Each step Trevor took on the grass crumpled it. He passed between two tombstones and found a tree to sit under and contemplate the lake. To his right side, there was a grazing pony, guided by a monk with a white beard. Trevor looked up and a drop fell from the leaves, hitting his forehead. He heard footsteps behind him and stretched his neck to see who was it.
"Are you following me?" Trevor frowned.
"No." Alucard also sat under the unnecessary shadow of the tree, in that grey day that was coming to an end. "I just don't have anywhere else to go."
Technically speaking, yes, you're following me. Trevor shrugged. Not meaning that'll be of any help. I don't know where to go either. The drizzle turned to rain and he sighed.
"When do you think we'll arrive at Bucharest?" Alucard asked.
"In three or four days, if we come back by the same way we came here. I left the damn map in the wagon, so that's nothing but a guess," Trevor stretched, "What do I have to do for another mug of that beer?"
"Asking for it is a good take, maybe."
Trevor laughed. "Sounds like a plan."
"Thanks, I guess. Anyway," Alucard moved, probably to make himself more comfortable, "Of all the places where we could find work, we found it in the one we came by chance."
Trevor put on his sarcastic tone. "Look at you, engaged like that. You don't even sound like the same bratty boy that took us as guests."
"Wait, are you happy for me or pointing out my hypocrisy?"
"Maybe both," Trevor closed his eyes, "Do you miss home?"
"Yes and no, I'd say," Alucard said. I know how's that. "There are things that I miss way more."
"As, for example…?"
Alucard sighed. "It might not be hard to guess for yourself."
"It's not. I've had a family once," Trevor crossed his fingers over his chest, "We were three children from my parents. I was the third, a brother and a sister before me. My sister was better with her whip than I was with mine. She tested it on me every now and then."
Alucard laughed. "I'm so sorry."
"Now, my brother was better with the sword. My parents were good in whatever they put their hands on. I wouldn't leave any of them alone, but there was payback, for sure. My own flesh and blood."
Telling it like that, it sounds like a story I read somewhere. Trevor smiled alone at the lake. It's been so long.
"Are there days where you can see them in front of you?" Alucard asked.
"Yes, there are. What would they do, what would they say." Trevor felt his chest heavy. "My parents and siblings, uncles and aunts and cousins, all of them."
And I'm the only one left. The feeling of tears seemed strangely unattainable to him. I'm alone. And you are, too. He chuckled and shook his head. Who would ever say that, in a day of my life, I'd be chatting about the family I no longer have with a valuable hunting prize like this. My father would slap me across the face.
"Try to see the brighter side of it," Alucard suggested. Is there one? "Now, we have a better home to come back to."
"I gave you my home, not the opposite."
"It's not like I'm going to haunt you away if you knock on my door again."
"You're not, huh?" Trevor's tears seemed a step closer. "And it's not like I'm going to frame your skull on the wall for descending the stairs to my library."
Trevor heard a movement on the grass and looked over his shoulder; Alucard stood up. He did the same and saw Sypha approaching, hood on her head, with Laurentiu by her side. The young monk guided them by some corridors until they arrived at the silent bedrooms, empty of occupiers at that time.
The monk unlocked a door and commented, "Someone was told to clean it, but it might not be enough. These bedrooms haven't been used in a while."
Peeking inside the room, Trevor saw that the furniture was composed of a bed for one, a table under the window, a chair, and a chest. "Bedrooms," he said. Two bedrooms, then. His guess was confirmed when Laurentiu unlocked the room on the opposite side of the corridor. Trevor smiled. Love me some privacy. He pulled Sypha by the hand and saw her with the same smile. They checked if all the bags of their few belongings, most of them left in the stable. Not that they would steal a bunch of food and a checkers board around here.
When Laurentiu was gone, the three reunited there, sitting on the minuscule bed. As the door was closed, Sypha summarized her trip to the library and the crypt, telling them about the so-called ghost of the general.
"I've heard of him through my father's writing," Alucard said.
"And what did they say?" Sypha asked.
"He called him 'that little rat of a soldier'," Alucard let out a sarcastic laugh, "I believe he rose to the top during the war that took place before we were born."
"Correct," Sypha lit up a flame so that they would see each other, "And he died due to the very same war, around these woods."
Trevor crossed his arms. "Well, if there is a ghost, we'll have to watch over the chapel to see if the golden child is showing up."
"Given that the possibility is widespread among the monks, it's possible that someone already guards it," Sypha put a hand on her chin.
