21. Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier, and afeard?

"This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air nimbly and sweetly recommends itself unto our gentle senses."

Hogan was still fighting the somnolence when that sweet voice began to recite. He could not see much through the semidarkness but he could tell it was a cell somewhere in a very old building. He tried to get up but a gentle hand pushed him back on the cot. Hogan's sight began to clear and he saw a beautiful woman smiling at him.

"But now I am cabined, cribbed, confined, bound into saucy doubts and fears."

Hogan recognized her from the old picture in the book of vampires. This one was Drusilla. He began to sit up very slowly, the same way he would have done it in front of a lion or a cobra. She kept her eyes on him, seeking the spring that at one touch would make him surrender to her desires. Hogan smiled.

"That's from Shakespeare, Macbeth, right?"

Drusilla smiled back. Suddenly, she had lost interest in drinking him to death. "Act three, scene four." She tilted her head. "Do you know Macbeth? Lady Macbeth is my favorite character."

"That would've been my second choice after Ophelia from Hamlet," he said in a soft voice. Now that he had turned her attention to something else, the next step would be gaining her trust.

"Ophelia? I love Ophelia!" She jumped and began to dance and sing: And will he not come again? And will he not come again? No, no, he is dead: Go to thy death-bed: He never will come again..."

"Nice place you have here." Hogan stood up to study the situation. He turned to see her and smiled. "Sorry, we haven't been introduced. I'm-"

"Robert Hogan, colonel, US Army..." She closed her eyes and sighed. "I love army men.. Tin soldiers have been bringing me nice peasants for dinner... so thoughtful of them..." She came very close. "Do you want to play with me? I've been so bored. There is not much to do in this place. No one to talk to..." She pouted and an invisible fist hit the wall. "Oh, well, except for that ghost."

"Ghost?" Hogan frowned.

"Herr Kohl, the owner of this castle... I think he's got bored too and he's gone," she yawned.

Hogan shook his head as he tried to make sense out of that gibberish. "And those... tin soldiers, do you know who they are?"

"They call themselves Gestapo." She shrugged. "I'm Drusilla." She held out her hand for Hogan to kiss. "I like you, Colonel. I won't eat you just yet."

Hogan rubbed his neck and sat at the table. Drusilla sat down with him and smiled.

"Don't trouble your heart." She took her tarot and spread out some cards. "Let's see what's in your future... and then, we'll have some tea with Miss Edith."

"Miss Edith?"

"My doll. She's a little frisky, so I left her at home..."

Hogan rolled his eyes. Between this crazy vampire and the Gestapo, the evening promised to be long but interesting.

()o()o()

"Captain Grunwald, we need results, and we need them now!

"Absolutely, Colonel Zebmeier. I'm working on it as we speak-"

"What? The Fabergé egg of your fairy tale? The HQ are not interested in chasing rainbows. We're relieving you of your assignment."

"Colonel, you can't do that to me! I'm very close. The victory is at hand, sir."

"It will be! But we'll do it in a more conventional way, Captain. Now, we only need you to pack and come back to Berlin immediately."

"But, Colonel-"

"You'll obey my orders! No more scavenger's hunting!"

The line was dead and Captain Grunwald's dreams too. He could not believe the lack of respect and faith his superiors were showing him. In two more days, the secret weapon would have been his and the war would have ended in less than a week. He was mad, furious, but not discouraged. He would continue his quest with or without the support of his superiors. It would be their loss. For now, he had two vampires under his control. When he found the egg, he would be in command of everything and everybody. He would show them all.

()o()o()

Mr. Jones tried the main door of the church but it was closed with a heavy chain. Fortunately, the priest was in the adjacent cemetery and came to their help.

Schultz was rather embarrassed; he had never seen Newkirk so drunk. The poor priest must have thought the worst of them. Even so, he opened his house next to the church and went to prepare some strong coffee to dissipate the dizziness.

The sergeant grabbed Newkirk by the back of his neck and sank his head in a basin of cold water. The Englishman flapped his arms trying to free himself from the grip. The sergeant pulled him up to let him breathe. He repeated the treatment two more times.

Newkirk did not fight all the pushing and tossing. He let himself sink on the bed and a towel fell over his head. He kept his eyes closed while a big hand dried his face vigorously. Then, he responded. "What's the idea? Blimey, Schultz, you almost drowned me in there!"

