A dark figure of a man, swathed in black and riding an immense black horse, rode slowly into town. The sun was high overhead, high and scalding, and the dry rocks gave up ghosts of shimmering heat. Water appeared always a few steps away, but vanished into the cracked ground as he neared it. The town had shut down because of the heat, and no one saw the stranger come in. A dog lay on the porch, with its tongue lolling out of its mouth, but it seemed to sense the stranger's presence before it saw him and its head went up. Although it was known in town as a friendly dog, it bared its teeth and struggled to rise, snarling. The figure did not seem to notice it.

The stranger's face was almost completely obscured by a huge, broad-brimmed hat, and he wore a sweeping black cape that fluttered that apathetically in the heat. His hands were pale on his saddlehorn, not sunbrowned or reddened like most people who traveled long distances on horseback--and anyone who came to this town had been riding a long time. On his back, a long blade, long as a scimitar, hung at an angle. His name was D.

He stopped his mount before a large white house, the only house whose paint was fresh, and not peeling in the heat. D swung out of the saddle and approached the door, but the moment his boots sounded on the porch, it swung open. A small man with a leathery face and beefy arms squinted up at him. D was taller than he looked when he was riding. "Well, howdy there!" said the little man. "You one a them bounty hunters?"

"Yes." D's voice was soft, almost gentle.

"Why don't I get your hat and things, and you can have a seat in the parlor- "

"No." Then he added, almost as an afterthought, "thank you."

"How bout I get you some ice-cool lemonade and then I'll tell the Mistress you're here." It was not really a question, and the lemonade seemed more for the servant himself than for D.

As soon as the man was out of sight, D started up the stairs.

He found the Mistress' door open, and D could see her looking out the window at his horse. She sat in an finely crafted, gold-plated wheelchair, with a silky-looking turquoise blanket over her legs. The carpet was a deep, plush red that absorbed the tire treads of her chair. The walls were paneled with rich mahogany. A few portraits hung on the wall, the most noticeable of which was a huge picture in a gilt frame, which appeared to be of the Mistress when she was younger. Chairs with hand-embroidered cushions and a matching couch rested in orderly places around the room. D looked out of place, and, even though he did not appear dusty, the tired smells of road and heat made him an awkward figure, as did the strange smell of vampire-sweat.

He was not self conscious. In fact, nothing in his demeanor had changed.

"You sent for me," he said.

The old woman started, and shoved something under the blanket that covered her legs. D saw it before she managed to hide it, though. It was a gun.

She pressed a button on the arm of her chair and it swung around to face him fully, and concealed her alarm almost immediately.

"Yes... yes I did. You are D?"

"I am."

"Good. I am ready to pay you 30 million dollars to return my sister to me. She was taken by vampires three months ago. She is the youngest child of our line, and since I have no heirs it must be she who inherits this place. I know, she might be changed. But I want her here alive, is that clear?"

"If she is changed, her inheritance will mean nothing to her."

The old woman scowled at him in open distaste and contempt. "It will matter to her! . . . You don't know who you are talking about!" She paused, as if daring him to contradict her. "She has always done as I say, and always will." Her voice had a ring of finality.

D did not press the point. "A vampire is very difficult to bring against her will. I will have to ask for more."

"More? I'm offering thirty--very well. Fifty million. But that offer is only for you, because I've heard you're the best." She gave him a hate- filled look, then her face collapsed and she waved her hand dismissively, wiping both D and the money from her mind. "When you are as old as I am, money hardly matters any more. Here. Let me show you who you are looking for."

She motored her chair over to the wall, and pushed a button so that a mechanical arm reached up and retrieved one of the pictures that decorated the wall. "Here she is," she said, holding it out to him. The portrait was done in an antique style, and it showed a young child with black wispy hair and a pale face. D reached for the picture, but the old lady snatched it back. D didn't reach for it again. Most people didn't like Dhampires* touching their things. Both humans and vampires despised the Dhampires-- the half-bloods. "She's older than that now, of course. A grown woman. I was having another portrait of her made when she was taken. The last set of vampire hunters didn't come back, but they sent me word before they disappeared that they thought she was in Helderin Fastness, the Cliff City. So you'll be going there and looking for a young woman. A beautiful young woman." The Mistress seemed irritated by this fact. She scowled at nothing for a moment. "Well, why are you still standing here? Time is of the essence, go find her!" she snapped.

"I typically insist on a down-payment."

The old woman's eyes narrowed, and for a moment D thought she would dismiss him on the spot. But he neither moved nor changed expression. The old woman dropped her gaze first, and thrust her hand into her bosom pouch to retrieve a bag of jingling coins. "Here! Here's 500,000 dollars. Don't dare ask for more without bringing her back! Don't dare disappoint me!" She practically hissed the words. "Know this, Dhampire. I, Mistress Elwoise Trelton, daughter of General Carl Trelton consent to be robbed by a common thief like you-for the sake of Lorena Trelton, his youngest daughter and prize of this household! Now get out of my sight! Get out!"

.

*Pronounced "Dum-peer", or sometimes even "Danpeel".