"Perhaps someone used to watch it and doesn't do it anymore," Alucard shrugged, "It might be that no one wastes their time with that, since it hasn't worked out to prevent it from happening. That said, I can watch the chapel."
"It's fine by me," Trevor agreed, "What about you, Sypha?"
"Fine, too," she said.
The cold wind of the evening made the window shake and showed the necessity of the chock on the table. They looked for blankets in the chest, that seemed to be enough for the fall, and played a match of checkers. Trevor and Sypha sided against Alucard alone until there were knocks on the door. Trevor told them to come in.
"I invite you to wash your hands for dinner," Laurentiu's head popped in, "The food's already served."
They left the bedroom to go to the sink out in the open, with water that was as clean as it was cold.
"Are there baths here?" Trevor asked out of curiosity.
"Like anywhere in the world, sir," Laurentiu nodded, "And they happen to be warm in this weather. But I'm afraid that the lady will have to go in another time. It's a public place."
They followed him to the long dinner table, in which sat the almost thirty monks of the monastery. They quietly ate the meal, composed of small salted fish, boiled eggs, soup, and bread, sided by the unmatched beer. The majority was already halfway through the dish when Pavel arrived, with a treated foot and supported by another monk.
Whatever silence protocol was broken and an endless chatter began, one of him with whomever wanted attention. Trevor took advantage of the uproar to ask Laurentiu discreetly for another mug of beer, given to him on spot and drunk without nobody's disapproval. The first spoon of the soup was already cool enough to be eaten carelessly. It revealed a flavor in which Trevor could not put a name. The broth is yellow. What might that be?
As the dishes were picked up, they were quick to return to their bedrooms. Sypha closed the door with the side of her body, sighing of relief.
"Finally," she said.
"And we've got a break tonight. Big strike, don't you think?" Trevor smiled and lied down on the bed, "It's a shame that the walls seem to be so thin."
"That's not my problem…" She lit up a candle and joined him in bed, lightly biting his neck.
"Hey, take it slow," Trevor felt a shiver down his spine, "You don't need to cross the line just because-"
Sypha bit him again harder, changing the place of the neck. Trevor let out a brief moan.
"Because I like it?" She chuckled, "You were always louder than me. But here, you have to be quiet. You know where we are."
Alucard still felt the pillow under his head, the bed under his body, his arms resting on the mattress. He breathed in deeply, with his eyes closed and his torso up, covered by the blankets found in the chest. Not a thing was visible, and he would not see even if he opened his eyes in that candleless evening; however, he could hear, and heard a noise that he believed to be distant. What's that? He made himself pay attention to it, and also dove deeper in the darkness that would lead him to a dream. He took an even deeper breath and had the impression to hear a "please" in a crying tone. He shivered, as if he was cold despite the enough blankets.
Alucard broke the spell of sleepiness and sat down, reclining on the headboard. He stared at nothing in particular for a moment, then reached for his inside pocket in the jacket, hanging on the bed. If it is this thing… He did not breathe for a second and lit up a spark behind the necklace. The pendant was as red as fresh blood. It's a very familiar shade.
The bell chimed eight times and the monks would lay to rest. A bit more, and I'll go to the chapel. With his eyes already wide open and used to the dark, he heard another sound. Huh? A second take showed that it came from outside, muffled by the walls. He got up from the bed and unlocked the door with a slow turn of the key. Discreetly leaving to the corridor, he detected that it came from the bedroom in front of him. Why do I think I'll regret it? He did not have to put his ear on the door to listen.
"What do I have to do to keep you silent?"
It's Sypha. She was quiet enough that no human would hear, but winsome enough for him to be sure what was that about. Right. My imagination haven't gotten me this far. Next sound was Trevor's, an unplanned, accidental noise. Alucard froze in front of the door and became mist, crawling on the floor not to be seen, headed to the chapel.
He crossed the closed doors through the lower fret. The place was a lot more sinister at night, without any light but the lit pyre in the altar. Back to his usual form, he stepped on the central corridor between the pews. What was I expecting? He sighed and looked down, letting his weak arms hang by his side. Well, I almost saw it happening when I opened that tavern door. This was just the next step. He clenched his fists. Why do I care so much? He knew the answer. With his head up to see the chapel, he walked a bit more; the echo made him remember he was the only one there. The broken and messy objects were still in their places. He sat on the first church pew and waited, watching the time going by.
