The Keep

by F. Paul Wilson

  So was Papa. She knew that right now he was waiting for it. He hadn’t told her so, but she knew. Papa hoped to be visited tonight, and she would not be there to help him. The thing had spared them last night, but could Papa count on such luck two nights in a row?

  And what if it did not visit Papa tonight? What if it crossed the gorge and came to her? She could not bear the thought of another encounter like the last.

  It was all so unreal! The undead were fiction!

  And yet last night…

  The sound of hoofbeats interrupted her musings. She turned and dimly saw a horse and a rider passing the inn at full gallop. They approached the causeway, apparently with every intention of charging over to the keep, but at the last minute the rider fiercely reined his steed to a halt at its edge. Horse and man stood limned in the glow that filtered across the gorge from the keep. She noted a long, flat box strapped to the horse’s right flank. The rider dismounted and took a few tentative steps onto the causeway, then stopped.

  Magda crouched in the brush and watched him study the keep. She could not say exactly why she chose to hide herself, but the events of the past few days had made her distrust anyone she did not know.

  He was tall, leanly muscular, bare-headed, his hair wind-twisted and reddish, his breathing rapid but unlabored. She could see his head move as his eyes followed the sentries atop the keep walls. He seemed to be counting them. His posture was tense, as if he were forcibly restraining himself from battering his body against the closed gates at the far end of the causeway. He looked frustrated, angry, and puzzled.

  He stood still and quiet for a long time. Magda felt her calves begin to ache from squatting on them for so long, but she dared not move. At last he turned and walked back to his horse. His eyes scanned the edge of the gorge, back and forth, as he moved. He suddenly stopped and stared directly at the spot where Magda crouched. She held her breath as her heart began to pound in alarm.

  “You there!” he called. “Come out!” His tone was commanding, his accent hinting at the Meglenitic dialect.

  Magda made no move. How could he possibly see her through the dark and the brush?

  “Come out or I’ll drag you out!”

  Magda found a heavy stone near her right hand. Gripping it tightly, she rose quickly and stepped forward. She would take her chances in the open. Neither this man nor anyone else was going to drag her anywhere without a fight. She had been pushed around enough today.

  “Why were you hiding in there?”

  “Because I don’t know who you are.” Magda made her voice sound as defiant as she could.

  “Fair enough.” He gave a curt nod as he spoke.

  Magda could sense the tension coiled within him, yet felt it had nothing to do with her. That eased her mind a little.

  He gestured toward the keep. “What’s going on in there? Who has the keep lit up like a cheap tourist attraction?”

  “German soldiers.”

  “I thought those helmets looked German. But why here?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure they know, either.”

  She watched him stare at the keep a moment longer and heard him mutter something under his breath that sounded like “Fools!” But she was not sure. She sensed a remoteness about him, a feeling that he was not the least bit concerned with her, that the only thing he cared about was the keep. She relaxed her grip on the stone but did not drop it. Not yet.

  “Why are you so interested?”

  He looked at her, his features shadowed. “Just a tourist. I’ve been this way before and thought I’d stop by the keep on my way through the mountains.”

  She knew immediately that was a lie. No sightseer rode at night through the Dinu Pass at the speed with which this man had arrived. Not unless he was mad.

  Magda took a step backward and started walking toward the inn. She feared to stay in the dark with a man who told patent lies.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Back to my room. It’s chilly out here.”

  “I’ll escort you back.”

  Uneasy, Magda quickened her pace. “I’ll find my own way, thank you.”

  He did not seem to hear, or if he did he chose to ignore what she had said. He pulled his mount around and came up beside her, matching her stride and leading the horse behind him. Ahead the inn sat like a large two-story box. She could see dim light in her window from the candle she had left burning.

  “You can put that rock down,” he said. “You won’t need it.”

  Magda hid her startled reaction. Could this man see in the dark?

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  He had a sour smell, a mixture of man sweat and horse sweat which she found unpleasant. She further quickened her pace to leave him behind.

  He did not bother to catch up.

  Magda dropped the stone as she reached the front stoop and went inside. To her right the tiny dining area was dark and empty. To her left Iuliu was at the table he used as a front desk, preparing to blow out his candle.

  “Better wait,” she told him as she hurried past. “I think you have another guest coming.”

  His face lit up. “Tonight?”

  “Immediately.”

  Beaming, he opened the registration book and unstoppered the inkwell. The inn had been in Iuliu’s family for generations. Some said it had been built to house the masons who had constructed the keep. It was nothing more than a small two-story house, and not by any means an income-producing venture—the number of travelers who stopped at the inn during the course of a year was ludicrously low. But the first floor served as a home for the family and there was always someone about in the rare event that a traveler did appear. The major portion of Iuliu’s insubstantial income came from the commission he received for acting as bursar to the workers in the keep. The rest came from wool from the flock of sheep his son tended—those that had not been sacrificed to put a little meat on the family table and clothes on their backs.

  Two of the inn’s three rooms rented at one time—a bonanza.

