The morning had been made of dismantling remains of tents, assessing what was still useful, and, without fail, picking up bodies. They were covered by a white shroud and rested inside a cart, which was hooked onto the back of the wagon. A messenger from the town hall also knocked on the door of the stable to deliver them a convenient bag of coins; the knocks scared Florin, who woke up screaming from a snooze on the hay. Trevor noticed the man's deep dark circles under the eyes, that Constantin had as well. The latter did not return Alucard's jacket and Trevor's fur cloak until the last second. Well, not that I had slept with the angels to judge them.

"The mayor also has explicit requests, sir," the messenger stuttered, "He asks you to burn the devil's head and throw it in the river. Don't bury it. You know, not to bring us ill omens."

This hideous thing doesn't deserve a burial, anyway. Sypha was awake enough to hear, and took care of the task with unmatched efficiency.

It was about the middle of the afternoon when the bridge was finally free to come and go. A procession of campings was gone before the four-horse carriage crossed it. The two new men, unfortunate guests in the wagon, had their final destination in the minuscule next village, surrounded by hay crops and right next to another river, a narrower one with an intact bridge. They bid them farewell with no more than a "thank you" and a head nod, and Trevor got the carriage moving, looking over his shoulder. Upon the call of an old man with a rake, he saw the people approaching the two that stayed. They'll be asking questions… And it's not like I wish to answer. Trevor conducted until the beginning of the night, when they stopped and set up camp in the same mournful silence. He threw a rock in the campfire, out of complete boredom, and laid down to sleep soon with Sypha in tow.

The next day had a sweeter, sunnier dawn, with the bitter aftertaste still lingering in the back of the throat. Sypha sat on the coachman's bench with the map.

Trevor squinted his eyes to see something on the horizon. "Another river?" He asked Sypha. "It's a big one this time."

"It's the Lake Snagov," she tapped with her finger on the map, "It is believed to be the greatest one in all of Wallachia."

"No wonder," he frowned.

The bridge that crossed it was also sumptuous and broad, and it had small sentry-boxes, two on each side. It must be a thing from the times of war. Also, on the bridge, there was a man that resembled a dirty rag on the ground; he called for them and raised an arm when they passed by.

"Good morning, sir and ma'am," he took off his dark hood, "A ride to this brother?"

Trevor analyzed him from head to toe. And those are quite injured toes. One of the man's feet was poking out of the ripped shoe, beet red with signs of infection. The poor monk wore a beaten, discolored habit under his cloak, and also carried a poor rod. He was not an elder, but some grey hair began to appear among his otherwise dark curls.

"I've been here for more than a day, and my foot can take no more walking," the man supported himself on the railing of the bridge with a hand and with the rod on the other, "Please, I ask?"

"Come with us," Trevor tilted his head for him to climb, "Where are you going?"

"I am back to Snagov," the monk replied, "Is it where you're headed?"

"No, actually," Trevor shrugged, "But it'll do no harm."

In the back of the wagon, Alucard helped him climb and accomodated him on the seat.

"Thanks a lot, thanks a lot," the monk sighed in relief, "My name's Pavel. I can guide you there, if it suits your needs."

Pavel thanked God and them more times than they were able to count. Outside of the blessings, he spoke endlessly about his recent pilgrimage through Wallachia, from which he would be already back if it was not for the foot incident.

"And I walked all of this for my niece, sirs and ma'am. Her father is my brother, and he loves her more than anything in this world. The girl's now healthy, and the deal with God was repaid," Pavel looked out of the carriage. Him and Alucard had approached the coachman's bench so that everyone could talk, "This road becomes really terrible when it rains. Good grief."

"The whole country is under this never-ending drizzle, I think," Alucard shrugged.

Trevor looked up to the sky, that retributed the kindness with a raindrop right in his eye. There goes my sunny day.

By noon, they parked the carriage under the greatest tree Trevor could find, taking a break to rest the horses by the lakeside. Alucard had no appetite and satisfied himself with a handful of dry fruits. On the edge of the wagon, the other three sat to eat and to hear Pavel's traveling singularities. With his journal in hand, Alucard hesitated to start writing, but the other words begged to flow after the first one.

"As I promised, I'm here, not only more enlightened, but more confused as well. I know I've been living an oxymoron. However, things of these nature rarely make any sense.

