The Last Resort

by Yvonne Morrin

  When he walked into the tack-room, therefore, it was with some surprise that he saw his prayers had been answered. A whiskey bottle was hanging from the ceiling right in front of his face. So delighted was he, that he reached out a hand to grab it. His hand passed through the bottle, of course, and he groaned in frustration. How could he get it to smash? Maybe ram it with one of the zombie horses? But that would not be easy to achieve with voice commands alone – at least, not as easy as getting one of them to smash the box of perfume had been. This was frustrating. He wanted the whiskey now! Suddenly, as if reading his mind, the bottle plummeted to the ground and smashed on the concrete. Astonished, Osis only just managed to grab the essence of the whiskey as it floated away. Buoyed by this piece of luck, he moved further into the tack-room to enjoy this treat, and was gobsmacked to see more whiskey bottles all dangling from strings. He counted twenty-nine more. Curious now, he tracked the strings up to the ceiling. Each was attached to a pulley system, connected to a ratchet that was moving the whole chain of them slowly towards a knife. It was this knife that had cut the first string, and the string attached to the second bottle was now moving slowly towards it as well. Osis watched in fascination as it inched closer. After half an hour, he had just polished off the essence of the first bottle when the second one fell. What perfect timing! And still twenty eight bottles to go – or fourteen more hours of bliss. Osis caught the essence of bottle number two and raised a toast to the mysterious benefactor who had arranged this treat for him. In the shadows of the stable, Sergio murmured, “You’re welcome.”

  #

  Being required to make small talk with the guests was infuriating in some ways, the Professor thought, especially as he had other things he would rather be doing. But in other ways it was gratifying. It served to reconfirm how vastly superior was his own intellect. He didn’t bother to turn on the light in his bedroom as he wriggled out of his overalls and into a long nightshirt. He crammed a nightcap over his wispy hair, pulled back the covers and slipped in between the sheets.

  “Hold it right there, Pops,” he heard from the darkness, accompanied by the sinister sound of a safety catch being released from a revolver.

  He peered into the gloom. Someone was emerging from his wardrobe! “Who’s there?” he asked, as he slid one hand under the pillow and worked it towards a panic button on the headboard.

  “That won’t do you any good, Pops. I unhooked your little booby trap – and in fact I’ve used the parts to make a treat for the resort’s cranially-challenged ghost – I’m sure you won’t mind.”

  “What do you want?” the Professor demanded. The man came towards the bed, deftly grabbed the Professor’s wrists and bound them with duct tape. Then he secured his ankles. Astonishingly, the Professor recognised him as one of the guests.

  “I’ve already found it,” the man replied, removing a smoothly polished stone from his pocket. In the heat of his hand, it began to glow. “My sources tell me this little baby has already allowed you and that hunchback fellow to halt the aging process for over two hundred years. Well, I thought, I gotta get me some of that! Pity you’ll start piling on the years now, but it can’t be helped. Now, since you’re a human, you’re no use to me, so just lie there like a good boy, and someone will come and release you in a day or so. Maybe.”

  “You won’t get away with…” the Professor began, but a strip of duct tape over the lips soon muffled his protests.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Apart from continued out-of-character enthusiasm from Peaches, nothing unusual happened during dinner. Lisa kept conversation off the topic of the castle’s residents, engaging the others at her table in a discussion about Roman politics instead. By the time the crème brulee pots were empty, Lisa suggested a game of cards in the guest sitting room, and Craig and Hayden readily agreed – all thoughts of further investigating the castle forgotten for the moment. At eleven o’clock, Lisa began to make yawning noises, and Craig and Hayden, their bellies full, were soon yawning too. The three of them agreed to call it a night. Lisa went into the bathroom to change. It was a pain to have to get undressed and put on her pyjamas, but necessary if her roommates were not to suspect anything. She lay in the dark for about twenty minutes listening to their breathing slow and even out. Finally, she got out of bed, bunched up the covers to make it look as if she was still there, quickly dressed and crossed the room. Craig stirred, which forced Lisa to freeze, holding her breath, but eventually she made it out of the door. It was just a few minutes until midnight, and she could hear the band winding down with a slow song.