"Are you awake yet?" Schultz sat down in front of him to make sure that Newkirk could see his lips. He was expressionless but Newkirk felt his discontent. "You were dead drunk on the street, what happened?"

"You want the whole story? I don't think we have so much time."

"Well, we do. You don't seem in any condition to go anywhere anytime soon."

"It was madness, Schultz," Newkirk said in gasps. "First, that lightning bolt disintegrated those poor soldiers and then, this giant Cossack all dressed in white came from nowhere and attacked me. H-he froze me inside and Spike-"

"Say no more. I knew that it was not a good idea for you to come with that vampire." Schultz shook his head. He took the towel. "Look at your hands, Newkirk. Don't they hurt?"

Newkirk chuckled. "With everything happening at the same time? Who has time to know?"

Someone knocked on the door. It was a priest carrying a tray with a pitcher and a mug. "He looks better. I hope this will help." He gave the mug to Schultz. "There, he must drink it all fast."

Newkirk noticed something wrong. He could not point at it right away. Then, he gasped in terror and crawled back. "Who are you?" He yelled at the priest. "What do you want?"

"Newkirk, what is wrong? What is it, boy?"

"Schultz, I can hear him! I can hear him!"

"You got your hearing back? That's wonderful," the sergeant said with a smile. "Maybe it was the cold water-?"

"You don't get it!" Newkirk could not stop staring at the priest at the door. "I can't hear you but I can hear him. He's... he's... dead! Can't you see?"

Schultz's smile faded. Now he was really concerned. He tried to touch Newkirk's hand but he recoiled. "Newkirk, calm down."

"Stay away!" He stood up on the bed, looking for something he could use as a weapon. He found Schultz's crucifix in his inner pocket and aimed at the priest with it. "Don't you move, spawn from hell!" He warned him. "Not another bloody step!"

"Oh, my. I think he's getting worse." The priest left the tray on the table. "Maybe I should wait outside?"

"It will be better, Vater, I'll calm him down." Schultz tried his best smile and waited until the priest closed the door behind him. Then, he turned to Newkirk and gave him a killer gaze. "Don't get any ideas. You can't fight me." He stretched his hand and Newkirk surrendered the crucifix.

"Schultz, please. You've got to believe me!"

"I gave you my *Oma's crucifix for protection against evil, and you threatened a priest with it!" He looked menacing, just as Newkirk remembered him the time they put him in charge of the Stalag.* "Sit down! Get your boots off the sheets!"

"I-I'm sorry," he tried to soften his tone but he could barely control the tremors in his voice. "B-but he's evil-"

"Stop that, Newkirk! Enough!" Schultz sat down again. "I'll listen when you calm down. Now sit and drink this." He took the mug but Newkirk pushed it away. Schultz grabbed his wrist with a strength that Newkirk had never had the chance to test before. "Listen to me, boy. Colonel Hogan is missing. I've been looking for you because I think you're the only one who knows exactly what's going on. If you're in no condition to help me, we'll have to go back to Stalag Thirteen and find someone who can." His voice was strong but getting desperate. "I don't know what's going on with you now. But I'm over the edge here, Englander. Don't push me!"

Newkirk took a deep breath. "Y-you don't understand-"

"I only know that Colonel Hogan must be in mortal danger!" Schultz got the mug again. "Take this. It will clear your mind. Please. Then, I'll listen to you."

Newkirk took the drink and coughed. "What the bloody hell is that rubbish?"

"Watch your mouth, we're in a church" He hardened his expression on Newkirk as if he were talking to his own son. "It's coffee. Strong, black coffee. Are you awake now? No more crazy talk all right?"

Newkirk nodded. He rubbed his eyes and stretched his neck. "Got an aspirin?"

"That's your penance." Schultz shook his head. "Newkirk, why did you do it? You're supposed to be on a mission. How could you go and get drunk at a time like this?"

"What? That's what you think I did?" Newkirk widened his eyes. "Aren't you listening? Schultz! I was attacked by one of Baba Yaga's horsemen! Remember? You told me the story! Three big buggers with-" Newkirk got up as steadily as he could. He turned around. "Spike, where is he? H-he can tell you-"

Schultz held him still and pushed him back to bed. "He can't get in here. He's evil. You must stay in bed for a while. We'll talk later, all right?" He spread a blanket over him.