At the same time, it hurts me to write and I'm also radiant about it. Sypha and I are going through the same. Every moment I spent alone with her makes me burn for another of her hugs. How to dodge such a thing when we're so similar creatures? I can talk to her about whatever's on my mind and for hours straight; any subject will never run out. And even if we're silent together, and it is uncomfortable, I know very well what I would do with it if I just had the right to do so, which is unlikely, not to say impossible. Such things are complicated more frequently than they are simple, and there are no clear-cut instructions to deal with the odd humankind.

She loves Trevor. I know she does. Everything they do shows it. The way they look at one another, how they look for moments of their own, how they worry about each other, and, especially, how she dragged him out of a cycle of defeat and booze of which he would never leave alone. And he would not allow just anyone to have that role in his life: it was a matter of trust, a bond forged between them by the same cross-fire that made me know them. To be honest, I haven't seen lots of what happened between them; I wasn't there. I said them a premature farewell and lived since then an unstable sleep, surrounded by my own ciranda of ruins. In days like today, these ruins seem way too distant, and due to that, these are days of a weirdly good mood.

Now, about Trevor… Well, he's not my focus, nor my biggest problem in the last times. But something tells me there are things he would like to address with me. I can only theorize the reason: he may have noticed our suspicious movements, perhaps the reason why he was bothered about my lie back in Ploiesti. Best case scenario, he just wants to talk. It's not like we belong to universes so distinct from each other, or like we were fully unable to understand each other. I admit that, once in a while, it's hard to dialogue, but there's a sort of comprehension that doesn't rely on words. He asked me, in an indirect fashion, for help on taking care of Sypha, since we're soon visiting her parents' grave. Since he's trusting me with the only thing he indeed has, I think we're no longer just spikes for each other.

Even if, and the possibility is bigger than the opposite, I end up empty-handed, I won't leave this situation scarred to death. Yes, even if I stay on the road with the two of them; I'll still witness something rare and stunning in front of my eyes, and one doesn't get that chance every day. Now, I ask myself, what if I'm luckier than to be a mere watcher? I doubt it. But time will tell, and I wouldn't waste the chance… Depending on what's its price.

Thank you for keeping up with me, and I'll reappear when I have the chance."

They were back to the road soon, despite the drizzle. The greater part of the path ran by the lakeside, surrounded by a thicket and two or three tiny villages. Even with a terribly hurt foot, Pavel was in a splendid mood.

"We'll be there in no time," the monk looked around, "You three are a blessing. The Lord put you on my way, that's how it is."

"I haven't been called 'a blessing' much, sir," Trevor laughed.

"Were you a mischievous boy?" Pavel tilted his head.

"I was the youngest of three, in a big house full of relatives," Trevor looked to the road again, "It's not hard to figure."

"It's the nature of children," Pavel shrugged, "Still so young and lively."

Me, a Belmont, a Speaker, and a monk. How ironic and how likely is this band? Alucard chuckled alone. Sypha was busy talking to Pavel about historical texts of all sort. Even though she did it out of courtesy, it was a good conversation to hear. Alucard rested his head on the wagon, with the journal still on his lap, discouraged from fumbling with the baggage with all that rumble-tumble.

It was almost the end of the afternoon when Snagov appeared, with houses of wood and stone.

"Home, at last," Pavel pointed an alley, "Follow that way, please, sir coachman. I'd like to see my brother before I'm back to the monastery."

"Talking about the monastery, it's on an island, am I correct?" Sypha asked.

"Precisely, my lady. And the lake up to the island is way too big for a bridge. One has to go by boat," the monk touched Trevor's shoulder, "Here, you can stop here."

They got off the carriage to see a residence fronted by leatherwork of all kinds for sale. Alucard helped Pavel climb down to the ground and also knocked on the door, with no vendor in sight.

Pavel did not hesitate to open it and call, "Matieu? Matieu, are you there?"

A girl about ten showed up, with the same dark, curly hair as the monk. She had a broad smile and greeted him as "uncle Pavel", jumping in for a hug. Pavel raised her in the air with as much balance as he could with a foot like that, much to her amusement.

He set her on the ground. "Where's your father?"

"He's inside, uncle," she replied.

"Go call him, Irina, please," he crouched to speak with her, "We have visitors. Good visitors."

The girl disappeared in the house, and soon a busy-looking man appeared, younger than Pavel and wearing an apron. The man had a half-braided leather strip made of four cords in his hands. He hugged his brother for a long moment, exchanging amenities and hearing all sorts of stories from one another.