  She slipped down the stairs, along past the kitchen and down the western corridor. Skully’s bedroom was at the end, in the tower on the left. She knocked on the door and the skeleton opened up straight away. “Lisa, my fine lady! Come in!” Lisa wasn’t sure how she had expected the skeleton’s room to be decorated, but somehow she wasn’t expecting posters to cover every inch of the curved stone walls. Predominantly red, green and yellow, and advertising either reggae legends or Mardi Gras in New Orleans, they looked incongruous next to the medieval stained glass windows, but they provided Lisa with something to talk about. Prompted by her questioning, Skully gave Lisa a quick rundown of his life and death. He had been born Dexter Skullen, in New Orleans in 1946, the son of a saxophone player. Growing up, young Dexter had witnessed the change in jazz from sophisticated swing to beatnik bebop. He liked both, but as a teenager had discovered reggae, and loved this music even more. He’d become an apprentice chef at age sixteen, and had worked under some of the top Cajun and Creole cooks the country had ever seen. Then one day, when he was twenty-three, two rival gangs had started a fight in his restaurant, and Dexter had come out to see what the commotion was. Well, he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and that was the last he had known – until three years later, when his aunty, a voodoo priestess, had exhumed his bones from their not-so-final resting place and brought them back to life. It had been a hard transition, Skully told her, from flesh-and-bone-person to just bone-person. Although the life-force in his bones allowed them to move, without joints they wouldn’t hold together and without muscles and tendons he couldn’t pick anything up. Luckily, his aunt was dating a mechanic, who helped Skully develop his first set of cables to link his bones. “Over the years these have been refined,” Skully said, “and now before you, you see perfection personified. Except for the tastebuds,” he added, pulling his eyebrows down. “Hey, do me a favour and taste these truffles.” Lisa took one of the flaky chocolates. It was divine, and she told Skully so. “So, what’s your story, my lady?” the skeleton asked her.

  So Lisa told him about her life in England, about her marriage, her husband’s betrayal, her failed studies, and her failing business venture. “Sounds harsh,” Skully said.

  Lisa shrugged. “I guess it’s all relative. It’s not so bad really. I mean, compared to being killed in a gang fight… So what happened after? You couldn’t go out in public could you?”

  “Nah. I lived in the back of Aunty’s house, did her cooking for her, but then she split with her boyfriend, got a new fella, and when he found out about me he went ballistic. I took off, and went travelling for a while. But I had to disguise myself, or stay hidden, and after a few years, I got sick of it. I was always getting spotted and chased by some gang of rednecks hell bent on smashing me to smithereens, even though I’d never hurt them. I went back to Aunty’s but she’d died. Eventually, I was wandering around Europe and I found out about Viktor. This castle – it’s like a sanctuary. Everyone at the castle, they’re running from something. Usually an angry mob. We all found peace here.”

  Lisa thought for a moment. “So, why turn it into a resort? If you’re after peace and quiet, why invite guests like the Fishers?”

  Skully rolled his glass eyes and grunted. “That man! He infuriates me! Although…” he motioned Lisa in closer, as if he was about to impart a great secret, “I’ve been mixing mouse droppings into his meals!”
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  Lisa laughed. “So, why a resort?” she persisted. Skully went on to explain about having to rent the castle from Trevor Romanoff and their need for success. Lisa assured him that she would encourage the other guests to make excellent reports of their stay.

  “That’s a start,” Skully said.

  “So, you said it was a sanctuary…” Lisa said. “What’s everyone else’s story?”

  “I shouldn’t gossip,” Skully began, and then proceeded to do so. Lisa learned the history of every resident of the castle. She was alarmed when she heard about the existence of the three elderly ghost sisters. She wondered how often they had been in her presence, unknown to her, possibly spying on her. It didn’t bear thinking about. Then she remembered about the vase of flowers that mysteriously fell over when she was trying to look through the keyhole of the kitchen. Suddenly she understood why.

