Chapter 7
The castle was mad, thought Richter. Together with the boy Henry, he had traversed area after area of the castle, but none of them seemed to make sense. Cramped underground caverns inexplicably led to wide open courtyards that an army could march through. The geography was all wrong. He had no idea where he was. The boy was even more confused. Neither one of them could understand how all of this started by stepping through a door which supposedly led into his father's villa. But it was all they could do, continue on. Richter felt reassured that he was not placing the boy in unwanted danger. Henry wanted to help. He felt that his mother was out there somewhere. So he too was on a quest to rescue a loved one.
The latest doorway they had taken led them into a massive library. Bookcases three or four times Richter's size lined the walls. The aisles of books were also endless, seemingly continuing into infinity.
"This is grand! Grander than even my father's library," Henry exclaimed.
"Truly it is larger than any I have seen in my lifetime," Richter said nodding in acknowledgement.
Henry randomly pulled a book from one of the nearby shelves. "What does a vampire like to read?"
It was an interesting question the boy had poised, Richter thought. He would have thought that Dracula was too busy raising his armies of undead minions than to have time to read. As the boy perused the book in hand, Richter's mind turned to Annette Renard. Of the many young women which inhabited the town of Aljiba, only Annette had a hypnotic power over Richter. Around her he always felt weak, clumsy, and self-aware. His ego deflated in her presence giving way to a, admittedly, uncommon humility. He was well aware of the long heritage of his clan. Richter was familiar with the blessing and the curse that his family had shouldered for more than a hundred years. The whip he held in his hand tied him to all his ancestors. As such he felt a certain amount of pride.
Being locally known as the descendant of the greatest vampire killers known to man did not always attract fame however. On the contrary, it bothered many that such a powerful weapon should be in his hands. After all, what did a youth know? Richter briefly gazed at Henry. If only those same villagers could see this boy, even younger than he was, daring the evil which populated the castle. Bravery was not a virtue limited by age. Annette seemed to understand this. While Richter tended to treat other villagers with a certain amount of condescending, she was different. Around her felt he could be himself, without facing the expectations that the others directed towards him. But that also had its dangers. If he let Annette see that was not the perfect warrior that he was supposed to be, that he was human like all the rest, then what? This was the dilemma which possessed him whenever he faced her. Always he was torn between acting like the proud Belmont and just being Richter.
Perhaps if he had been less Richter, and more the proud Belmont, she would not be in this situation. This thought also beleaguered him endlessly. Taking his own advice, he brushed aside his doubts. Annette was out there, along with the other prisoners. He was their only hope and he would not fail them.
"Come on Henry, lets move on," he called to the boy.
Henry took a last look at the book he had been perusing. It was written in a language that was unfamiliar to him. It was also filled with strange, occult-looking, diagrams. There was a time when he would have been fascinated by such things. Now however, he loathed such things. They were responsible for turning his father, and taking his mother. Such dark things were of no good to anyone. He slammed the book shut and placed it back on the shelf. Richter was already a few feet ahead of him so Henry quickened his pace to catch up with him. He as walked, the sound of something falling to the ground caught his ear. Henry looked back briefly only to see that the book he had been looking at had fallen off the shelf.
"That was odd."
"What?" Richter asked.
"Nothing," Henry negated and the two continued until another noise stopped them both in their tracks. Instinctively they both looked backwards. Another book had fallen off the bookshelf. Then, as they looked on, another and then another book followed suit. Soon, a dozen books had flown off the shelves. Richter pulled Henry behind him.
The various books which lay littered throughout the floor began to tremble. As their rumbling became more violent, they all began to lift off the ground. The set of books continued to quake as they hovered in the air. Finally the books burst open. Diagrams that only moments before Henry had observed flat on the page were now transformed into three dimensional objects. They launched towards them, growing off the pages becoming pointed daggers.
"Down!" Richter called as he swung his whip into the air attacking the texts. The books crackled with energy as the whip stuck them. Laying flat on the ground, Henry looked upwards at the books as they swirled around them both. Henry saw that a lone text broke away from the main group and circled round behind them. This escaped Richter's notice as he was far too occupied with those that were in front of him. The lone text burst with sharp typeface and swooshed down toward Richter. Henry jumped to his feet and lunged forward as it completed its dive.