"Let's not leave the guests standing," Pavel gestured for them to head to the table, "And let's also introduce them."

The monk spoke about each one of the three, while Matieu's wife found them water and slices of bread. Alucard accepted it more out of politeness than out of hunger. The woman also offered to call the old lady doctor, who did not live far from them.

"There's no need," Pavel shook his head, "I'll soon be home and they'll treat me all right. But we're going to need the boatman, for sure, who's probably by the lakeside anyway," he drank the water to the last drop and called for his brother, "Can you believe it? This lady here can read a myriad of languages. And she's not even a nun!"

Sypha blushed. "It's just that my father was a literate man, sir. And since he had no sons…"

"I see, I see," Matieu nodded.

It was almost night when Pavel and his brother finished updating each other about the kinsfolk and the travel, as well as there was an end for the monk's spoiling his niece, who asked him questions non-stop. Alucard helped Pavel on his feet again.

"The boat, now. And I invite you to know my home," Pavel bowed, already outside, "Thanks a lot for having them in, Matieu. Please, be our guests, the three of you, if it's convenient. Even if the monastery is small, there's space to spare for you. Except for the horses, maybe."

"We'll have to leave them at the stable, in that case," Trevor scratched his head, "It helps if I find out where it is."

"I can show you," Pavel sat on the coachman's bench, "Turn there, on the left."

Alucard did not take a part in the negotiation, nor did he pay any attention to the stable. It's like all of the others. There's not much to see in it besides horses. He looked to Sypha from time to time. She seemed entertained with the book, which had a series of pages with small bookmarks. We're going to have a lot to talk about, given the chance. From there, they followed on foot to the lake. Alucard opted for carrying Pavel in his arms, much to the monk's merriment.

The lakeside had a small berth with a silent boatman, who also wore the dark habit. He waited with his back facing them, holding onto a fishing rod cast on the water, when he heard approaching footsteps. The new monk turned his head and widened his eyes out of surprise, standing up and leaving the rod on the ground.

"Brother Pavel?" He walked up to the other monk, "I can't believe it." They hugged with the same nearness and joy as with Pavel's relatives. After they were shooting the breeze for a while, the boatman spoke to the other three, "There's room just for two at a time. Someone has to wait by the lakeside, and I'll pick you up in a while."

Well, let the couple go together. Alucard sat on the boat supporting Pavel as the boatman held the oars. The lake had a bunch of floating plants in bloom, that spread apart as they passed by their leaves. They gained some distance, and Alucard observed the two dots that were Trevor and Sypha speaking of something he ignored. They are as close as I was to her before yesterday. The view of the monastery turned from a shapeless stop into a building of old architeture, made of stone and surrounded by a bit of green. He smiled to nobody and enjoyed that moment to close his eyes. He then heard an incomprehensible whisper and opened them again, not hearing it anymore. The monks were silent. What was that? Alucard went back to his meditation, and the other two soon began to talk. The first sentence he could make sense of came from the boatman.

"…Haunted, it's been some weeks, Brother Pavel. They changed the candle-holders from place. The candles are blown out without any wind. Some porcelains were also broken. They knocked down the altar! I don't know how, in our sacred home, such a thing can happen. It never happened before, in spite of everything."

In spite of what?

"Good God," Pavel replied, "Isn't it someone's doing?"

"No, Brother. Everyone from the night watch testified it. The ones that cross the graveyard do, too. They'll fall to the ground like rotten fruits without tripping onto anything."

Who would tell a case for us would appear from a detour. Alucard smiled again. The boat arrived the islet, and the boatman stopped so they could leave. Pavel needed help again, and Alucard held him standing, both looking at the horizon until the boat was back with the other two. It was, then, properly docked in the island, and the monk that transported them reaped from the new berth a net full of fish. Pavel spoke to everyone where he would go, being received with more effusiveness than Alucard expected from a monastery. Pavel was, however, the merriest among his peers. They entered the building, which was smaller from a close view than it seemed from afar, finding themselves surrounded by more people and more chatter.

"Now, my foot," Pavel decided, talking to three monks at once, "I'd take the visitors in a tour by the place, but I'll leave them to Brother Laurentiu right here," he patted one of the monks' shoulder, "Someone, please, take me to my bedroom."