  They had been talking for about an hour when a knock at the door made Lisa nearly jump out of her skin. “Should I hide?” she asked Skully.

  “Nah! That’ll be the boys. They’d love to meet you!” He opened the door, and the band walked in. Skully introduced them, and they variously bowed to Lisa, kissed her hand with rubbery lips, or wolf-shistled. Duke Skellington looked similar to Skully, but with a toupee and dapper moustache. Chuck “Spider” Webb was also similar, but with an extra set of arms. Djangled Brinehart Lisa recognised as the ferry captain – due to his pirate hook and peg leg. Without the yellow slicker his melted skin was quite revolting to behold, but not nearly as distressing as Fester Young’s boil and pustule covered flesh. Lisa tried not to gag as Fester murmured an apology. The band had brought instruments with them, and soon a jam session began, with Skully singing raucously along. What with all the joking, laughing and messing about, Lisa didn’t leave Skully’s bedroom until three. As she mounted the stairs, she realised with wonder that the pain of Rod’s betrayal had completely vanished. She cautiously opened the door to find the bedroom blazing with light, the covers on her bed pulled back and Craig and Hayden staring accusingly at her. “So, where have you been, then?” Craig asked her.

  #

  “Only Viktor and Harriet know how to access his private chamber,” Violetta explained. “And me, of course, since this was once my home.”

  “And will be again,” Sergio smiled.

  “Yes, well – you’d better be certain of your plan. If something goes wrong, Viktor will be able to work out very easily who betrayed him. My position here will be compromised.”

  “Relax. Nothing’s going to go wrong. You said Viktor, Harriet and the three sisters were occupied elsewhere.”

  Violetta nodded. “And the sisters wouldn’t dare enter without his permission anyway.” She led the way under the stairs. She put her hands in two grooves in the stonework and murmured an incantation. At once, the marble flagstone on which they were standing began to drop. Startled, Sergio clutched at Violetta’s arm, and was annoyed to see her smirk. She might have warned me, he thought, releasing her arm and brushing imaginary lint off of his clothing. The elevator stopped a floor down. They were now on the same level as the dungeon, but behind its thick stone walls. It amused Sergio to think that Norm was only metres away, no doubt still fighting his bonds.

  “I’ll send the elevator back down at five, as we agreed,” Violetta said.

  “You could just show me how to summon it from here,” Sergio replied. He was trying not to show his nervousness. This part of the plan was out of his control, and Sergio hated that. He had to trust this woman – this vampiress, to let him out of the chamber once he’d secured Viktor. How could he know this wasn’t all an elaborate trap? Maybe she’d set him up all along for a double cross. There were plenty of members of the supernatural community, as they called themselves, or monsters, as Sergio thought them, who would love to get their hands on him.

  “I’m putting everything on the line here,” Violetta replied, knowing full well what he was thinking. “So you can too. Call it a gesture of good faith…” She gave him a sarcastic little wave as she and the elevator slid back out of sight, plunging the room into darkness. Sergio quickly got out his torch, and swept it about the room. It was decorated like every other vampire lair he had visited – black wrought ironwork, candelabras, leather armchairs, swathes of red fabric. He had hoped Viktor would have more imagination. Why did all vampires choose red? Maybe it was because of the blood. But then, Sergio’s favourite food was mashed potatoes, and he didn’t feel the need to decorate his rooms in off-white.

  Sergio swept the torch further, and found the coffin. It was an ordinary mahogany affair with standard brass handles. He’d seen hundreds of them. He checked his watch. It wouldn’t be too long before Viktor came to bed, judging by past form. Sergio prepared himself, setting a spell of concealment. He had soaked in holy water too, and was wearing silver jewellery. Plus, inside his jacket pocket was a stake – just in case everything went wrong. Now all he had to do was wait. He began to meditate, slowing his breathing and concentrating. Speed would be important – he couldn’t give Viktor any warning, or the vampire would simply turn to mist. Of course, he had a backup plan for if that happened, but it would be harder to implement.

