"Please drink, Your Excellence"
"No!"
Silver tray flies to the floor with a deafening clatter and hits the stone of the floor plates . Red viscous liquid spreads with ugly stain on the cold stone, and the old servant sighs . His master had not eaten for seven days, and now as if the snow lies in the fireplace room - the floor is covered with the light white flakes. The pieces of his face fall down like flower petals, because vampires are the ashes. A few more days, and there will be nothing that would remind of count von Krolock .
His Lordship hides back his thin hands in the wide sleeves of black clothes. No tracery on the cloth, nor the smallest stone, all is black, like the night, steeped in heavy sorrow and hopelessness. The castle is so silent: neither twaddle of Magda and Chagal, no Alfred's murmur, even bats seem to walk on tiptoe out of respect for His Lordship's grief.
The lights in the lamps swaying slightly - drafts are wandering through the castle, because there is no one to lock up the huge doors. The shadows are whispering in the dark corners of the huge hall. Portraits in the main gallery are silent, no usual bickering , no creaking of old frames . There's a thick layer of dust on the shelves in the library, because Magda is afraid of going there, and Koukol even doesn't think of punishing her for that. He only cares about His Excellence, he is very concerned that the Master does not touch the food for a week and he's fading away. If things go on, the castle on the hill will no longer have the owner.
Magda goes out and comes back with a rag to wash away the bloody puddle. His Excellence looks absently on her as she cleans the floor, trying not to make much noise. The rag is red, but seems the vampire is not interested at all, and he looks away at the high window, through which enters the hall pale light of the moon.
Koukol missed Chagal creeping out from behind a huge ebony chair, looking at the face of the Master, opening his mouth to say something. Koukol screws up his eyes just in case, because severed limbs are extremely unpleasant even to him who has seen a lot in the service of the undead .
"Get lost," sounds cool high-pitched voice, but the eyes don't blaze red with so familiar irritation. A former innkeeper hurriedly retreats back into the shadows .
Magda ends up messing around with a rag , takes Chagal's sleeve and drags him out of the room. Koukol and his Master are left alone in this huge room.
His Lordship suddenly gets up from his seat. "Give me the keys to the crypt, Koukol," says he softly.
This is a bad idea, last time the old servant had to pull the exhausted vampire out the crypt when the sun was almost above the horizon, and he did not even bother to hide in the sarcophagus.
"Your Excellency ..."
"Give me the keys!" Master's voice almost breaks on yelp, and Koukol hurriedly hands him a bunch. Thin prehensile fingers pulled it out of the hands of the hunchback, and he sighs, lowering his head.
The vampire passes by and his cloak rustles softly, so the servant inhales almost imperceptible smell of a flower. How was it ... Time ago the castle was filled with it, Koukol even had to open the windows to be able to breathe and not feel the scent ... bloody hell, how is it called ...
Koukol turns and follows the Master to the crypt, because he doesn't want this time to be the same as previous. He won't let the Master to dry under the sun, as he would have wanted to.
The courtyard of the castle is so small, so it doesn't take much for the tall vampire to cover the distance from the porch to the crypt. There's a huge padlock on the graceful lattice - Koukol locked the doors after the last time. But now the old servant would have to accept it, otherwise the Master won't put in the mouth a drop of blood and will die anyway, sooner or later. Thin fingers find the right key in the bunch.
Gnashing of iron echoes reflected from the stone walls, and Koukol feels that Magda, Chagal and a few others are now watching tensely through the windows. Cowards! If they have being trying a bit harder, everything would be different ...
Finally the padlock falls to the ground, and the doors creaked open. Koukol hears a heavy sigh, and then the sound of the sarcophagus lid taken away. Koukle rushes to the tomb to be there, even if he has to give up his life. If he could, he would offer it in exchange for not to see what 's going on there, so it all turned out good joke, a bad dream, but when he passes the last step leading down the stairs, he sees all of the same picture. All the same ...
Viscount von Krolock lies in a large sarcophagus made of stone, cuddling up to his father. Tears are rolling down from his tightly screwed-up eyes, one after another. The Count's face is calm, but Koukol knows that beneath the thin palm of the son lying on father's chest there's a gaping wound in the place where the heart should be.
Viscount's lips are moving, and in the head of the old servant, mingling with the faint scent of lavender, sounds the bitter whisper "Father…"