Alucard finally let a young acolyte guide Pavel, and saw himself free of the role of a crutch. Said Laurentiu stepped forward from the trio of monks; he had rose-colored cheeks and wore a thick pair of glasses.

"How can I help you, lady and gentlemen?" He stuttered, "Could I pick up your baggage and take it to your bedrooms? I thought about taking you to the kitchen shortly after that. The road leaves one hungry, they say."

"Seems excellent," Trevor agreed, "Any objection?"

No one opposed it, and they headed to their destination after the young man was back. The spacious kitchen had equally huge pans, pots, spoons, and all sorts of utensils. Laurentiu ran from a side to the other to serve them more bread, with a side of beer.

"It's already past mealtime, and we do not waste a thing here," Laurentiu sat with them, with a loaf of brown bread that he sliced with a knife, "If we lack something, the town will provide. But bread and beer are to us as bread and wine are Christ Himself."

"If you allow me another mug," Trevor dried his own as fast as a bolt, "It's wonderful. Take my compliments to whoever made it. What's in it?"

"Orange peel, sir. A delicacy that got here from a faraway land. One can make a jam out of the fruit, and it's really unice. I can ask the Father if I can give you a taste of it."

Before any of them could refuse, Laurentiu was already up on his feet looking for permission elsewhere. Alucard gave the beer its first sip and found in it a beverage as dense as a meal itself. I think I won't have an appetite for dinner. The young acolyte was back with a jar, struggling to open it, but managing to do so in the end. He gave each guest a spoonful of the jam on a slice of bread. Its flavor was indeed peculiar, and the stale bread gained a new life with it.

"We made it with honey, because sugar is just as rare as oranges," Laurentiu commented, "It's a real treasure."

"Changing topics, you've certainly got a library," Sypha spoke with a full mouth.

Laurentiu looked both ways before replying. "Outsiders are not allowed there, ma'am. But I could try to get you in there. If you're seen, just tell them you got lost."

The young man waited for them all to eat and drink before standing up and guiding them to the rest of the tour. They passed by the small graveyard, of simple tombstones without statues, an equally small vegetable garden, a set of vines that produced juicy table grapes, and, in the end, the chapel. It had no luxury like gold everywhere, nor it had many church pews, but even the plain beauty of the place was in lack of some decoration. Alucard looked around and saw a broken candlestick, missing some parts.

"What happened to this piece?" He asked.

"Oh, well…" Laurentiu stuttered, "I don't know. I believe someone tripped near it, sir."

Alucard looked to Sypha, who looked to Trevor. Of course that's not true.

"Brother, could you please show me where's the library?" Sypha requested.

"Sure thing, ma'am," Laurentiu nodded, "Are the other two coming as well?"

"I'm the only one that can read, so, for them, it'll be nothing but a room full of paper," she laughed.

"Right, right," Laurentiu said, "Gentlemen, if you need to find us, tell someone to show the way to the tower that's not the bell tower. We won't take too long."

They waited for the other two to gain some distance in the corridor. The echo would be an excellent spy.

Alucard touched Trevor's shoulder to call him, "I'm not sure if you've heard the same I did back in the boat," he whispered, "This chapel is haunted."

"Uh, no, we didn't hear it," Trevor began walking among the church pews, "But let's take a look around the place."

They observed the chapel, especially the altar, which had few objects. Most of the stuff must be already far from the wraith's hands. The great cross had a missing splint on its bottom.

"Here," Trevor pointed at it, "The piece might be in the trash already."

"And it's the only flaw it has," Alucard turned his face to Trevor's direction, "It was a pull in the direction of the wood's fibers, see?"

"I do."

They stood up and headed to the open Bible.

"It's upside down," Trevor flipped a page.

"And that goblet over there has straw in it," Alucard frowned.

"What about this smell?" Trevor asked.

Alucard sniffed it and detected it came from an aromatic lit pyre, with cinders in it. "Everything looks fine with it," he squinted his eyes to the cinders, "But what do you think everything's all about?"

"It doesn't look like demons' tricks," Trevor replied, "It would make a much bigger mess. Maybe a ghost, but who would haunt a monastery?"

"It depends," Alucard rested a hand on his own chin, "Who's dead?"

Sypha climbed the spiral stairs of the tower, with Brother Laurentiu ahead of her. The young man carried a heavy, rusty bunch of keys that clinked at every of his steps. It's almost night already, indeed, but I believe this is a dark place even in the brightest of days.

