In the candlelit bedroom, once quiet, Sypha made a comment:
"The things they wrote here… Check this out."
She handed the open book to Alucard, both sitting on the bed, while Trevor took a nap facing the wall. Alucard read on a quiet voice: "Imperf. mask. improp. mater. Need + noble. Unhappy objective."
"Hmm, I almost forgot about this… Thing", he got a bag that hanged on his belt.
"Thing?", she asked, "Oh. Sure."
Sypha let out a disgusted laugh when she saw the rustic wooden mask, with slits for eyes, nose, and mouth.
"It's not a work of art, sure", he agreed, "According to the journal authors, then, this thing is useless."
"Perhaps they made another. Or more than one", she thought out loud.
"Unhappy object… What do you think?"
"I think they tried to please someone with masks of a specific material. 'More noble', I think it says."
There were knocks on the door. Sypha told them to come in and Isobel opened it, with a candle holder in hand.
"Mom told me to call you", she whispered, "My uncle is on duty on the bulwark and she'll take you there."
Sypha woke Trevor up, and he muttered something about not being asleep. The three were soon ready and followed Isobel downstairs. The tavern was still crowded, despite the time of the night. The owner waited for them on the ground floor with a lit lamp, wearing a ton of clothes and with the same unkind expression.
"I hope you're not up to something", she grumbled when they were out in the cold of the night.
No one talked along the way to the bulwark. They walked until a sentry-box was to be seen from a distance, lighted on the top of it and over the other gate of Sohodol, instead of the one they entered the town. Someone in it caught sight of their lights and showed a lamp, screaming to ask who was there.
"It's me, Carlo", the lady shouted just as loud, "Get down here."
"I can't just leave my shift just because you said so", Carlo answered with another cry.
Windows around opened, nearing residents complained and Trevor dodged a rotten apple thrown from above.
"Hurry up, we need to talk to you", the woman called again, in the same tone.
It took some time until the guard climbed down the stairs, and he did so without a lantern. He got closer to the group rubbing his face with his hands, with an incoming yawn. He looked closer in age to the tavern keeper, denounced by his salt-and-pepper, receding hair and his beard.
"What's going on to get me out of there this time of the night?", he asked his sister.
"The outsiders here want to talk to you", she looked at them with contempt, "It's no good deed, I guess, but I owe the lady a favour, since she took Izidor home."
Carlo checked them out from head to toe, just like most of the population and the sellers, and set his eyes on Trevor, asking:
"Do I know you, fellow?"
"Who, me?", Trevor pointed at himself. Shit, "No, I don't believe so."
The guard took the lantern from his sister's hand and got the light closer to Trevor's face, who asked:
"Don't set me on fire, please."
"Ain't you the son of the old Belmont?"
That's all I needed. He gritted his teeth. Carlo laughed.
"Who would say", Carlo stepped backwards, with a broad smile, "Your father saved me when I was a boy. You, maybe, weren't born yet. I insisted on going to the woods, even if my old mother told me not to, and I drew the attention of a wild boar. Boys will be boys, you know? I threw a rock at it. And it was a small one, bear in mind, but the damage it'll do… And, lucky me, they were hunting arount there, those relatives of yours. It was an accurate crossbow shot. They were kind enough to give us the meat and take me home."
"That's good to hear, sir", Trevor felt the blood coming back to his face.
"What do you need, though?", Carlo asked.
He hesitated for a while, and, in the end, told him the truth:
"We're looking for the missing registrar and his visitor, sir. I've got a hound nose for trouble. Just a family thing", Trevor laughed, sarcastic, "We think the arrested burglar may know something."
"Nothing, Belmont. We've tried. He just swears to God he didn't kill them, and he doesn't know where did they go. That he wanted only the house's loot. But I thank you for your effort."
"Didn't the burglar carry any belongings with him?", Trevor frowned and crossed his arms.
"Just small things of small value, a knife, a piece of paper and nothing more but the clothes on his back. I didn't read the paper. I was never taught how to."
"What's on the paper, perhaps, looks like any of this book?", Sypha showed him the open diary.
Carlo got the lamp closer to see it, scratched his head, and answered:
"I'd say yes, miss."
It's the missing page. Trevor looked at the other two, and they seemed to agreed.
"Finish this. Isobel is waiting tables for me, but today's a busy day", the tavern keeper grunted.
"Well, what I can do is giving you the sheet", Carlo handed the lantern back to his sister, "And there's an awaken guard in the prison, for sure. But I suggest that the ladies head back home. It's not the best place for you."
Trevor held back an ironic grimace, and looking aside, he saw Sypha doing the same. Little they know, the mere mortals.