  In the end, however, everything worked out just fine. Viktor arrived on the elevator and went straight into his coffin for his one hour of much-needed rest. Sergio made his move almost as soon as the coffin lid closed. Using two small explosive charges to fire cables of silver thread, Sergio soon had the coffin encircled by the precious metal. Viktor was contained.

  #

  “Have you seen Norm or Blake this morning?” Harriet asked Violetta.

  Violetta looked over the reception counter at her. “Norm said that some of his weights equipment malfunctioned last night. He’s repairing it now. Blake’s helping him, since no one’s booked any swimming or snorkelling this morning. They’ve locked the dun… I mean, gymnasium, so that no one disturbs them.”

  “Oh, well, I’ll leave them to it,” Harriet replied. “Shame though, with riding cancelled too. I hope the guests have enough to do.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be fine,” Violetta assured her.

  To Violetta’s relief, Harriet moved on. Good, she thought. This is going well. Except now she saw Edgar on his way over, looking agitated. “What?” she snapped.

  “Oh… I wondered if you’d theen the Professor. He wanted my help with a project thith morning, but the cottage is all locked up and he’th not anthering the door.”

  “Shouldn’t you be clearing up the breakfast dishes rather than working on the Professor’s pet projects? It’s what you’re employed to do.”

  “We’ve already done it,” Edgar assured her. “Oh well, I will have to keep looking for him then.” He turned away.

  “No, wait. I remember now,” Violetta said, putting a hand on the little man’s arm to stop him. “The Professor said he wasn’t feeling well. He’s not going to do any work today. So, you probably shouldn’t disturb him.”

  Edgar frowned. “But that doethn’t make any thenthe. His philothopher’th thtone hath kept both of uth in perfect health for over two hundred yearth!”

  Violetta groaned inwardly. A philosopher’s stone! She had told Sergio that Edgar would be no threat – that, along with the ineffectual wizard, he could be left alone. Now though, it seemed the hunchback could ruin everything. If he found the Professor tied up… She thought fast. There was nothing she could do to Edgar right now, without risking Harriet or one of the other still-free staff seeing. But Sergio…

  “Well, before you go and check on the Professor, I need you to do a bellhop job. I’ve just recorded an urgent message for Mr. Trepid. I need you to take it to him, and then wait for a reply. Here, I’ll write the message down.”

  Quickly, she wrote a note, pushed it into an envelope, sealed it, and handed it to Edgar. “Do a good job now,” she told him, “And he might give you a reward.”

  Eagerly, Edgar took the missive and skipped up the stairs. He stood out
side Ken Trepid’s door, smoothed down his jacket and knocked. “Just a moment,” came a call from inside, and then the door opened. Ken’s hair looked a bit disarrayed, but Edgar knew it wouldn’t be professional to stare. He thrust out the envelope and saluted sharply. Ken took the envelope, opened it, and read the message inside. “Well, well,” he said, smiling broadly at Edgar. “Thank you for this. Oh, and I’ve got something for your trouble. Do come inside for a moment.” Ken spread his arms open invitingly, and Edgar scuttled inside the room. My first tip! I wonder what I’ll get, Edgar thought. An English pound? A Mortavian thovereign? Maybe a thigned copy of Ken’'th newetht book?

  The last thing he would have guessed would be a gun in the face and duct tape around the wrists and mouth, but that is what he got.

  #

  Sergio hummed to himself as he assembled the equipment vital to the next stage of his plan. Humming relaxed him – and it helped muffle the banging coming from his wardrobe as the hunchback struggled in vain to escape. Each of the three collapsible boxes Sergio had bought from the old gypsy woman was a work of art. They were composed of mirrors on the inside and iron etched with incantations on the outside. He unrolled three tiny scrolls of paper and read the calligraphy he had paid a Belgian monk to inscribe upon them in gold leaf: Boudica Amelie Desmarais, Louise Mathilde Desmarais, Suzanna Corine Desmarais. It had taken days of research in a small French village to find their dusty death certificates and learn their true names, but the effort would all soon be paid off in full.