"Are you a nun, ma'am?" The young monk asked, all of a sudden.

"No, Brother," Sypha held back a laugh.

"So, how did you learn to read?"

She proceeded to tell him the same story she told to Pavel's family in Snagov. It's not like this is the best place to be a Speaker.

"But, I mean, didn't your father find you a husband?" He stuttered, "Your husband would know how to read."

"My husband left me, Brother, since I can't have children," she put on the saddest tone she could, "My old man foresaw that would happen to me, given my health as a young girl…"

"Oh, I'm truly sorry, ma'am. I shouldn't have insisted on it. Pardon me my rudeness," Laurentiu stuttered like never before.

"No problem," she shrugged, "I try to pursue happiness in other ways, and reading is one of them."

"I pray that, one day, God will bless you with a beautiful family of how many children you desire."

"Thanks a lot, Brother."

They arrived at the door of the library and Laurentiu unlocked it. It was a small room crammed with bookshelves, the corridors between them just broad enough for a single person. Now, we're talking.

"What would you like to read, ma'am?" He asked.

"I've been reading about botany lately, but I'm thinking history this time."

"Good choice," he pointed inside with an open hand, "The monastery has seventy years worth of documents, if you're interested."

"I'll accept any book that you suggest, thank you."

It was nightfall already and Laurentiu found her a candle, together with a thick brown book. Sypha thought of refusing the candle, but accepted it. It's not like he can see me light my hands on fire. She opened the enormous volume, sitting by a study desk, and the first hours of the night went by as learning. Actually, the cities surrounding the lake were settled around the monastery, and not the opposite. Decades before, just near Sypha's birth, the end of a war was fought there, and the great general Dragoi of Wallachia was killed and buried by the enemy troops… In the crypt of the monastery?

"Brother Laurentiu," she called him. He was lost among the shelves and promptly approached, "Tell me more about this general."

"Do you appreciate stories of war, ma'am?"

"I appreciate good characters, before anything else."

"Well, then," he cleaned his throat, "General Dragoi was ruthless and bloodthirsty, there's no doubt about that. He was headstrong and there was no match for his combat skills. However, it is said that right here in the forest surrounding the lake, he made the mistake of stubborness and was caught in an enemy trap. His head was put on a stake, just as he did with the dead enemy soldiers, and it was shown to all of Istanbul."

"And what about what's left of him?"

"He rests under our feet, as stated in the book."

"Hmm," Sypha recalled the broken candle holder in the chapel, "And what kind of dead is he?"

Laurentiu made a gesture for silence. "We should be quiet, ma'am," he looked around, "The walls have ears."

The young monk invited her to leave the library and requested that she followed him. They walked by a way that was not the same as the first one, crossing a central hall towards the bell tower. Laurentiu was perfectly quiet and grabbed a torch from the wall. He unlocked another door, a bigger and noisier one, leaving it open. There was a trapdoor in a discreet corner; he opened it and went down first. Should I really? She followed him.

As they were closed in the basement, Laurentiu whispered, "They say it's the general, ma'am, who's been haunting the chapel. The older brothers speak of having seen him around the building more than once. When they look at him, if he looks back at you, he'll take off his head to show he's dead."

"A ghost, then."

"A demon, that was what he was when alive. A ghost now, then. Come see the crypt."

They continued on that narrow corridor. Laurentiu had to lower his head more than Sypha did. They arrived at a wider space with a series of urns inside holes on the walls, with skulls in their front.

"There," the monk pointed, "That one's the general's."

The other urns were simple, made of wood with few adornments and drawings. The general's urn carried an ostentatious crown on the top of the skull that rested on the vase. Did they really bring the man's head all the way from Istanbul? Sypha frowned and stared at the eyeless orbits of the skeleton remains, feeling a brief shiver.

"Should I tell you a secret, ma'am?"

"Sure thing," Please, for the love of God, "I guarantee that I'll take it to the tomb."

"Rumour has it that Brother Pavel is a bastard of the general."

As soon as Laurentiu finished speaking, the ceiling above them quaked six times, the chimes of the bell for six in the afternoon. They waited a bit for the footsteps to cross the trapdoor and left with as much prudence as possible.

"I'm late to wash my hands, and I'll be even later to dinner," Laurentiu stuttered.

It's so good to be back to this fresh air. "I must apologize for making you late, Brother."

"Don't worry about that, I get scolded all the time here. Let's go find those partners of yours."