"I can escort them on their way back", Alucard said, "Trevor, can you take care of what's in the prison?"
"So be it", Trevor sighed.
"Don't take too long", Sypha kissed him on the cheek before they left.
Carlo asked when they walked to the town hall:
"For how long have you been around here, Belmont?"
"Uh, some days, I guess?", he was vague on purpose, "We're just passing by, sort of aimlessly."
"By any chance, does your friend there…"
Trevor decided to interrupt him:
"The guy, you mean? He's healthy as a horse. He just looks like a walking candle anyway."
Carlo laughed and went on:
"He sure does. I mean, in the sentry-box, much is heard about many things."
"Uh-huh", Trevor frowned.
"Where does the gentleman live?"
"Not very far from here, but he barely leaves his property. He's sort of… A shut-in. Strange fellow."
"I see. What's wrong with him?"
What a curious guy, geez.
"He's… New around. He lost his parents, inherited some land, sold everything and left. He isn't in his shiniest spot lately."
Half a truth will do. Carlo looked like he tried the flavor of what Trevor said and reasoned it to be true:
"I understand it. Grieving is tough. I wish him well."
When they arrived the town hall, Trevor was invited in after the doors were unlocked.
"I believe you don't want to talk to the jailed man now", Carlo put away the keys, "We'll soon decide what will be done of him. Is it enough to check his belongings?"
"Yes, sir."
"Wait for me here, I'll get them."
The guard disappeared to somewhere Trevor could not tell. He sat on the floor and waited until the footsteps came back from the deserted corridor. Trevor stood up.
"We gave the jewelry to the church. There are still coins we didn't count, and said piece of paper", Carlo handed him a fabric bag that was not too big.
"I also found…", Trevor searched some more after finding the sheet and took out an object he saw under the lamp light, "A dagger?"
"Keep it, if it's even sharp", the guard shrugged.
Trevor stared at the knife and attached it to his belt. One more to the collection. Carlo suggested that they left, and so they did. Before he locked the door, he said:
"You know, since you're involved in those stuff, Belmont, I advise that you talk to the man down there."
"What for, if he doesn't know a thing?", Trevor crossed his arms and looked to another side.
"Not because of that. In the first days, nothing strange happened. After that, the guy started talking in his sleep, and now, he screams things no one understands. It kind of looks like he's possessed, God forbid."
Intriguing. Trevor looked at Carlo again:
"So, should I come tomorrow?", he frowned.
"As you wish. If I'm not on duty, tell them you came in my name."
Sypha looked to the unpleasant tavern keeper for the umpteenth time and sighed. She also glanced at Alucard, that did not start a conversation just as herself, and she had a suspicion he was going through the same. We could've talked about the case all along the way. Luckily, we must be almost there.
The lady opened the tavern's door and roamed by the tables after she left the lamp on the counter. A drunk, heavy man stood up at the same time and bumped onto the counter, almost making the candle fall to the ground, and Alucard was fast enough to grab it before the flame touched anything.
"Be careful, friend", he patted the dizzy man on the shoulder.
They headed upstairs and entered the bedroom. Sypha lit up the candle again and went on reading the confusing diary, sitting on the bed, as Alucard occupied the chair. I'd love this thing to make some sense. Sometimes, she tooks her eyes off the book and found Alucard gazing at the starry night through the window, with his chin on his hand. I won't the one disturbing him. Every new page of the book, however, had the handwriting become less and less comprehensible. She would waste three or four reading attempts to decipher a line of text, until, in the end, she decided to chat:
"Where do you think they are?"
"The missing men?", Alucard looked at her, then to the ceiling, "If they left on horses, they might be far from here. But the stable boy said nothing about seeing them."
"And if they are on foot, they aren't so far from here", Sypha closed the book, marking it with a folded page, "Reading this, I don't really believe they reached the point of magic transportation.'
"And I think you're right", he laughed, "They were mediocre even when dealing with things they shouldn't. So, they can't open portals or fly."
"Anyways. A thing here stuck out, see this.'
Sypha stood up and walked to the bed end, closer to Alucard's chair. She opened the book, and he also squinted his eyes to read:
"What a difficult handwriting, damn. 'Try nº1. Failure. Unsuc. transm.', is that what it says?"
"Exactly. About the rest…", Sypha got the book back, "Try nº2. Failure Unsuc. transm. Try nº3…' and so on till the number ten. 'Failure. Insuf. form.' Formula? Format? Formation?"
"It has to do with the passage about the mask, perhaps."
"Maybe, if 'transm' stands for 'transmutation'. I remember reading about 'noble material'...", she turned pages until she found the part and read it out loud, with the book on her lap, 'Imperf. mask. improp. mater. Need + noble. Unhappy objective.'"
