by Max Anthony
She looked around at the carnage. There were bodies everywhere, none of them intact. In fact, most of the corpses had been comprehensively ruined, such that they’d never likely be able to rise again should dark magics command them to. She realised that her head ached, and all at once, a dozen minor wounds clamoured for her attention, letting her know that a feeling of invincibility is not the same thing as invincibility herself. She swayed on her feet, then steadied as her fighter’s constitution laughed off her injuries. There was something at her throat, lodged between her chain vest and the helmet. She pulled at it and found that it was a hand. She threw it at Rasmus.
“Steady on!” the wizard exclaimed, sidestepping the missile.
“Are you hurt?” asked Viddo.
“Bruises and a mild concussion,” Jera replied. She lifted the visor from her helmet. “I’m not sure if that was fun or not.”
“When your enemies are dead and you are not, it is often safe to conclude that fun has been had,” said Rasmus. “Don’t expect that helmet to work every time you need it. You’re already aware that the most powerful magics only function every so often.”
Jera nodded. As long as they functioned when she most needed them, she’d be happy.
“Anyway, our undead opponents lie slaughtered around us, giving us ample opportunity to investigate this room further.”
As it happened, not all of the one-hundred-and-thirty-six zombies were dead. Four of them, knocked by Rasmus into the tank of blood hadn’t been killed. As the trio talked, these zombies climbed out and resumed their attempts at murder. Their skin and rags had turned red, stained by the blood.
“Come for a second go, have you?” Rasmus asked the closest undead. He drove the butt of his staff into the creature’s stomach. It staggered back, though not before it had projectile-vomited a copious amount of recently-swallowed blood over the wizard’s frontage. “Urgh, you dreadful sod!” he exclaimed. Viddo stepped forward and disposed of these remaining zombies, taking great care that he wouldn’t be similarly splattered with the contents of their stomachs.
As Rasmus wiped himself down with a tiny handkerchief, the trio walked around the edge of the tank, looking to see if there was anything that might explain its intended purpose. Once in a while, a not-quite-dead zombie reached out an arm from the floor, hoping to inflict a minor squeezing injury upon one of the stalwart trio. These efforts were treated with the disdain they deserved, with staff or steel finishing the culprits off with ease.
“There is so much blood here – how many thousands must have died to produce it?” asked Jera.
“The Baron adds crime on top of crime,” said Viddo. “He will not escape punishment!”
Do these pipes from the floor fill the tank or drain it?” asked Jera, stopping to examine the closest one. “And is there a source of blood from above coming through these pipes which descend from the ceiling?”
“One would normally expect it to work that way,” said Rasmus. “After all, gravity makes it much easier to drain things from above into a place below. However, I can feel a magic about this tank. It keeps this blood fresh and it may suck blood through these lower pipes from a place below.”
“That sounds plausible,” said Viddo. “We have seen a number of chambers in the floors beneath where the Baron’s unfortunate victims have been drained of their blood. Perhaps there is a series of pipes which have been designed to draw the blood upwards into here.”
“To what purpose?” mused Jera. “Could they have charged up the blood gems in here? I’d have expected them to need at least a table and a chair in order to do their work.”
Viddo found himself looking at the network of pipes and valves. His eyes traced their known paths and his thief’s skills made guesses at the likely destinations once the pipes had vanished out of sight.
“It’s not working,” he muttered to himself, looking at one of the larger pipes. There was a valve near to him and he reached out to touch a short brass lever that jutted out from it at about head height. Not quite knowing why he did so, Viddo pulled the lever, opening the valve it controlled. Immediately, there was a slurping noise and a low thrumming.
Rasmus was close by. He’d been looking in the other direction, so hadn’t seen Viddo pull the lever. The wizard wasn’t stupid. “What’ve you done?” he asked.
“This valve was shut off,” replied Viddo. “I have opened the valve and the mechanisms which controlled the flow into and out of this tank are now functioning properly.”
“Are you sure it was wise to do that?” asked Rasmus.
“Of course, it wasn’t wise,” said Viddo. “It was just there and I did it.”
Rasmus shrugged. “Maybe you should close the valve again.”
Without warning, there was a vibration. It ran so deeply that they felt it through the very stones of the castle, as well as through the muscle and bone of their bodies. Viddo reached up and used the lever to close the valve. The vibration continued for a few seconds and then stopped.
“Do you two have any idea what you’ve done?” asked Jera, already knowing that they’d more than likely be excited by the possibilities, instead of blaming themselves for carelessness.
“Some of this blood has gone elsewhere,” said Rasmus. “Look, the level has already dropped by nearly a foot.”
“It must have been sucked up that pipe at a tremendous rate,” said Viddo. “I wonder where it’s gone to.”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” said Jera, having already given up on the notion that they’d display any contrition.
Viddo clapped her on the shoulder. “It is sometimes necessary to poke a stick into a place where it isn’t wanted, in order to produce the reaction one desires. Perhaps we have done something to our detriment, but we must never regret our actions.”