  Magda ran lightly to the top of the stairs but did not immediately enter her room. She paused to listen to what the stranger would tell Iuliu. She wondered at her interest as she stood there. She had found the man unattractive in the extreme; in addition to his odor and grimy appearance, there was a trace of arrogance and condescension that she found equally offensive.

  Why, then, was she eavesdropping? It was not like her.

  She heard a heavy tread on the front stoop, and then on the floor as the man entered. His voice echoed up the stairwell.

  “Ah, innkeeper! Good! You’re still up. Arrange for someone to rub down my horse and stall her for a few days. She’s my second mount of the day and I’ve ridden her hard. I want her well dried before she’s put away for the night. Hello? Are you listening?”

  “Yes…yes, sir.” Iuliu’s voice sounded hoarse, strained, frightened.

  “Can you do it?”

  “Yes. I—I’ll have my nephew come over right away.”

  “And a room for myself.”

  “We have two left. Please sign.”

  There was a pause. “You can give me the one directly overhead—the one on the north side.”

  “Uh, pardon, sir, but ‘Glenn’ is not enough.” Iuliu’s voice trembled as he spoke.

  “Do you have anyone else named Glenn staying here?”

  “No.”

  “Is there anyone else in the area named Glenn?”

  “No, but—”

  “Then Glenn alone will do.”

  “Very well, sir. But I must tell you that the north room is occupied. You may have the east room.”

  “Whoever it is, tell him to switch rooms. I’ll pay extra.”

  “It’s not a him, sir. It’s a her, and I don’t think she’ll move.”

  How very true, Iuliu, Magda thought.

  “Tell her!” It was a command in a tone not to be denied.

  As Magda heard Iuliu’s scurrying feet approach
the stairs, she ducked into her room and waited. The stranger’s attitude infuriated her. And what had he done to frighten Iuliu so?

  She opened her door at the first knock and stared at the portly innkeeper, his hands nervously clutching and twisting the fabric of his shirt front, his face pale and beaded with so much sweat that his mustache had begun to droop. He was terrified.

  “Please, Domnisoara Cuza,” he blurted, “there’s a man downstairs who wants this room. Will you please let him have it? Please?”

  He was whining. Pleading. Magda felt sorry for him, but she was not going to give up this room.

  “Absolutely not!” She began to close the door but he put his hand out.

  “But you must!”

  “I will not, Iuliu. And that’s final!”

  “Then would you…would you tell him. Please?”

  “Why are you so afraid of him? Who is he?”

  “I don’t know who he is. And I’m not really…” His voice trailed off. “Won’t you please tell him for me?”

  Iuliu was literally quivering with fear. Magda’s first impulse was to let the innkeeper handle his own affairs, but then it occurred to her that she would derive a certain pleasure from telling the arrogant newcomer that she was keeping her room. For two days now she had been allowed no say in what had happened to her. Standing firm on this small matter would be a welcome change.

  “Of course I’ll tell him.”

  She squeezed past Iuliu and hurried down the steps. The man was waiting impassively in the foyer, casually and confidently leaning on the long, flat box she had previously seen strapped to his horse. This was the first time she had seen him in the light and she reconsidered her initial assessment. Yes, he was grimy, and she could smell him from the foot of the stairs, but his features were even, his nose long and straight, his cheekbones high. She noticed how truly red his hair was, like a dark flame; a bit wild and overlong, perhaps, but that, like his odor, could well be the natural result of a long, hard trip. His eyes held her for a moment, startling in their blueness, their clarity. The only jarring note in his appearance was the olive tone of his skin—out of place in the company of his hair and eyes.

  “I thought it might be you.”

  “I’m keeping my room.”

  “I require it,” he said, straightening.

  “It’s mine for now. You’re welcome to it when I leave.”

  He took a step toward her. “It’s important that I have a northern exposure. I—”

  “I have my own reasons for wanting to keep my eye on the keep,” Magda said, cutting him off from another lie, “just as I’m sure you have yours. But mine are of great personal importance. I will not leave.”

  His eyes blazed suddenly, and for an instant Magda was afraid she had overstepped her bounds. Just as suddenly, he cooled and stepped back, a half smile playing about the corners of his mouth.

  “You’re obviously not from around here.”

  “Bucharest.”

  “I thought as much.”

  Magda caught a hint of something in his eyes, something akin to grudging respect. But that didn’t seem right. Why would he look at her that way when she was blocking him from what he wanted?

  “You won’t reconsider?” he said.

  “No.”

  “Ah, well,” he sighed. “An eastern exposure it is, then. Innkeeper! Show me to my room!”

  Iuliu came rushing down the stairs, nearly tripping in his haste. “Right away, sir. The room to the right at the top of the stairs is all ready for you. I’ll take this—”

  He reached for the case but Glenn snatched it away.

  “I can handle that very well by myself. But there’s a blanket roll on the back of my horse that I’ll be needing.” He started up the stairs. “And be sure to see to that horse! She’s a good and true beast.”

  With a brief parting glance at Magda, a glance that stirred an unfamiliar but not unpleasant sensation within her, he went up the steps two at a time.