"Following that reasoning, they wanted to transmute something into something nobler in order to make a mask and please someone", Alucard scratched his chin, "If I'm allowed to guess, it must be from a metal to gold. Do people still believe this through chemical means? They are worse than I thought."
Sypha took a while to process that information and asked:
"Wait, you can't do that?"
"Uh. No", he said, with a pause, "Well, probably, it's either iron or lead. They're easy to obtain.'
"Iron…", Sypha had an insight, "The backdoor screws!"
"It's pretty possible. Very good conjecture."
She smiled, thanked and got half a meter closer, dragging herself on the bed end.
"But, wait", Sypha tapped with a finger on the back of the book, "If it isn't possible to make gold out of another metal, why the tenth try was 'insufficient' instead of 'unsuccessful'?"
"Maybe because they might've done something that gave them hope, but not enough for a full mask."
She noticed Alucard's expression getting softer, and his stare getting lost. What's wrong with you?, she had the brief impulse to ask, but changed her approach:
"What are you thinking?"
"I'm trying to remember a chemical reaction", he put his hand on his lips, "It would be easier if I were in the laboratory."
"It's a shame it's not possible to bring it here anymore", Sypha smiled half-heartedly.
"I'll take you both to it when we're back. I believe you'll appreciate the visit."
Sypha widened her eyes. Am I dreaming? She almost jumped on him for a thankful hug when Trevor opened the door wide with a slam.
"Enough startling me for today, for God's sake", she got on her feet and changed targets of the hug, "What did you find out there?"
"The missing page", Trevor panted, "If you can read this thing."
That's it! He got it in his pocket and handed it to Sypha, who got it closer to the candlelight.
"Wow, it looks like a dead language. What a terrible handwriting", she cleaned her throat, "'Last res. Zero result. Zero. recogn. Foll. trail. Predef. locat. lake. Wait remov.'"
"Last resort. Zero result, zero recognition", Alucard tried.
"Follow trail. Predefined location lake. Wait for removal", Trevor scratched his head, "In the woods closer to Sohodol, there is more than a lake. In the one that takes us to the Hold, there is none."
"And what do they mean by last resort?", Alucard got up and put on the jacket.
No one answered. Trevor headed to the window:
"Let's go."
"Through it?", asked Sypha, "I can climb you down."
So did she with a helping hand of the wind, and then she descended herself. She routed them to the crack on the bulwark, going forward.
"How did you find out this opening?", Trevor asked.
"With the little contretemps I had earlier", she laughed.
Here it is, then. The grove spread from the town walls and after the glade, and everything was silent, except for the rustling leaves, or the occasional owl hoot. Alucard looked inside himself and found no fear. Why am I restless, then? Sypha lit up a flame and signed for them to follow her. They walked in the woods without a trail, dodging branches, roots, and stones, all of them quiet as a stone. The fire made something reflect meters ahead, and the three got closer to it. Trevor plucked out the object from the tree bark, a short blade without a handle, with the dull end wrapped with a fabric.
"I've seen one like this earlier", observed Sypha, "Izidor got it from the floor."
"Do you think there are more around here?", Trevor put it in his pocket.
"If the book really said 'follow the trail', they might lead to one, yes", she nodded.
The went ahead searching for more of those signs and it was not hard to find the next one. They stabbed particular trees, too thin or too broad, too tall or too short, on cracked and knocked stumps, always on open, visible spaces. Bad occultists, but clever men. Alucard looked to the sky and the amount of stars he could see:
"The nearest lake is in what cardinal point, Trevor?"
"It's northwest, if I'm not mistaken", he rested leaning back on a tree, panting.
"This is not taking us northwest. How many lakes there are in this grove?"
"Sorry, it's been more than a decade I'm not around."
"Make a little more effort", Alucard put his hands in his pockets.
"Wait, where's Sypha?"
They looked around and did not find her. She turned around a tree, far by some meters, and called them loud and clear:
"There's a rut here. Is it a lake?"
Alucard and Trevor looked at each other and followed her. On another tree trunk, she caught sight of something else and got the fire closer to it:
"This is a…"
"...A heart", Trevor stepped forward and saw the organ stabbed with one of the demarking blades.
"And why do I think it is from the gargoyle you took care of?", Alucard frowned.
"Because it's dark, huge, and it's still beating", Trevor pulled the steel stake and the heart fell on the foliage, leaving a blood trail as it fell, "If there is a brighter side to it, at least, I think the two sweethearts have been here."
They finishing climbing down the rut up to the lake's shore and circled around it. It was small and surrounded by stones, pine trees and deciduous trees, their yellowed leaves covering the ground.
"Light it up, Sypha", asked Trevor.