More than an hour later, he heard footsteps in the corridor. Before the doors opened, after a turn of a key and a creek that was especially thunderous, Alucard became a bat and hanged himself in the altar. I think I won't be seen here. An anonymous monk entered the chapel in a hurry, walking up to the pyre with a torch and some coal to revive the flame. It's the kind that's never put out. There must be a night watch for it. The monk left the same way he arrived: no scares or other exclamations. Alucard kept on hanging until he got tired of the position and took flight. As he descended, he was back to normal and did not see one of the stair steps of the altar, falling to the floor. He cursed. I hope no one has heard it.
The more time he spent in the chapel, the more he deemed his watch to be fruitless. Nothing had moved, or dragged, or broken, or turned upside down. He left the place through the backdoor turning to mist, and was received by the beginning of a drizzle. He lit up a small flame in his hand to walk among the tombstones and turned around the islet towards the berth. Since he had awoken, he felt a weight in his chest, and the void was even greater the more he tried to think. I know the reason… At least part of it. The part he did not understand was an indiscernible, tangled scribble. The known rest was left to be ignored.
The berth still had the boat tied to it, as it was done still in the light of day. There was also a known figure carrying a torch and supporting himself on a cane, looking towards the lake. Alucard put out his own flame.
Brother Pavel looked back and greeted him, "Hello, young man. Beautiful night, don't you think?"
"Not so much for me, brother," Alucard chuckled against his will.
"It is all a matter of point of view," the monk had a storytelling tone, "I'm home, my foot is taken care of, my belly is full, and my niece is alive."
"So, you're luckier than me."
"Now, what are you talking about?" Pavel asked.
Should I, really? It did not seem like a sensible attitude to tell what was going on to a chatty man he barely knew. It doesn't matter. In a day or two, I'll no longer be here.
"Brother, have you ever gotten into a fight in which you had no chance of winning?"
"That's how life is, isn't it?" The monk laughed. "We survive every single day just so that we all end up under the same earth, no matter what's done."
Well, maybe not me. Alucard saved the joke for himself. "Why bother fighting, then?"
"Hmm," Pavel pondered for a moment, "If there's no use on trying to win, fight to throw some good punches, then."
Alucard laughed as well. "I thought your order swore vows of nonviolence."
"And we're all human, even in here."
The rain began falling harder, and they had to seek shelter in another place before the torch was put out. Pavel showed a memorial covered by a bit of roof. Alucard offered him some help, which the monk refused, supported by his cane. At least it's better than that rod of his.
"Well, then," Alucard said, "What if I told you that there's a sort of… other thing in my mind? A thing that's both me, and not me."
"Go on, I'm keeping up."
"It's a thing that clouds my thoughts, blurs my sight and makes my judgment weak. It throws in the mud whatever feeling and sensation I might have. I was fine just a while ago and I'm not anymore. What's this?"
"In the big world outside, the people call it 'disappointment', I believe," Pavel scratched his chin, covered by a trimmed beard. It was poorly cared on the road.
You're half right. "It's a part of the problem," Alucard sighed, "What then, when it happens for no reason at all?"
"Young man, do you know the tale of the wagon?"
"Tell me, please."
"Can you conduct horses?" Pavel asked.
"No, Brother, sadly," Alucard shook his head.
"Pretend that you can, for a moment," the monk began gesticulating a bit with the torch, but Alucard only saw him from the corner of his eye. They both stared at the lake. "And that you're a merchant with a rigorous boss. Also, pretend that he sent you on a long, long trip. He gave you the choice of hiring an unknown coachman, a man from a distant land, who reads maps in quite a… quirky fashion, to say the least. However, if he goes with you, you'll be comfortably sitting on the bench, lost wherever he takes you."
"And what's the other option?"
"Conducting the horses yourself. From dawn to dusk, or under the rain. Holding the reins, reading the map, asking for directions in the villages. What seems best for you?"
Alucard took a moment to think. "Conducting it myself, of course."
"Think twice! The bench in the wagon is upholstered. You can even sleep in it, if the road's good. If you get lost, blame the coachman. Sure, nothing will be solved, but it won't be you to put yourself in that situation."
"A coachman that I have hired," Alucard frowned, "The fault's all mine."
Pavel laughed out loud. "I like how sharp you are. Can you give a little hand to this man that needs to go back to his room, before the doctor finds him out?"
"Sure thing, Brother," Alucard held out a hand and grabbed the cane.
Through the open front door of the monastery, Pavel guided him to the corridor with the bedrooms. The monk said he would go on his own from there, leaving the torch on the wall, where he must have found it. Alucard looked outside through the fret of the door and headed back to the memorial. It seems like a good place to think. He sat there under the small roof and closed his eyes in a brief meditation, listening to the rain sound. In a moment, he could not tell if it was a dream or if his eyes were open, he was sure to see a man greeting him, a gentleman without a hat that still got something out of his head…
"Where were you?"
