Fool's Love

Chapter One Atkozott

The "poet" had white shock on his face as Mama tried to talk to him in our language. As though it never occurred to him that some people did not know anything about English, and never would. But our town is different; most of us are too poor to be educated. Atkozott is a village entirely of peasants, supposed to be ruled by the nobleman, and ruled we are.

But we are more hunted.

I was asleep when the Irishman arrived, and Mama had to wake me so I could speak with him; I am the only one in all of Atkozott who knew how to talk in English. When I was very young, an English ambassador came through Atkozott on his way to the Embassy, when he decided to mingle with the commoners. Like we wanted to be mingled with.

He suddenly became enlightened, and decided to pick one of us barbarians to educate.

My mother says I have a charming countenance because of my beauty; that is why she gave me the name Nyajas. Apparently my anya was right, for the ambassador was very taken with me; I was a young child and he greatly loved my innocence and beauty.

So I was the one.

And I was hated for it by my fellow Transylvanians.

"Nyajas, teljesen éber!" Mama's smokey voice trickled into my ears, interrupting my dream – nightmare. Although I had never seen the nobleman- the devil Count, as he's better known in Atkozott- he was constantly in my dreams – nightmares. Usually he is just watching me with sad eyes, but this time I was greatly disturbed...the count was beckoning me. I would have to tell Sir Helsing. But I was ashamed...because the Count was beckoning me and I...—

Wanted to come to him.

"Anya, please stop shouting-." Groggily I complained as Mama shook me awake.

"Come now,cukorka," My anya cooed. "You sleep too heavily. I had to raise my voice. You must learn to sleep lighter; you know what evil dwells in the night. You must be alert even in sleep..."

"Yes, Mama," I agreed. She was right, but my nightmares about the Count make me feel like I am underwater, so deep, but warm....

I need to talk to Sir Helsing, no matter how humiliating.

"Come now, cukorka," Mama repeated. "The Irishman has arrived and you must speak to him."

If the Count came here for me, he would have to murder my Anya because she would fight with such a fury. I can't let my Mama die...

I stumbled down the narrow hallway as Anya spoke harshly of the Englishman. Apparently he had not been very courteous.

Mama is the head of a Boarding House, not a very successful one, for no tourist wishes to be in Atkozott, but we are not as poor as some...we will always have food, and that I am most grateful for. Sometimes we squeak by because someone is unable to pay the rent, but that only happens when one really, honestly, is unable to pay. My Anya is as wise as the legendary King Solomon! She somehow can always tell when a person truly cannot pay, and when they are lying.

My Anya seems like the kindest Anya in all of Transylvania! I do not really take after her in looks: she is shorter than I am, and...bigger than I... rounder. She's...pudgy. Only a little! ...Well, not really. Forgive me, Anya. I mean no offense. I have my Atya's eyes, my Atya's height, and my Atya's accent. Needless to say, I am very similar to my Father. Atya died while I was living with the Ambassador. I don't remember him much. He was a doctor, and died of some disease given to him by a patient. Anya cries whenever Kroki says the Count's demon women took him and drank his blood. It isn't true; Anya was at Atya's side when he passed. She sent me the letter, telling me so.

I hate Kroki; but most people are afraid of him. He claims to be the Count's servant, and he goes on and on about how the Count will reward him for his obedience. Kroki's hair had long since gone gray and wild, his eyes pale, skin pale. His chipped, broken horn rim glasses added even more to his "insane" look. He is mad. I hate him for the things he's said. Not just to Anya, but to everyone who has lost someone to Halál- Death, even more so to the victims of the Count and his demons. Kroki plays off our fears and nightmares. I hate him. I wish that the Count would---no; I cannot wish such a death on anyone. Even Kroki.

Anya opened the creaking door to where we normally stood behind the counter. The newly arrived Irishman had a beard, and the mustache seemed to droop from his abrupt culture shock. He seemed like a tough, fierce man, but seeing him in such a state stole away that presence. Mama was mad at him, so she jittered on in the language he could not understand; I held back a giggle as I noticed most of her talk was not even real words. What had the Irishman done to make her so angry?

I hushed Mama, and began to speak in the language the Irishman could understand.