Roxton stiffened as he saw their two housemates weren't alone. Unexpected visitors were frequently a cause for concern. Deliberately he moved between Marguerite and the new arrival.
Malone stepped off the elevator with a reassuring grin. "Marguerite, Roxton, we have someone for you to meet."
The newcomer, with a smile for his hostess, politely gestured for her to proceed. He held a spear at his side casually, not menacingly. Veronica stepped tiredly off the lift and to the side so she could see his reaction. Count Bocskai's eyes widened as he studied the treehouse, and stepped after Malone. Veronica followed the pair a little more slowly.
"This is magnificent." Their visitor turned to Veronica with a smile of appreciation. She took the spear from her guest and placed it by the rack with the other weapons. He waved his arm in an expansive gesture. "Truly a wondrous setting for so beautiful a jewel." Veronica couldn't help the colour flooding her cheeks at the praise.
Roxton and Marguerite exchanged a look, biting back smiles at the overblown flattery. The hunter's eyes narrowed as he observed this newcomer with an aristocratic manner glance around the treehouse with a proprietary air.
Moving forward but keeping his voice neutral, Roxton asked, "Would you like to introduce us, Ned?"
"Of course, this is Count Sándor Bocskai, he came to our aid against a raptor pack. He's very handy with a spear and a knife. Sándor, these are two of our friends, Miss Marguerite Krux and Lord Roxton." Malone handled the introductions genially.
"My pleasure, Lord Roxton." The tone was coolly well-mannered, greeting a social equal, but not happy about it. Roxton inclined his head in an equally impassive acknowledgement of the greeting.
The new arrival turned to address Marguerite, prepared to smile winningly, and stopped. He saw the blanket wrapped, dark-haired beauty, fever blotches on her cheeks. Her wan condition was obvious. Something almost like fear crossed his face. "Forgive me, Miss, um.. Krux. Are you ill?"
Roxton, not at all convinced of the harmless nature of their guest, crossed to Marguerite's side, placing his hand on her shoulder, as she answered. "A minor ailment. I think we're recovering." She downplayed the seriousness of the illness.
"We?" asked Sándor, somewhat confused.
"Is Challenger better?" Malone asked. A crash from the lab below was his answer.
"I hope you're satisfied, George. I said you weren't well enough to stay up this long." Summerlee's voice scolded with the impatience that Challenger usually managed to bring out in him.
"I'll never get better lying in bed," Challenger retorted, but he lacked the usual snap in his voice.
"Speaking of bed, I think I'm going to lay down myself. I don't know when I've been so exhausted." Veronica had been unusually silent and now headed to her room.
"Is this sickness contagious?" Sándor asked nervously.
"We didn't think so." Marguerite tilted her head as she considered the doorway to Veronica's room. "That's not like Veronica to be tired so easily." She looked at the reporter. "Malone." The expedition's linguist's turned her head towards Veronica's room.
Ned nodded, his concern matching Marguerite's, and he followed after Veronica needing to satisfy himself of her well-being. Sándor, apparently not convinced that Marguerite's illness wasn't infectious, stood warily by the table, keeping his distance from both Marguerite and Roxton.
Summerlee trudged up the stairs. "Of all the obstinate, stubborn…" The sight of the newcomer cut off his words.
"This is Professor Summerlee, Count. You've met all of us except Professor Challenger," Roxton said by way of introduction.
"A pleasure to meet such a learned man." Sándor's charm was back in place.
Summerlee preened pleasantly. "I do have a bit of a reputation when it comes to botany."
Roxton stood by Marguerite's chair, his hand on her shoulder, fingers rubbing the back of her neck, absently. Her illness had intensified his tendency to hover. There was also an instinctive need to make it clear to any stranger that he had a prior claim on the dark-haired beauty. "Did you get Challenger back to his bed, Professor?"
"Of course not. That would have been the sensible course. At least now maybe he'll stay put in his chair, instead of trying to get everything himself."
"Malone and Veronica are back, Arthur. Maybe you should check on her. She might be coming down with something," Marguerite suggested, her unease over their housemate obvious.
"You don't think it's the same thing…?" Summerlee began echoing Marguerite's worry.
