Snow feathered lightly over his face; Gabriel glanced up, and could only see more flakes flirting with the wind. Pulling his hat down over his face, he glanced at his friends. According to Ben, they were merely fifteen minutes from Boxborough. Lamar and Carl were indistinguishable, bundled in robes with hoods pulled low over their faces. Ned was frolicking in the low drifts alongside the path, every so often running ahead only to prance playfully back. Ben had his chin tucked into his chest, woolen hat pulled low over his eyes and scarf obscuring the rest of his face. It was barely snowing, but the wind gusted and it was bitterly cold. March in Massachusetts was less mild than they had been led to believe.
The path, such as it was, curved sharply. Ben pointed out a dangerous ravine that was the reason for the abrupt left turn. It was only ten feet deep or so, but the edges were a precipitous drop straight down. It continued on for about three hundred feet, and was about seven feet wide. Many small animals, and sometimes children, had fallen in. In the summer, the bottom was dry, but during spring it was even more dangerous for the water and sludge that pooled at the bottom, forming a viscous quicksand known for sucking into its depths any unwary creature. Covered with snow as it was, it was merely a fall that could be deadly. Ben explained all this while indicating the length and breadth of the ravine, warning them well away from the edge.
A small house was placed far beyond the ravine, and the travelers saw smoke coming from the chimney as they passed. "I live here," Ben told them. "This is the Austins' house."
"It seems to be well outside the village proper," Carl observed. Lamar shot him a glance, and Ben explained.
"Mr. Austin intended to use the land between the house and village. He planned to clear it, for fields and to raise a new barn. But – but when he died, most of his herd was sold to pay off his debts."
Lamar nodded, but Gabriel frowned. Carl stamped his feet in the cold, and Ned noticed, moving to press his warm bulk against the freezing friar.
"I don't know where you'll stay," the youth continued. "But Mayor Hastings will probably have an idea."
"Are we going to his house, then?" Lamar asked the question which was ready to leap off Gabriel's tongue.
"No. The Mayor spends most of his time at the meetinghouse."
For some reason, that answer made the hunter uneasy, and he loosened tensed muscles only with a conscious effort. I know of no town that has council meetings three times each fortnight, whereupon all the people – including infants, the ill, and the elderly – faithfully attend. Words from Warren Gray's last missive curled through his mind, bringing with them an unshakable sense of dread.
They continued on their way, and soon entered the town to find that it was even tinier than they had imagined. The heart of the town centered around an open space twenty feet by twenty feet, cornered by the most important buildings. The General Store sat opposite a steepled construction which was obviously the church. Next to the church was a long, low building – the meetinghouse, according to Ben. Opposite this, next to the General store, was a short row of tiny buildings built practically on top of each other. Each one housed one of the small businesses that kept the town running. The smithy was located out behind the General Store, and the bakery on its far side. All the buildings were sturdily constructed and well-kept, the layout of the entire town proclaiming order despite its diminutive size.
No one was on the streets. That was the first thing the hunter noticed, and it didn't sit well with him. While it was numbingly cold, the villagers would be more accustomed to freezing temperatures than the travelers, and the hunter expected to see some people going about their business. At this time of morning, there should have been people going about the everyday business of living.
"Ben, where is everyone?"
The boy glanced back. "At a meeting, I reckon. They happen about every five days. The young 'uns usually play in the meetinghouse, while the Mayor moves everyone into the church."
Gabriel frowned. "That's unusual."
"Why build a meetinghouse if they didn't intend to use it for meetings?" Carl asked lowly, dropping back to walk next to the hunter.
"More importantly, why use a church to address matters of state?" Gabriel asked.
Carl frowned. "Knights of the Holy Order or not, this is America." He pulled his hood down further over his head, trudging along the cleared pathway.
"Separation of church and state," Lamar agreed, listening in.
"Not here, apparently," the hunter stated dryly.
Ben shrugged. "Before Mayor Hastings died -"
"Wait. I thought you said -"
Ben smacked his forehead, flushing a little. "Sorry, mates. The Mayor now is Derek Hastings. His father, Joseph Hastings, was the mayor before him. Joseph died a little over a year ago."
"Really?" the hunter murmured.
"What?" Carl stared keenly at Van Helsing. The man had a somewhat preoccupied air – a sure sign that his mind was following a trail none of the others could as yet see.