Richter turned in time to see that the weight of Henry's small body was enough to divert the tome. Its sharp writing barely brushed him. However he noted that Henry's weight was not enough to keep the book down. The book soared upwards again, taking Henry with it.
Holding onto the book's cover, Henry screamed as it soared at high speeds round the library. The feeling was a mixture of thrill and fear. He felt as though he were flying like a bird. But he was not in control of his flight. Very quickly he noted the book's change in direction as it headed cover first towards one of it compatriots. Henry could sense the book's plan. Instantly he let go of the book seconds before it nearly ran him into one of the other's book's blades.
As he gazed at the closing floor, Henry concluded that he much rather enjoyed flying than he did falling. The floor however was not all that was coming closer. One of the tall bookcases was just within reach. Henry threw his hands forward and hoped that he would be able to grab something. It was no use. He only succeeded in pulling more books off the shelves as he went down. Finally he just closed his eyes. He felt himself crash onto something hard. When next he opened his eyes, Richter was kneeling on the ground holding him in his arms.
"You caught me!" Henry cried.
"Barely," Richter corrected as he squirmed in pain. Gently he dropped Henry onto his feet. "Stick closer next time."
Books which Henry had pulled off the shelves during his fall had landed on the ground. Within seconds they joined their brethren that still circled around them in a parade of books of all sizes and colors.
"Stop!" came a voice. "Return to your places!"
The books closed innocently and they quietly returned to their respective places on the bookshelves. Richter and Henry both breathed a heavy sigh of relief. They searched for their benefactor and found him standing several aisles down from where they were.
"You, come quickly!"
The man was dressed in thick and heavy robes. His pale complexion gave him an ill appearance which was not helped by the lengthy beard which hung from his face. Overall he seemed a rather unkempt fellow, Richter thought. He gestured for Henry to follow and the two followed the stranger. He waited for them by a particular section of books.
"You must help me! They've overrun the place!"
Richter attempted to be calming," A moment sir. Who are you?"
"I am the librarian. Now please, help!"
"Who has taken over?" Henry injected.
The librarian did not answer but bade them to follow him to a nearby curtain. Beyond the curtain, Richter and Henry could hear a cacophony of loud voices.
"You're can't possibly charge 200 for that sword, its dented!"
The librarian pulled the curtain to one side revealing a small chamber, like an office, where a number of men stood in a circle arguing. Each of the men were garbed as differently as the other. One of the men, dressed in a patchwork tunic, pointed angrily at a sword held by another man dressed in combat fatigues. This man was tall and daunting. He was bald save for a well cut goatee.
"What do you know about swords? You like you couldn't use one to save your flannel hat," the man answered almost yelling.
A robed figure whose hood concealed his face approached Richter. "Buy a white crystal?"
Before Richter could answer, the bald man yelled from across the room, "Will you stop asking people that! Everyone knows its not good for anything!"
The librarian then pointed to the one figure that was silent in all the proceedings. He was also tall, but dressed in dark green suit and a bowler hat. After the Librarian pointed him, the man leapt off the desk he had been seated on and approached them. Doffing his hat, he introduced himself.
"Hello, my name is Renon. I am what you would call a demon."
Renon wore dark tinted spectacles which hid the features of his eyes. He smiled, almost laughing as he looked behind him at the ensuing arguments between the group of merchants.
"What do you find so funny?" Richter queried him.
"A few more hours, and my competitors will have eliminated one another."
Henry tugged at Richter's sleeve. "I think we should go."
Richter nodded in agreement. Turning to leave he offered the Librarian a sympathetic gaze. With Henry trailing behind, Richter headed for the library's exit. Thanks to the Librarian's good graces, the journey out was absent of any attacks by homicidal books. Upon exiting the library they found themselves in yet another incongruous area, a strikingly large coliseum. Immediately they were drawn to a lone figure striding through the center of the grand arena.
"Wait!" Richter called. The strange voice caught the attention of the man who then stopped while Richter and Henry ran towards him.
"Careful Richter, there's something…dark about him," Henry warned as they approached him. Richter studied the man. Though he looked with a boy's eyes, Richter agreed with Henry that there was something foreboding about this stranger. He was darkly clad in a long overcoat whose many tears said much of the man's lifestyle. This was coupled by the single thin scar going down the left side of his face.
"Greetings, my name is Richter. This boy here is Henry."
"What do you want?" the man answered coldly.
This was somewhat surprising thought Richter. Surely this stranger must also be experiencing the same phenomenon. Why would he not be glad to find someone else caught in this endless maze?