With his short lecture concluded, Viddo suggested that it was time to leave this room with its powerful metallic tang of blood mixed with the odour of rotting flesh. There was something surreal about the whole place and none of them wanted to stay longer than necessary. They made a cursory search for valuables, but even Viddo balked at the idea of taking a swim in the tank of blood to see if there was anything worth stealing at the bottom. There were two exits, covered by wooden doors. Behind the first door was a small, enclosed room with a single chair in it, which they guessed was a place for the room’s overseer to eat his or her lunch. The second door opened onto a short, narrow passage which ended at steps, which they climbed in single file.
19
“This is the highest floor of the main castle building,” whispered Viddo when they reached the top. They’d emerged from the steps onto a ten-feet-square bare-stone landing. There was an arched doorway leading to a wide corridor that went to the left and right. Both directions ended at oversized double wooden doors, made of hardwood with a peeling veneer of glossy varnish. There was a length of plush carpet along the middle of the corridor, faded greens and blues, badly-lit by the red illumination of the blood gems.
“All of this must have been for the Baron himself,” continued Viddo. “I wonder if this staircase was the only way up here. It’ll have been a bit convoluted to reach from the ground floor.”
“There is surely a more convenient way to get here that we’ve missed,” said Rasmus. “Can you imagine getting all the way downstairs, only to realise you’ve put on the wrong shoes? It would take half an hour simply to correct an easy mistake.”
It was futile to discuss the impracticalities of life in a big castle in any great detail, so they didn’t think about it anymore. They felt it likely that they were getting closer to the source of whatever evil was prevalent in the place and girded themselves for the likely trials ahead. Jera and Viddo were feeling full of confidence, with their new-found magical items to bolster their already impressive array of skills. Rasmus, on the other hand, was feeling like a spare wheel, owing to the fact that his repertoire of spells had almost run dry. He had bits and pieces left, which weren’t enough to make him f
eel as useful as he’d like. This was an unusual situation for the wizard, who couldn’t remember a time within the last fifty years where his resources had been so depleted.
“Let’s go left,” said Jera, now feeling like a valuable enough member of the team to make such random choices.
Without hesitation, they left the cover of the landing and emerged onto the corridor. Viddo had been certain that there’d be no traps, since rulers generally didn’t appreciate having to avoid tripwires and trapdoors in order to reach their quarters after a hard day of feasting and pinching the bottoms of falsely-smiling serving ladies. The thief was correct in his assumption and he was not required to call upon his skills in order to safely navigate a route along the thirty feet of corridor that took them to the door.
“It is often assumed that the closer one gets to the bedroom of a ruler, the greater is the security,” said Viddo quietly. “In fact, the opposite is more often true. Many is the rich man who relies upon his traps and his guards on the lower floors of his dwelling in order to weed out any determined thieves or assassins. Consequently, when you reach the door to his room, it can often be unlocked, or sealed with a lock that is more decorative than useful.”
“I don’t wish to stand twiddling my thumbs for ten minutes whilst you wiggle a spoon around in the lock,” said Rasmus.
“You won’t need to,” Viddo assured him. The thief reached for the round brass handle on the left-hand door and turned it. There was a soft click and the door fell open a little – just enough to reveal that it was sufficiently thick to fend off a severe battering from without. More of the red light was visible from the other side. Viddo held up a hand for quiet and he listened for a few moments. The silence beyond was absolute.
Viddo opened the door further and they peered into a room which was grand in its proportions and also in its decoration. It was rectangular, being much longer than it was wide. There was carpet over all of the floor, so thick that the most-commonly walked routes across it had left clear indentations in the piling. There were high-backed, uncomfortable-looking chairs against one wall, whilst a series of paintings hung from the other, with a fifteen-feet long sideboard positioned beneath. Elsewhere, there were tapestries and some sort of sofa meant for reclining upon.
“A waiting room, I should imagine,” said Rasmus, pushing through to get a better a look. “Where guests could gaze upon the illustrious members of the Baron’s family. Without the benefit of windows to give them a more pleasing view.”
“Illustrious and particularly ugly members of the Baron’s family,” said Viddo, crossing for a look at the paintings.
“Viddo!” admonished Jera, a lady who had been brought up to be polite in all things. Nevertheless, she allowed herself to concede that the people depicted in these pictures were indeed especially ugly. She didn’t speak the thoughts aloud.
“This one is the famous Baron,” said Viddo. “It is strange to gaze upon him at last – I almost feel as if I’ve got to know him.”
The picture in question was a full-body portrait of a man dressed in a black suit of plate armour, leaning against a two-handed sword as if it were an aid to his walking. He was broad about the shoulders and he wore no helmet. His hair was pure white and his eyes were peculiarly red. He maintained an unmistakeably contemptuous sneer on his face. He had a gold band around his head, into which had been set a red gem. There was a plaque beneath the painting, with the words ‘Heroic Baron Valps At His Ease’ upon it.
“This painting is more than two hundred years old,” said Viddo, reading the date on the plaque. “The Baron vanished over fifty years ago, yet here he is looking like a hale and hearty man an additional one-hundred-and-fifty years prior.”