Gabriel shook himself slightly. "Nothing. It's just that we were unaware that Joseph Hastings had died, that Derek had taken his place. It never came up explicitly in any of Gray's letters."
"That can't be," Lamar asserted. They stood outside the meetinghouse while Ben ran to look in, and see if the Mayor was there. "'This is the only village in the world completely composed of members of our Order. We keep in constant contact with them from Rome."
"Correction," Gabriel answered, his eyes on Ben. The youth shook his head, and Ned ran forward to the church. "We used to keep in constant contact. But -"
Ned's bark cut him off, and Gabriel closed his lips tightly, keeping the rest of his thought to himself. But communications began to diminish a little over a year ago, just about when Joseph Hastings died. Just about when Derek Hastings followed his steps into control of the town.
"They're in here," Ben reported, lifting his hand to open the door. Ned could hear them.
The silence that fell when Ben opened the door was almost as cold as the wind outside. Gabriel tucked his hands out of sight, readying himself for the fight that was in the air, lowering his head to hide his face. Lamar, on the other hand, pulled back his hood entirely. Carl, accustomed to the general attitude Van Helsing usually faced, simply raised his head and followed.
They entered the room, and the forty-ish man standing at the front smiled and called out to them in a low tenor. "Ben! Ned! We were starting to worry. If you hadn't come back in an hour, I would have sent out Eric and Tyler to find you!"
Though they stood behind him, the travelers could hear the smile in Ben's voice. "Ned'n' I can take care of ourselves, Mr. Hastings. Thanks, though. If we'd been lost we sure would've appreciated it!"
The man stepped away from the rough podium and walked forward, extending his hands in greeting. Tidy chestnut locks framed a long face, the bangs just brushing his piercing green eyes. Derek Hastings had an open air about him, one that exuded confidence and control.
There were about two hundred people in the town, all of whom seemed to be gathered at the church, including children. There were a few curious stares at the travelers, but nothing like the hostile reception they had received at Anna's village in Transylvania. The air of violent desperation that had so permeated that area was absent here.
"Forgive my manners," Hastings said, a bright smile on his face as he moved towards them with hands outstretched. "I am Derek Hastings, mayor of Boxborough."
Lamar clasped hands with the mayor. "I am Lamar Al Ghamdi," he offered simply, shortening his name for convenience. "My people come from the Holy Land."
Derek nodded in acknowledgement. "I am pleased to meet you, and honored that you traveled so far to join my people."
Gabriel caught the strange turn of phrase, sharp eyes taking in the entire room though his main focus was on Hastings. The man seemed very comfortable, and was quite cordial as he greeted Carl.
"Ah! You must be Carl Weldon! We have heard much of the fruits of your talents these past years," Derek complemented him warmly.
Carl seemed taken aback. "Y- you have?" he stammered.
Derek smiled in amusement at the young man's bashfulness. "Of course. Your skills and inventions have been of great benefit to our Order, and we have attempted to recreate some of your tools here, with limited success."
"I would be happy to help," Carl offered.
Derek's face broke out into a genuine grin. "That would be much appreciated," he thanked the friar sincerely. The smile was still on his face when he reached the final member of the group.
"Welcome, good sir," Hastings said. The two men were of a height, and the hunter removed his hat, staring the other in the eye. "I am Mayor Derek Hastings."
He offered his hand.
Gabriel took it without any hesitation. "Van Helsing," he said lowly. The name didn't seem to travel beyond the small group, yet excited whispers broke out throughout the room.
Hastings smiled. "It is a great privilege, sir," he said, bowing slightly.
Of all the reactions Gabriel had ever received, this was the most unexpected. He withdrew his hand and nodded to the Mayor. "Forgive my manners," he said quietly. "I was under the impression that Joseph Hastings was the mayor of Boxborough, and I will admit to being a little surprised by his absence."
The subtle probe for more information seemed to have little effect on the deceased's son. "No," he said smoothly. "My father passed away last January, leaving the town in my care."
"My sorrow for your loss," the hunter murmured. Hazel eyes never stopped assessing the other, moving on to rove warily over the room.
Derek smiled oddly. "That is a very old phrase," he commented. "I have not heard it in a long time."
The hunter shrugged, running a hand through his shaggy hair.