"Probably not," the hunter reassured the elderly botanist. "Challenger and Marguerite collapsed. They didn't quietly go to their rooms and lie down." Roxton grimaced at the memory of that trip back to the treehouse. "It would have been much easier if they had." And he still shuddered at the thought of the subsequent days.
For nearly a week as the fever had raged, Challenger and Marguerite's survival had been in grave doubt. As they lay so very ill, Summerlee and the others had kept a close watch on their two patients as well as the hunter to make sure he didn't succumb to the fever even as they nursed their two friends. When the nobleman proved unaffected by the mysterious disease, Summerlee theorized that direct contact with whatever had caused their illness was necessary to infect someone. He was convinced now more than ever that the cause was in the contents of the broken burial urn.
It was a mercy that the hunter stayed healthy. The four had their hands full with the constant round-the-clock nursing and the other chores necessary to life in the treehouse. It had only been these past few days that their housemates began to feel confident in their recovery. Other activities had been resumed. Supplies were low so Ned and Veronica had gone to the Zangas for some of their needs. Roxton had gathered fruit and vegetables, done some trapping, took care of chores, staying close to the treehouse in case he was needed.
Malone rejoined them. "There's no fever. She's just sleeping. I guess she and Assai had a lot to catch up on last night." Ned's brow wrinkled. "She didn't seem that tired this morning."
"If you're sure she's okay, I'd best get our dinner together." Summerlee looked pointedly at the windmill parts Roxton had left out. The hunter surveyed their new visitor, then glanced at Marguerite. Satisfied that this Count would keep his distance, Roxton began to collect the gears he'd been working on.
"So tell me, Mr….?" Summerlee paused inquiringly as he was retrieving the rabbits Roxton had trapped and cleaned earlier.
"I am Count Sándor Bocskai, at your service, Professor." He gave a slight bow.
"How did you come to be here, Count?" Summerlee's hand hovered over an array of herbs as he chose the appropriate seasonings.
Their new guest paused for a moment before he answered. "I've been here quite some time." Sándor realized that Summerlee and the others were still looking expectantly at him. "I…or rather my family ended up here some seventy years ago."
Roxton reached past Sándor to gather up more of the windmill parts he'd been working on. Their guest backed up suddenly bumping the table. Several of the parts fell to the floor.
"My apologies. I am not usually so clumsy." Sándor picked up one of the shafts that had rolled across the room. He laid it back on the table, evading contact with hunter.
"No problem," Roxton replied easily as he picked up the remaining paraphernalia from his repair efforts.
"Where is your family from, Sándor?" Ned had his journal out and had started taking notes. He wanted to get back to the previous conversation. Roxton listened as he stowed the assorted mechanical odds and ends into a wooden box.
"You would not have heard of it. Our castle was near a small village, Miclosoara."
Marguerite frowned as she searched her memory. "Miclosoara? That's in the Carpathian Mountains. The area called Erde because of the forests."
Their visitor looked at Marguerite closely for the first time, surprised. He had avoided eye contact with her once he realized she was ill. "Yes, do you know the region?"
"I spent some time in Vienna." Roxton, his back to the others, raised his eyebrows at Marguerite's statement and smirked at her, reminded of the reputation she had cultivated as the Black Widow of Vienna. Marguerite pointedly ignored him and continued. "While there, I traveled to Budapest and Bucharest several times."
Sándor said, "Then you understand how things are." He turned away, obviously unwilling to talk about the subject anymore. His tone had been polite, but distant.
"Why did they leave?" Ned wasn't looking up and didn't see the dark look that crossed Sándor's face.
"Life had become untenable," the newcomer said coolly, unwilling to expand on the explanation.
Marguerite grimaced at Roxton, aware that her statement had opened a can of worms; a reminder of two countries where the conflict was no less intense, even when not openly indulged. There had been a great deal of unrest between the various factions in Austria and Hungary over the past century. The assassination of Franz Ferdinand had only been the latest example of how dire the situation could become at any moment. Perhaps Sandor's family was caught on the wrong side of some political issue or an ethnic confrontation.
Ned hadn't caught the undercurrent. He was focused on his notes and on the location Marguerite had mentioned. "Carpathian Mountains? Isn't that, or rather wasn't that, Transylvania?"
continued