Sypha stood up, a mug of beer in her hand, as she saw the door open. Alucard was drenched in rain and with stray puppy eyes.
"Sorry," he said, looking at the floor.
"That doesn't answer the question," Trevor gave him a mean look.
"I was in the memorial," Alucard stepped in the bedroom, without corresponding to their stare, "I slept there."
Trevor got up from the bed, turning around Alucard; he opened the chest and threw a cloth from it onto Alucard's face.
"You should see your face," Trevor chuckled.
"It's not like you've given me a mirror," Alucard ran the fabric on his face. Before he had another chance to say anything, a dry shirt was also thrown.
"Tell us about your whereabouts next time," Trevor scolded, "What about the chapel?"
"I swear I spent hours looking at the glass panels flowing, and nothing moved besides the pyre," Alucard shrugged, "Actually, the monks have a night watch to keep it lit."
"The glass panels flowing, you say?" Trevor frowned. "Did it rain last night? I haven't noticed it."
We haven't. Sypha giggled behind her mug.
"It didn't rain that much. It was a joke," Alucard took off his soaked shirt and let it fall on the floor, "Glass is a liquid, after all."
Trevor opened his mouth to answer and ended up quacking, "Really?"
"Yeah," Sypha let her empty mug on the table, "Didn't you know?"
"If you see it very closely, it doesn't form crystals," Alucard explained, "It looks more like it's liquid than it looks solid."
"Uh…" Trevor stuttered, "Interesting, I guess."
The three went quiet. We have nothing. Not a single clue. Sypha sighed with a hand on her forehead. Quiet as a grave before, the corridor began to have sounds of people running from a side to another, and the murmur reached their bedroom. With a cloth wrapping his hair, Alucard opened the door and signaled with his head so that they would exit as well.
In the end of the corridor, there was a gathering of monks. They look like crows on a corpse. Sypha tried not to laugh from her morbid joke. Brother Laurentiu left the group with his face as pale as paper, nothing like the pink cheeks he used to have, and with a pair of trembling hands.
Sypha touched his arm and asked, "Brother, what happened?"
"It's Brother Pavel, ma'am," he stuttered, "He's dead."
They followed back to the bedroom and locked the door.
"Dear Lord," Sypha let herself fall sitting on the bed, with no other words.
"I think I was the last one to see him alive," Alucard leaned on the door.
"And how was he?" Trevor asked.
"He wasn't very suspicious. I left the chapel, walked around the island, and met him on the berth. We talked there and I took him to his bedroom because of his foot. Then, I was back to the memorial and fell asleep. Brother Laurentiu woke me up, and he was the first person I saw today."
"Great," Trevor sighed, "Now, they'll pile up on us and kick us outta here using the lake."
"We can fly our way out of here right now, if that's the case," Sypha pointed at the window, "We're just getting a bit wet."
There were knocks on the door. They all exchanged looks before Alucard asked who was it.
"Sir, can I come in?" Laurentiu stuttered on the other side.
Alucard opened the door. The young acolyte was as livid as he was before, but did not shake anymore.
"What happened, Brother?" Sypha asked.
"There's a… a letter. It mentions you. It's from Pavel. Please, come with me."
The two on the bed got up and all of them followed him. Sypha held Trevor's arm.
Alucard seemed to hesitate, but ended up asking, "May I ask you if the body has been removed, Brother?"
"That's the hardest part, sir."
"What's wrong?" Sypha inquired.
"It's like…" Laurentiu gulped, "it's like he's been dead for weeks."
How is it possible? We saw the man walking and talking yesterday. Sypha held Trevor's arm a bit tighter. But the priest in Ploiesti also walked and talked… She felt a shiver down her spine.
In Pavel's bedroom, a room that might be like any other in the monastery, there was an elder monk with a grey beard and a crooked back. He was sitting on the chair and looked at the door with suspicions.
"Are those the outsiders?" He asked.
"They are, Father," Laurentiu stuttered, "I brought them."
"Hmph," the old man got up, "Don't take too long. We have to take Pavel to the crypt."
The crypt? Sypha let go of Trevor. That's true. The room doesn't smell like a rotten corpse. How? She looked at the bed, and a white shroud covered the remains of the monk.
"Ma'am," Laurentiu called her, "Can you read the letter?"
Sypha stepped forward. "Sure."