Upon receiving no reply, Hastings smiled and turned to the community. "Brothers and Sisters," he began. "Many of you remember that we received word some time ago of members of our Order who would be traveling from Rome to stay with us. They have finally arrived, and tonight we will celebrate their welcome. I ask you now, who has room to house our Brothers from Europe?"
Several hands were raised, and Hastings smiled. "Your generosity speaks well of you." He surveyed the room, and came to a decision. "Kevin Pardoe, would you house Brother Lamar?"
"My wife and I would be glad to." The man who accepted was round and freckled, his wife seated next to him, a smiling counterpart.
Gabriel tensed. His group was being split. This was not good. No stranger to the concept of 'divide and conquer', the hunter didn't pause to doubt his instincts, despite the seeming harmlessness of the town. He shot a warning glance at the others, and was gratified to see that Carl, at least, was frowning almost imperceptibly.
"Jason Schoen," Hastings called out next.
The lanky man had long gray hair pulled into a ponytail, and a mournful emptiness at his side. "I would be able to house the other young man," he offered.
"Mr. Weldon," Hastings continued. Carl, smoothing the disconcerted expression from his face, blinked at being so addressed, but nodded.
"And lastly -"
The sense of danger - which had never quite dispelled - spiked abruptly. Gabriel found himself reaching for his blades before fisting his hands uselessly at his sides.
"Gabriel could stay with us," Ben piped up. The youth had been standing, not far from the group, forgotten as they made their greetings.
Hastings frowned slightly. "Ben, I'm not sure it would be proper -"
"'Course it would," Ben said. "There's extra room up in the loft." He hesitated slightly. "And there are a few heavy chores round the house that Ned'n'I've been meaning to get to."
Reading the boy's reluctance as refusal to admit that he might need help, Hastings relaxed and nodded. "If the Widow Austin doesn't object," he reproved the boy mildly.
"No sir!" Ben grinned.
"If there are any problems, don't hesitate to come to me," Derek spoke over Ben's head to the hunter.
"I have no wish to make Mrs. Austin uncomfortable," Gabriel did what he could to ease the others' mind.
Hastings nodded, superficially glad that the matter had been resolved. He raised his voice again, authoritatively addressing the small community. "Brothers and Sisters, thank you for your generosity. No doubt our traveling Brothers are tired from their journey. Tonight we will reconvene in the meetinghouse to celebrate their arrival."
With that, he led the community in a short prayer. Gabriel watched as the large group clasped hands for the duration, and pushed aside his feelings of awkwardness at standing somewhat extraneously at the front. Carl shifted his feet nervously, and Lamar looked unsure of what to do with himself. Grimly, Gabriel acknowledged Hastings' skill. He had manipulated the situation to remain perfectly in control at all times, demonstrating it through personally dividing up and assigning the newcomers to homes which would, in all probability, be on opposite ends of the town. The final move was simply a maneuver to put them more off-balance, and to cement his position.
A murmured amen concluded the prayer, and voices rose as people began to gather their belongings and leave.
There was no evidence for the conclusions he was drawing about Hastings' actions – Gabriel was painfully aware of that. Yet he didn't doubt his instincts, and he recognized political exploitation of a situation when he saw it. But he could not as yet divine its purpose.
Gabriel stepped closer to Lamar and Carl. "We'll need to talk. Away from the townspeople," he emphasized. "Rest. Come to the celebration tonight – we'll set up a place and time to speak when we're there."
Whatever else he might have said was stillborn on his tongue when Hastings approached. He introduced Carl and Lamar to their respective hosts, and Gabriel took his leave, weaving through the crowd toward the door.
A hand on his shoulder stopped him, ten feet from the exit. The hunter turned swiftly, and found a thick man eyeing him critically. "Richard Ancell," he introduced himself in a rumbling bass. "Blacksmith." Gabriel raised a brow, but before he could say anything, the other man continued. "So . . . you're the great Van Helsing."
The hunter could see something predatory in the other man's assessment of him. Ancell was a few inches taller, with much greater girth and heavily muscled from work in the forge.
The hunter kept his eyes focused on Ancell's face, refusing to engage in a war of wills with the other man. He inclined his head ever so slightly, and the blacksmith grunted. "Good evenin' to you." With that, the mammoth of a man turned and carved his way through the other townspeople, toward Derek Hastings.
Eyes narrowed, the hunter turned toward the door.
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