“Already addicted to blood gems,” said Jera. “Since I assume that is what is in his head band.”
“It looks as if his life had been extended far beyond that of normal men,” replied Rasmus. He didn’t offer any judgement on this as such, since he was over three hundred years old himself. The difference was that Rasmus relied on his own magical prowess to extend his life, rather than murdering people for their blood.
Next to the painting of the Baron, was another one titled ‘Beautiful Lady Valps In Floral’. This painting was another full-body portrait of a scrawny elderly woman in a flower-pattern dress. On anyone else it might have looked elegant, accentuating their figure in a flattering way and imparting a certain grace where there might otherwise be none. On this hideous old crone, it looked like a beggar’s rag.
“Good grief, she’s appallingly unattractive!” gasped Rasmus. “Is it the Baron’s mother, do you think?”
“I’m not really sure,” said Viddo, suppressing the urge to turn the painting around so that it faced the wall. “She’s wearing another blood-gem though. Looks like evil runs in the family.”
Next to the picture of the old woman was a portrait of a youth. ‘In His Last Days’ said the plaque cryptically. It was dated at the same time as the other two. There were another two portraits, with similarly-unclear descriptions. These showed images of an unattractive young woman and another of an unattractive older man. Only the figures in the first two paintings wore the blood gems.
“I never did understand art,” said Rasmus. “Give me a fireball spell and a screaming horde of ravening undead any day of the week.”
They milled about for a moment, as if the intended purpose of the room as a waiting area somehow pervaded their actions. Then, they searched the areas wherein valuables might be found and were unsuccessful in discovering anything worth stealing. The sideboard held a stack of plates and a couple of brass candlesticks, all of them next to worthless. There was only a single additional exit from this room, with another grand door to cover it.
“This top floor must be smaller in area than the floors below it,” said Viddo. “Since the blood room below was high enough to occupy two floors. I should imagine that these rooms have been created around the perimeter of the castle, with the blood tank area more or less in the centre.”
The exit door wasn’t locked and was shortly opened. There was a grand dining room beyond the waiting area. This dining room was also rectangular and of similar dimensions to the first chamber. There was a long table running down the centre of it, which was sufficiently large to seat fifteen guests and had this exact number of seats pushed underneath it. Before each seat, a place was set with cutlery, plates and glasses, as though a meal was due to be hosted there at some point in the near future. The ceilings on this floor were scarcely more than ten feet in height, but a chandelier was hung above the table, with dozens of tiny blood gems to fill the room with their light. The walls were bare stone, with a single painting of a pastoral scene to break up the monotony. A large grandfather clock was in one corner, mercifully quiet.
Viddo picked up one of the glasses from the table. There’d been something in it at one point in the past, which had dried and cracked, leaving a dusty brown residue behind it. “Blood,” he muttered, putting the glass back.
“Are you absolutely certain the Baron wasn’t a vampire?” asked Jera, repeating a question she’d asked earlier.
“I don’t think he was,” said Rasmus. “Vampires do not need blood gems to sustain their existence – they need to extract their sustenance fresh from the source. I believe that Baron Valps was nothing more than an evil man who worshipped the potential of blood. It looks as though he was given free rein for many years to indulge in his cruelties. Normally tales of such depravities would get out into the wider world and a more powerful ruler would use it as an excuse to invade. The Baron seems to have escaped any such confrontation.”
“We are quite far from anywhere else,” said Viddo. “It’s possible that two hundred years ago, the castle was even more secluded than it is now.” His feet had carried him to the grandfather clock. It was a monstrous example, towering seven feet tall and with a faded round face of yellowed ivory. The clock was silent, presumably having wound down many decades previously. With a perv
erse feeling of satisfaction, Viddo gave the key five almighty turns. The clock began ticking at once.
“You know I hate those things,” said Rasmus. He didn’t know quite where he got his dislike of grandfather clocks from. Perhaps one had toppled on top of him when he was a child.
“Me too,” said Jera. She knew exactly where she’d got her dislike from, since she’d once been surprised by a bulbous mactrian leaping spider that had jumped out of her parent’s clock and had proceeded to run up her leg. She shuddered at the memory.
The dining room contained nothing else to delay them and they were soon clustered around the third grand door in the Baron’s quarters. This one was locked and the mechanism had also suffered from many years of disuse. It took Viddo some time with his tools to scrape it clean enough that he was able to unlock it.
“A study,” said Viddo, lowering his voice again. This room was half the size of the previous two – not quite cosy, but sufficiently small that a lone gentleman occupant might not feel entirely lost within its expanse. There was a bookshelf with books, three large, padded leather chairs, a coffee table, a writing desk with a separate chair and a snoozing couch, upon which a man of leisure could sleep off the worst excesses of the previous evening’s over-indulgence.
“Are we expecting traps?” asked Jera, nudging Viddo into providing them with some advice on how they should proceed.
“Perhaps,” mused the thief. “Wait here and I’ll give the room a thorough checking.”
Rasmus and Jera waited at the door while Viddo gave the room his promised thorough checking, which involved little more than the thief walking around in a circle, occasionally stooping to look at the carpet.