Newkirk shook his head. "No, Schultz, I've got to go on. There's no time to rest. That bloody priest is dead, Schultz. He's after t-"

"Stop it, Newkirk, please. You're delirious." He touched the young man's forehead. Instead of feverish, Newkirk's skin was ice-cold. "You're freezing!" He frowned and look for more blankets in the armoire.

"Delirious? How bloody delirious you've got to be to have people freezing you inside out or vampires getting you drunk or... or seeing ruddy dead priests walking around?"

Schultz grabbed him by the shoulders. "Newkirk, I believe you, all right? I'm here to help you. But, please calm down. No more crazy talk about dead priests, please."

Newkirk took a deep breath and nodded. He would not go anywhere trying to convince Schultz. He would have to try another approach. He would pretend that everything was all right.

"I'm sorry, Schultz. I went crackers for a moment. Just give me a few minutes, would you? I'll be all right." His breathing went down to normal levels and his thoughts cleared. He looked up at Schultz and frowned. "What did you say about Colonel Hogan?"

()o()o()

"...And then, Daddy Angelus left us stranded in that land of filthy gypsies. We were lucky to get out of there before they staked us all." Drusilla poured invisible tea in two invisible cups. "Of course, we didn't know that by then, he had just gotten his soul back." She stressed the word soul with a grimace of disgust. "We went to China and my Spike killed his first Slayer."

"What's a Slayer?" Hogan asked, pretending to hold a cup of tea.

Drusilla's eyes glowed. She was about to give him an answer when her cards got her attention. She grinned. "Poor Captain Grunwald, he is not happy man."

"Who is Captain Grunwald?"

"The man who brought us here. He wants Koshchei to work for him. Poor thing...clearly not a happy man. Are you a happy man, Colonel?"

"I'm basically a happy man, Ma'am." He sat beside her. "Do you play cards?"

"They tell me stories." She withdrew one. "Oh, look, Ace of Swords, that's you, Colonel... and this is Spike, the Squire of Eternity... this other one is the Enchanter of Delusion."

Hogan stared at the tarot card in his hand. The situation was so uncanny that he found it too hard to believe. "So, this is the Enchanter of Delusion." Hogan smiled and shook his head. "No way."

"Way," Drusilla grinned.

"And you know his real name?"

"Phantom?"

Hogan laughed. "Oh, boy. Magic, pure and true. He said that your name was Josephine Delacroix... Are you French?"

"Was for a week and a day..." She smiled.

"But, wait a minute. If you know Newkirk, that means he has been here... How?"

"I call him, he comes," she shrugged.

"All the way from Hammelburg to Nuremberg?" Hogan was amazed and concerned at the same time. "On foot?"

"He was just here a few hours ago... with Spike." She giggled. "He was not happy at all."

"Newkirk?"

"And Spike..."

"Why?"

"Because we have been seeing each other secretly.." She winked.

"And why was Newkirk mad too?"

"Because we have been seeing each other secretly."

"Of course," Hogan said with a sigh.

"Oh," she said after drawing another card. "Danger is on his path!"

"Who's path?"

"Spike's"

"And Newkirk's?"

"Too." She put another card on the table. "Forces of darkness are coming to get him!"

"Get who?"

"Spike!"

"And Newkirk?"

"Too."

Hogan was on the edge of insanity with this conversation. He could see himself grabbing all those cards, shredding them to pieces and eating them all up. "Drusilla, dear, couldn't you tell me what the cards say about Newkirk," he said and immediately added, "and Spike?"

Drusilla closed her eyes and moved her head from side to side. "Listen to the children of the night... What beautiful music they make..." She began to spin throughout the room. "What a beautiful song I've got in my head... Let's dance, Colonel Hogan, let's dance whilst it lasts..."

Hogan looked at the young woman with more pity than anything else. If the story was right, she had been dead for over eighty years. Of course the easiest part to believe was the one about her sanity. And even so, her charm was enough to overlook her antics. Suddenly, she fell down to the floor. She screamed and clenched her hands over her ears.

"No, no... Danger! He's not safe, he's not safe...!"

Hogan remained seated. He knew she was seeing something and he wondered if she was talking about Newkirk..., Spike..., or both...

()o()o()

The table was served. Although an example of austerity, dinner looked inviting. Schultz was grateful for having found such a kind priest. He had to notice that the man was not eating or drinking at all.

