scrawled broadly across his face, pistol hanging loosely in his hand, watching them go. Then he collected himself hurriedly.
"Something's wrong," he said. "There's no reason, rational or irrational, why they should just leave like that."
"Let's discuss it in the car," said Napoleon. "I feel an irrational urge to emulate them, and right now."
Illya holstered his gun slowly, then bent over and looked at the wolf he had saved Napoleon from. He suddenly knelt and looked even closer. Without looking up, he said, "Turn on the car light for a moment, will you?"
Napoleon reached over and pulled the knob, and the headlights came to life. Enough light was thrown back by the ground and the bushes nearby that Illya could see quite well. Napoleon looked over his shoulder from the left-hand seat of the car.
The Russian agent had lifted the wolf's head and was examining it, running his fingers along it as though patting a dog. Something seemed to glitter amid the fur. Napoleon stared at him.
"What in the world are you doing?" he asked. "Do you want to wait for them to come back?"
"This is worth another minute," said Illya, a strange quality in his voice. "Give me a hand here—I want to get this wolf into the trunk of the car."
"Are you out of your mind?"
"Quite the contrary," said the Russian. "I think I am in it for the first time in longer than I care to consider."
Napoleon looked at him suspiciously. Illya was wearing a secret little smile, and his voice hinted at unsuspected things of great interest. Napoleon got out, opened the trunk, and helped load about a hundred pounds of dead weight into it. Then he got back behind the wheel, let Illya in the other door, and started the motor. There had been no further sign of the other wolves.
He wondered about this, and commented on it to Illya, who just nodded, and kept smiling.
Napoleon scowled at him. "You're looking inscrutable again," he said. "Will you tell me your little surprise if I ignore you long enough?"
"It won't be necessary," said Illya. "I don't really know anything yet. But when we get back to the village I expect to be very busy in Gheorghe's kitchen for some time."
"Oh, great," said Napoleon. "I've always wanted to try barbecued wolf meat."
Illya shook his head. "Not barbecued wolf, Napoleon. I have the feeling it will be a roasted bird this time—almost certainly a cooked goose."
Section IV: "The Vampire Has Been Dead Many Times...."
Chapter 13: "I Smell A Rat—A Rat with Feathers."
The first white flakes of snow began to filter down through the clouds shortly before they arrived in the village at three-thirty in the morning. They left the car in its usual berth behind the City Hall, but Illya insisted the wolf be brought back to the inn with them. So he and Napoleon slung it between them and managed to manhandle the unwieldy corpse the couple hundred yards along the dirt street, on which the mud was already lightly frozen.
Hammering on the door of the darkened inn eventually aroused a dim light in the back, and Gheorghe appeared—round, night-capped, and blinking at them over a candle flame. He scarcely shrank back from the body of the wolf, and said, "You have had luck in the hunt, I see. Will you wish him dressed?"
"No," said Illya. "I will take care of him myself, personally, in the morning. Are Hilda and Zoltan back yet?"
"Da, domnule. They arrived on foot shortly after midnight. We have been most worried about you. In fact, I would expect the Vlad Zoltan to be waiting up for you."
He was, almost. There was a low light burning beside the bed where Hilda lay sleeping peacefully, and Zoltan sat in a chair across the room, facing the window, with a hunting rifle across his knees and his head on his chest. But he jerked upright as Napoleon and Illya entered the room.
He sprang to his feet and set down the gun, then embraced them with expressions of great relief. "My dear friends! What happened to you? And did you bring the car back? We could not find it. We were so afraid you had been lost forever in the tunnels under the castle, and all for my own foolishness in not directing you correctly."
Then his eye fell on the wolf and his jaw dropped. He looked at it, and then at them. "You are not hurt?"
"No," said Illya. "One finally got close enough for a clear shot. The fact that I had cut a cross on my bullet may or may not have helped."
"Oh!" said Zoltan, remembering something. "Most important! When we were lost in the tunnels, we found our way out b
y a passage I had not known, by following some other chalk marks."
"Blue or white?" asked Napoleon.
"Yellow," said Zoltan, "and recently made. But they came to what appeared to be a blank wall, until I saw a lever mounted at the side of the passage. It revolved a false rock, and we found ourselves at the back of the cave."
Napoleon's eyebrows shot up in sudden speculation. Zoltan hurried on: "Hilda recognized the cave as the one which Illya had said you saw my ancestor in. And she was sure you would be most interested to know this. It suddenly appears possible that we have all been the victims of a monstrous hoax."
"Yes," said Illya, prodding the dead wolf with his toe. "I will know more in the morning. But remember, at least one person was the victim of a very real murder, whatever the method and motivation.
"As for now, I think we can all go to bed. Be sure the windows are locked and bolted, but I no longer think the crucifixes and wolfsbane will be either necessary or effective. And now we return to our room. Tomorrow will be a busy, busy day, and the hour is very late."
Napoleon followed his cue, and dragging the wolf behind them by its hind legs they went out and pulled the door closed behind them.
* * *
When Napoleon woke up that afternoon, Illya was gone. So was the body of the wolf, which had spent the night on the couch. He looked around the room, stretched, yawned, then got up and dressed.
Downstairs he found Hilda sitting in the dining room with an upset Gheorghe and several servants. She jumped up when she saw Napoleon and ran over to him.
"Oh, Napoleon, I thought you were going to sleep all day! Zoltan's in the kitchen with Illya, and they said no one else was to come in except you when you got up if you ever did."
Gheorghe was right behind her. "Domn Solo, they have taken over my kitchen, and I have other guests to feed. They took that accursed wolf in with them, and all I have heard for an hour has been soft voices. I asked them through the door what it is they are doing in my kitchen, and the Vlad Drakula says not to worry, it is very important, and they will clean it up when they are through." He looked up at Napoleon anxiously. "When you go in, ask them please to be careful with my kitchen."