The long piece of paper was spread on the table, with its tip rolling up. Pavel's handwriting was not particularly beautiful, but it was clear and readable, without any ink stains on the sheet. She opened a fret of the window so that the greyish day provided her a bit of sunlight. She began reading, just loud enough for that small, funeral room.
"My name's Pavel Adamache, first son of Nicolai and Ana Adamache, older brother of Matieu and Elena. I was ordained in the Monastery of Snagov in the year of 1459, and since then, I've been living under the vows of peace, chastity, and poverty, a devotee of this doctrine that I hold so dearly. Through these final registrations, I come to tell you what really happened to me in the pilgrimage I've done, as for I swore an oath for the recovery of my first niece Irina. When you read this letter, I'll already be dead, and actually, I've been dead for a long time.
In my first weeks, in the beginning of the fall, everything happened in a splendid fashion. This beautiful country delights me! There's a lot to see in Wallachia, and since it wasn't my first time on the road, I could make good judgment of the people's intentions. After the attack of the enemy, there is a lot of fear in these lands, that's true; but that can't eliminate the good nature of most people. However, being human is making mistakes, and I made one as I trusted people that in no way seemed suspicious as I laid my eyes on them.
I approached a sumptuous camp in the near of Bucharest, searching for shelter and food. To be sincere, begging to the rich can be even less fruitful than begging to the miserable, but people sang in that place, and how music can charm me. To my surprise, they were all polite and generous… Not without second and third intentions with me. If you're my close friend, or if you believe rumours, you might've heard what people say about my origins and birth. Is it true? Isn't it? Bothering my mother with this bullcrap always granted one a spoon strike on the ear, no matter who was mocking. My father would be sad, and only sad, quiet and surrounded by distant thoughts. There was wine in the camp, good wine, and in vino veritas, I told them of this rumour from which I boasted when I was young, much to my parents' sadness. Then I was abducted in my sleep, tied up, pierced, burned, slashed, stabbed, and, in the end, poisoned by said group of people. What for? I don't know and died without knowing.
My body, a sack of bones and blood, lied somewhere in that region south from here. To this moment, I don't even remember where it is. After that, I roamed. I floated in the condition of a lost soul by places that I haven't visited even when alive. I entered houses, stores, stables, barns, farms, fortresses, I crossed rocks without feeling an ounce of hunger, thirst, cold or heat. Some people saw me and heard me: children, the elderly, the sick, the mad ones, all of those who live near the crossing between this and the afterlife, somehow. I felt a mix of emotions that if I tried to describe for a thousand years as I sat on this very chair, I could never explain. The human mind is not made to understand death, just to fear it. What to do when you start living your ancestral fear every single day?
In that state was when I came to Snagov, flying in the skies like a seagull. I walked these streets as an invisible stray dog, dove in the lake, climbed the trees, and decided to visit my home. In the roof was where we met; me and General Dragoi. I found myself similar to him, but the torpor of dying could have taken my reason away. He's not very tall, but he's a robust man, with a shadowy appearance. He has long eyelashes and bushy eyebrows like mine. He also carried an imposing mustache, and greeted me not taking off a hat, but his head, as the legend says. I won't lie: in the beginning, even if we were already dead, I feared him. Reputation is something that transcends such triviality that is life. We talked for a long time, and almost every time he spoke, the wind would blow. Would you believe if I told you that he gave me advice? I wanted the Brothers to knew of my whereabouts. So, we acted like only two trickster ghosts would do. But everything that happened was blamed onto him, the most probable scapegoat. I bid him farewell, promising that I'd return to see him, my strange and unlikely friend.
I was back to my body by accident, after sticking myself onto a quiet, saddish wagon that was headed south. When I entered my remains, I couldn't believe it. I saw my reflection in a puddle for the first time. I looked like myself again, as if I had again flesh and life, but that tangled feeling, that confusing void wouldn't leave me. I then walked towards the rest of the path I would go through in a solemn goodbye, while my illusion would last, and it lasted until I hit my foot on a treacherous rock. My foot began to take away my strength and balance, as if my false life leaked from there. I fell on the lake bridge, with no remaining energy, and there I spent a whole day, alone and defeated almost at my doorstep… Until I was found by the good samaritans. Mister Belmont, don't think that I haven't seen the crest on your belt.
I thank forever for the years that I spent on this Earth and for having the chance of saying goodbye to the ones I loved the most. None of you knew, but it was our last chat, our last meal together, our last hug. Now, the news will spread, and suspicions will raise, but to everyone in doubt, read them this letter that I wrote in the end of the soul I had, in this weak skeleton that once was my shelter.
With love, I dissolve and fade away,
Pavel Adamache-Dragoi."