A Sharpness On The Neck (Saberhagen's Dracula Book 9), Fred Saberhagen [some good books to read TXT] 📗

two hundred years ago. And we both remember what came of that infatuation—do we not?”

      “Of course, Vlad.”

      “Of course. The result was difficulty. Unpleasantness. We are not going to have a similar contretemps here, are we?”

      “No, Vlad.”

      “No, we are not. Now I require some rest.” And with a breathless little groan he stretched himself once more at full length on the crackling earth.

      Letting herself quietly out of the darkened bedroom, going to the adjoining chamber where her own plastic bag of earth lay ready to afford her her daily rest, Constantia in the privacy of her own thoughts continued toying with the question of whether or not to begin the affair with Radcliffe. Now Vlad, for one of his fussy, honorable reasons, had flatly forbidden any such thing. And if she disobeyed him, his reaction, if he ever found out, was not going to be pleasant.

* * *

      June read the other woman’s behavior more accurately than Radcliffe did, and June was not very good at concealing her feelings about anyone.

      Once June had called Phil’s attention to Connie’s behavior, he took notice of it, and the way the gypsy girl looked at him started to make him nervous. But he didn’t want to admit the fact.

      After Connie had gone rather sulkily out into the heat of the day, the two prisoners, alternately sitting in the living room and hunched over the kitchen table, talked things over in whispers between themselves. They agreed that Mr. Graves in contrast to Connie seemed a perfect gentleman— when he was not actually in the act of kidnapping people. He was also considerably more frightening.

      Radcliffe said to his wife: “You know what the truly scary thing about these people is?”

       “I can think of several.”

      “What I had in mind is that there are long stretches when what they’re saying and doing almost seems to make sense. Or is it just me? Am I getting brainwashed? Junie, I tell you, minutes go by, even hours, when everything they tell us seems so reasonable, and they don’t sound like crazy cultists. I mean Graves has a way of putting things that makes them sound convincing. But if you listen close and think about what he says … especially on that tape…”

      June was frowning. “Do you think that all this—all this about vampires and so on—can be only symbolic? I mean that we’re not meant to take it literally?”

      Phil thought about it. But he didn’t have to think very long. “No. No, I don’t think that at all.”

* * *

      While cleaning up the remains of another snack—so far the milk and cereal were holding out—the pair conferred between themselves. Now, with several hours of sleep behind them, it seemed at least possible that they would be able to think clearly about their situation, and maybe attain some useful insight.

      But anything of the kind eluded them, at least at first.

      “Phil, what are we going to do?”

      “I don’t see what we can do, except watch their silly tape over and over again, and play along with their ideas. Next time we see Graves, well have to tell him we’ve seen the whole tape and we understand it. We’re ready to have discussions with him and believe anything he tells us. Meanwhile we look for a chance to get away, though it doesn’t seem likely that they’re going to give us one.”

* * *

      This time they watched the whole tape, almost three hours of content, all the way to the end, in one continuous session. It was a sobering experience, but when they had completed the chore, they still didn’t know what to think. Except that Mr. Graves might know a lot about a great many subjects, but he was no ball of fire when it came to making a media presentation.

      Just sitting around and waiting quickly became unendurable. Radcliffe, when he felt reasonably sure that no one was looking, stalked through the house, quietly testing the locks and heavy bars on both doors, then examining the grill-work on all the windows. He discovered no weak points. The only real result was that now, having proven to himself that he was in a small and doubtless not fireproof building with all the exits locked, he began to feel a touch of claustrophobia.

* * *

      Once or twice, during the morning and afternoon of their second day of confinement, the two were invited out, by two or three of the masked monsters, for a walk. On these occasions they were always closely watched.

* * *

      June was nagged by the idea that there might be some significance in the identities of the individuals portrayed in the masks most of Graves’s assistants had chosen to put on. They were plastic or rubber creations that covered the entire head, Halloween-costume imitations of various imaginary monsters of the Hollywood variety. Both prisoners got the impression that there were more masks than people, suggesting a deliberate attempt at preventing identification, for the same people didn’t always wear the same mask.

      June could not entirely rid herself of the idea that some deep meaning might be found in the individual choices, and she began to jot down little descriptive notes on all their jailers. Then she decided this was a bad idea, tore up the sheets from the note pad, and burned them in the sink. Phil saw the assumed identities as purely accidental.

      Then June turned away from the sink with a quick motion, almost a little jump. “Something just occurred to me.”

      “What?”

      “We’ve seen Frankenstein and the Wolf Man, right? And the Mummy, if I’m interpreting that funny-looking one correctly. I mean the one who looks like a bad case of sunburn, peeling.”

      “Right. Plus a whole lot of others who I have no idea who they are. So?”

      “Well, it just occurred to me—Count Dracula is missing.”

* * *

      Connie appeared more restless than usual the next time she showed up, around noon on the following day. The gypsy-looking girl made little or