  “And draw me a bath immediately!”

  “Yes, sir!” Iuliu leaned over to Magda and clasped both her hands in his. “Thank you!” he whispered, still frightened, but apparently less so.

  He then rushed out to the horse.

  Magda stood in the middle of the foyer for a moment, wondering at the evening’s strange chain of events. She had unanswered questions here at the inn but she couldn’t think about them now, not while more fearful questions needed answers at the keep.

  The keep! She had forgotten about Papa!

  She hurried up the stairs, passing the closed door to Glenn’s room on her way, then pushed into her own and rushed to the window. There in the watchtower, Papa’s light burned the same as before.

  She sighed with relief and lay back on the bed. A bed…a real bed. Maybe everything would turn out all right tonight after all.

  She frowned to herself. No, that tactic wasn’t going to work. Something was going to happen. She closed her eyes against the light of the guttering candle atop the dresser, its glow doubled by the mirror behind it. She was tired. If she could rest her eyes for just a minute, she’d be better…Think about good things, like Papa being allowed to go back to Bucharest with her, fleeing the Germans and that hideous manifestation…

  The sound of movement out in the hall drew her thoughts away from the keep. It sounded like that man, Glenn, going down to the back room for a bath. At least he wouldn’t always smell the way he did tonight. But why should she care? He did seem concerned about the welfare of his horse, and that could be read as a sign of a compassionate man. Or just a practical one. Had he really said it was his second mount of the day? Could any man ride two horses into such a lather? She could not imagine why Iuliu seemed so terrified of the newcomer. He seemed to know Glenn, and yet had not known his name until he had signed it. It didn’t make sense.

  Nothing made sense anymore…

  Her thoughts drifted…

  The sound of a door closing startled her awake. It was not her own. It must have been Glenn’s. A creak on the stair…Magda bolted upright and glanced at the candle—it had lost half its length since the last time she looked. She leaped to the window. The light was still on in her father’s room.

  No sound from below, but she could make out the dim shape of a man moving along the path toward the causeway. His movements were catlike. Silent. She was sure it was Glenn. As Magda watched, he stepped into the brush to the right of the causeway and stood there, precisely where she had earlier. The mist that filled the gorge overflowed and lapped at his feet. Like a sentinel, he watched the keep.

  Magda felt a stab of anger. What was he doing out there? That was her spot. He had no right to take it. She wished she had the courage to go out there and tell him to leave, but she did not. She did not fear him, actually, but he moved too quickly, too decisively. This Glenn was a dangerous man. But not to her, she felt. To others. To those Germans in the keep, perhaps. And didn’t that make him an ally of sorts? Still, she could not very well go unescorted to him in the dark and tell him to leave so she could keep her own vigil.

  But she could observe him. She could set herself up behind him and see what he was up to while she kept her eye on Papa’s window. Maybe she’d learn why he was here. That was the question that nagged her as she padded down the stairs, through the darkened foyer, and out onto the road. She crept toward a large rock not too far behind him. He would never know she was there.

  “Come to reclaim your vantage point?”

  Magda jumped at the sound of his voice—he had not even looked around!

  “How did you know I was here?”

  “I’ve been listening to your approach ever since you left the inn. You’re really rather clumsy.”

  There it was again—that smug self-assurance.

  He turned and gestured to her. “Come up here and tell me why you think the Germans have the keep lit up like that in the wee hours. Don’t they ever sleep?”

  She held back, then decided to accept his
invitation. She would stand at the edge there, but not too close to him. As she neared, she noted he smelled worlds better.

  “They’re afraid of the dark,” she said.

  “Afraid of the dark.” His tone had gone flat. He did not seem surprised by her reply. “And just why is that?”

  “A vampire, they think.”

  In the dim light filtering across the gorge from the keep, Magda saw his eyebrows rise. “Oh? Is that what they’ve told you? Do you know someone in there?”

  “I’ve been in there myself. And my father’s in there right now.” She pointed to the lowermost window in the watchtower. “That is his—the one that’s lit.” How she hoped he was all right.

  “But why would anyone think there’s a vampire about?”

  “Eight men dead, all German soldiers, all with their throats torn open.”

  His mouth tightened into a grim line. “Still…a vampire?”

  “There’s also a matter of two corpses supposedly walking about. A vampire seems to be the only thing that could explain all that’s happened in there. And after what I saw—”

  “You saw him?” Glenn turned and leaned toward her, his eyes boring into hers, intent on her answer.

  Magda retreated a step. “Yes.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Why do you want to know?” He was frightening her now. His words pounded at her as he leaned closer.

  “Tell me! Was he dark? Was he pale? Handsome? Ugly? What?”

  “I—I’m not even sure I can remember exactly. All I know is that he looked insane and…and unholy, if that makes any sense to you.”

  He straightened. “Yes. That says much. And I didn’t mean to upset you.” He paused briefly. “What about his eyes?”

  Magda felt her throat tighten. “How did you know about his eyes?”

  “I know nothing about his eyes,” he said quickly, “but it’s said they are the windows to the soul.”