"We are in search of lost companions. Myself, I search for a woman named Annette, the boy for his mother, Mary. By some chance have you seen them?"
"No."
Richter exchanged looks with the equally bewildered Henry. He was ready to make his goodbye and depart when the stranger suddenly took notice of Richter's whip.
"That whip. How did you come by it?" His voice was in fervor, almost angry.
Richter gripped its handle. "It was given to me."
From behind, the stranger then produced his own whip. It was exactly the same. Richter could see fire behind the stranger's eyes.
"Impossible. Who are you?" Richter now demanded as he matched the stranger's tone.
"I?" the stranger cracked his whip against the stone floor of the coliseum. "Trevor Belmont. I am the only living Belmont, entrusted with their legacy, their mission, and therefore the only man entrusted with the Vampire Killer. That whip in your hand must then be a forgery for there is no other whip like it."
"You presume too much. Trevor Belmont has been dead for over one hundred years. It is impossible for him to be standing before me now."
For the first time the stranger grinned. "Really?"
Richter's hand thrust Henry backwards to the ground with almost no regard for the boy's safety. He could not think twice because Trevor's whip was almost upon them both. It took all of Richter's concentration to throw himself to one side to dodge the attack. By the time he had completed his roll and jumped back to his feet, Trevor was upon him once again. This time Richter unleashed his whip which Trevor evaded easily. The two of them then engaged in a long distance battle plunging their whips at one another only succeeding in cracking at each other's tips. Their attacks upon one another came in unison giving a sense of coordination between the two that did not truly exist. The two warriors circled one another endlessly trying to break the others defense but to no avail. This went on until their whips ultimately became entangled. Both of them paused their offenses in order pry their weapons free but with no success.
Without warning Trevor unleashed a battle cry and charged towards Richter. With one hand still gripping their respective whips, the battle became literally one of hand to hand. Richter was secretly in awe at his opponent's skill. His attacks mirrored his own to the extent that Richter began to believe that it was entirely possible that this warrior could in fact be who he claimed. Some techniques which Richter had learned went back generations. Others, it would seem, had been lost in time. Trevor suddenly released his whip and engaged Richter with both hands free. It took a moment for Richter to react and let go of his own, but a moment too long. Richter's head was crushed between both of Trevor's fists. He then held on with a vise-like grip.
Richter's vision became a blur. All he could see was the fiery anger behind Trevor's eyes. He thought briefly of Annette. Perhaps he was not the Belmont he was supposed to be…
Suddenly there was relief. He felt himself strike something hard. Then he saw Henry's face.
"It's all right. Help's here."
Trevor Belmont knew he was wrong, but he did not like to admit it. However he could not deny the truth made plain by the young man who had just interrupted his fight with Richter. The albino youth extended his hand and revealed he too carried the Vampire Killer whip. This made Trevor even angrier. How could the whip have been duplicated?
"Juste Belmont?" Trevor said with noticeable disdain in his voice. "What mockery is this?"
"Do you doubt the proof of your eyes, Trevor?" Juste scolded.
"I don't mean that. I refer to why we are all here. This is madness! We cannot all be in the same place at once."
"Nevertheless, it is happening," added Juste's female companion, the young girl who identified herself as Mina.
"And the best you could do is beat one of your own kinsman within an inch of his life. Its nice to know that the clan has progressed somewhat since your time" Juste added.
Trevor nearly struck the boy. How dare he speak to him in such a way.
"Stop!" Mina cried. "We have to find a way to fix this. Normally, when there is a time distortion, there is some kind of nexus. You know, a point where everything went wrong. If we can neutralize the source of the time distortion, I'm sure time will get back on track."
The group fell silent at Mina's words. They all stared at her blankly as if she had spoken in some foreign tongue.
"Sorry, I guess you guys haven't had Star Trek yet…"
"Time distorted?" Trevor echoed. "This has some reason to it. If this…distortion is magical in nature, then it is indeed as the girl says, localizing the location where it began is crucial."
"But where to begin? The castle is massive. And with the different areas splintering into different locations, how will we ever reach this nexus let alone find it," Juste questioned aloud.
"If time is the root of the problem then there is but one place to go, to the clock tower," Trevor stated with finality.
"Together?" Richter said as Henry helped him up from the ground.
Trevor sighed. "Together."