"I never drink... wine... " the priest said. "It gives me heartburn at night."

"Oh, yes. Of course," Mr. Jones smiled. "I'm not used to these European customs myself."

"I couldn't live without my cup of wine with my dinner." Schultz laughed. He was trying to relax after his disturbing conversation with Newkirk. He only hoped for the corporal to come to his senses and join them. "I must apologize for what happened before. Corporal Newkirk is usually very nice and well mannered."

"Those are the kind of things I tried to warn Colonel Hogan about." Mr. Jones shook his head. "I hope it's not too late to help him."

Schultz would not ask what he was talking about. He had a good idea, but did not want to know more than that. The less he knew, the farther he would be from the Russian Front.

"No need to apologize, we are living in difficult times. It is harder on the young." The priest smiled widely when he saw Newkirk coming in. "My young man, I'm glad you decided to join us."

Newkirk walked slowly, fighting the hangover effects and a natural fear of the unknown. He could see that Schultz was not pleased with his behavior and momentarily, his glares reminded Newkirk of his father's. Schultz looked really disappointed in him.

"Are you feeling better, my son?" The priest asked from the other end of the table.

Act normal. Act normal, whatever rubbish that might mean, Newkirk thought. "Much better, thank you." His smile froze in his mouth while he took a seat.

"You better be," Schultz mumbled.

"Perhaps you need to rest. You may stay till tomorrow if you like. There is plenty of room in here. This is not a good night for a stroll, anyway."

"You're very nice, but there's-," Newkirk felt a kick on his shin; just another father-like moment from Schultz.

"We'll talk about that later." The sergeant was really serious now.

The priest nodded. "We'll start our supper as soon as the plumber comes up. He's washing himself. I hope you don't mind that I invited him too. There was a flood in the basement and he came immediately. So nice of him."

"Remarkable." Mr. Jones smiled. "House calls at this hour and in war times."

"Yes, those RAF raids." He laughed quietly. "One bomb fell down very near and caused damage to the structure. You're from England, Mr. Newkirk, aren't you?"

"Why, yes. Corporal. POW," he shrugged.

"Were you escaping?" The priest laughed. "I'm sorry if I make you uncomfortable. I'm terribly curious."

"It's all right," Schultz said. "Newkirk gets a little restless and once in a while, he makes us run for our money."

They laughed, except for Newkirk. He tried to have a glass of water or something to eat, but his hands shook too much. Every word coming from the priest reverberated in his head. If he could hear him, that man had to be dead. Dead, dead, dead! If the situation was bad now, he dreaded the moment when it would get worse.

"S-so," said Newkirk clearing his throat. "How long have you been living in this house?"

"Almost thirty years. I worked in the church next door but now it's closed. The bombardments damaged the structure and it'll take time to repair."

"What a shame," Schultz said with concern. "War doesn't respect anything."

"You should see the cemetery. It's terrible what happened there. We've been reburying people all week long."

"That's sounds awful," Mr. Jones almost crossed himself.

Dead, dead, dead! That bloody priest is dead! Newkirk tried to put his mind on something else. Listening to this man, the only voice he could hear in the room, was creepy enough. Now, they were talking about open tombs in the cemetery next door. He wondered where Spike could be and if he could help him.

Then, the plumber came in. A tall man, very pale, reddish hair... Newkirk's heart beat fast.

"Ah, did you finish, Herr Rötlich?" The priest offered him a seat at the table.

"Certainly, it was not that bad."

His voice hit Newkirk right on his guts. He felt dizzy and on the verge of a scream. He sprung up.

"Newkirk!" Schultz tried to stop him.

"I- I need a cigarette... I'll go outside." He was the first one surprised at how smoothly his words came out. He did not remember if he asked or waited to be excused. All he could do was count his steps to the door. He was about to touch the doorknob when a gust of warm wind hit him from behind and crushed him against the door. The impact took all his breath away and he fell down on his knees. All the locks on the door closed by themselves.

Newkirk turned slowly and sat with his back against the door. The plumber walked towards him; a big red sword began to form out of thin air in his right hand.

"Now, let me guess," Newkirk gasped. "Red Sun, I suppose?"

tbc

*Oma grandmother

*Kommandant Schultz season 6 episode 7

Thanks for reading ;)