She created tall flames towards the sky, that passed the trees' height by an amount.
"Too bright?", Sypha laughed.
"No. There's something that way. I think we found them", Alucard pointed at the other shore.
Then, Sypha made a bridge of thick ice to the other side, that they crossed carefully, one at a time.
"We did", Trevor sighed.
Alucard was the last one to arrive the shore and the smell of putrefaction reached his nose. The hooded men had their faces covered by metallic golden masks. He kneeled to remove them, revealing two unknown faces with their lifeless eyes open.
"They're made of lead, I believe", he showed the masks to the other two, "But it's golden. Nice try."
"What are you talking about?", Trevor asked.
"Lead iodide. It fooled me once when I was a kid", Alucard half-smiled, "It creates a beautiful golden reaction in a laboratory glass. I don't advise that you touch it.
"Is it toxic, by any chance?", Sypha dimmed the lights.
"Yes, and in great amount, it can harm one's intellect. It makes sense that both of them had that awful handwriting. Also, check this out."
He got one of the corpse's hands and raised it with some hardship to show the palm with a knife wound.
"His companion also has one on the same left hand. This gentleman is pretty cold", Trevor had crouched besides the body, "It's a deep wound. This must explain the stain on the room's floor."
"I found this, too", Sypha showed up with a flask, that she opened and smelled, "It's deadly nightshade tea."
"Can I try it?", Trevor stretched his hand, and she poured the content in the lake, "I'll get it as a 'no'."
"This is what killed them. Want a sip?"
"What would be of me if it weren't for you, right?", he gently held her shoulder and kissed her face.
"It's dangerous if made from the root. That's what I suspect" Sypha dropped the flask on the floor.
The three went quiet and there was only the howl of the wind on the leaves. There's not much more to do here. As if she read his thoughts, Sypha said:
"Let's go back."
"Yeah", Trevor walked ahead, "This is not a place where I'd like to spend the night."
Alucard stared at the two yellowish masks. These are coming with me.
They climbed to the bedroom through the window left open when they left. Sypha snuggled with Trevor, but her sleep seemed to shy away from her. When her hopes of having someone to talk to were almost none, she saw Alucard's silhouette moving in bed, facing the other way.
"Are you awake?", she tried.
"Pretty much."
"How are you?"
He took a while to answer:
"I have lots of questions."
"I think we all do", Sypha sighed, "I'm taking the journal with me."
"Do it. It might be useful."
"I almost forgot it", Trevor showed up in the living world, "I'll pay a visit to the jail in the morning. The guard told me strange things about the prisoner. He talks in his sleep. Just as I do now."
He yawned and hugged Sypha. I love you, too.
"Is it enough space?", Alucard asked, "It's not the biggest of beds."
"It is, don't worry", she dug the pillow with her face.
I've snoozed in carriages and alleys with other fifteen people. This looks like a palace. She smiled alone in the dark of the bedroom and glanced at Alucard, still with his back to her, and she could see nothing but a contour. And you, did you sleep alone all your life? She snuggled some more, without an answer.
The dawn of the new day was grey and chilly. Trevor opened his eyes without a trace of sleepiness and let Sypha go carefully. She won't wake up, but still. He told her an unheard goodbye petting her hair and left without the keys. In the tavern's hall, the grumpy woman had stale bread and beer to serve. He ate and drank asking himself what time was it, since no one besides him was there.
He left being embraced by his fur cloak, his old, loyal companion, towards the town hall. The new guard at the door to ask him what he wanted.
"I come in the name of Carlo. He allowed me to talk to the burglar prisoner, arrested a while ago. He said it's urgent."
"It's a pity, sir."
"Excuse me?", Trevor felt his stomach as ice.
"Was he a relative of yours?"
"I have no idea who he is. What happened?"
"The burglar died last night."
Shit. The news were swallowed dry. Trevor asked:
"Could I see the cell, sir?"
"If you wish. Carlo will hear about this."
"Whatever."
The guard and Trevor left the door and he was guided to the back of the town hall, where there was an open trapdoor. They climbed down the stairs lowering their heads and walked through the stone corridor, lighted by torches. There were only four cells, in a town that saw little crime, and in two of them, there were living, quiet men to see them pass by. The airless underground was suffocating. In the end of the short corridor, another guard stood up and nodded to the one from the doors, then staring at Trevor with unfamiliarity. In the last cell of the right, there lied a body with a dilacerated neck and open eyes; the burglar's hands were down to the quick, and he was thrown into a puddle of blood. On the wall, there was a writing of the same red, of the word "Ploiesti". The guard from the door made the sign of the cross.
"The scariest, sir", he said, with a hint of fear, "is that he couldn't even read."