A Sharpness On The Neck (Saberhagen's Dracula Book 9) by Fred Saberhagen (book suggestions TXT) 📕

remains in ignorance … you see, from this day forth I am bound to take a strong interest in the welfare of Monsieur Radcliffe. It has become a matter of honor for me. So I should like to have your assurance that you, whatever your other interests may be, will do him no harm.”

      For a moment the young woman appeared confused. Then she shook her head in silence, but quickly and eloquently; the gesture indicated, as convincingly as any words, that doing any damage to their host was indeed the farthest thing from her thoughts.

      The wounded man let himself sink back, so that again he lay flat on the floor. For the moment he was satisfied. And he was very tired.

      And also his need of nourishment was, growing steadily stronger.

      As his two visitors were leaving him to his rest, his gaze flicked restlessly from Melanie’s back to fasten on the enthralled eyes of the servant girl. The girl’s bare feet were barely moving, and it almost seemed that she did not intend to leave the room at all.

* * *

      Whatever the sources (in fact there were more than one; but we need not go into details) of the good red food that over a matter of a few hours became available to the vampire, the strengthening effect was immediate and strong.

      Radcliffe, when he saw his guest again early the next morning, blinked at the remarkable transformation. This hardly seemed like the same man who had staggered up to the door at the point of death. Health and vigor had been amazingly restored; in fact the visitor actually appeared to have grown younger overnight.

      “You are feeling better, then, M’sieu Legrand?” the American asked, thinking even as he posed the question that it was obviously unnecessary.

      The lithe figure, in its stained and tattered clothing, bowed. “Very much so, thank you. Thanks to your hospitality. This evening I shall be on my way.”

      Vlad Dracula, in conversation with his brave host, declining to share the last of the wine, mixed with some local well water—the fact that it was now breakfast-time was a good excuse—referred again to his passing acquaintance with Radcliffe’s father, Benjamin Franklin.

      The two men then exchanged some admiring comments regarding the great man, and Dracula repeated some of the conversation which had once passed between himself and Franklin.

* * *

      With my strength restored, slightly more than twenty-four hours after my arrival, I prepared to depart. It was a cloudy day, and from the stock of clothing left to molder in the house’s wardrobes I borrowed a broad-brimmed hat and cloak. From the stable I took a horse, which I paid for generously, in gold coin.

      To Radcliffe I extended my hand and said: “Chevalier, I owe you my life.” Then, thinking that Radu and his people were very possibly on my trail, with murderous intent, I added solemnly: I advise you to leave this house promptly, and not to return at any time soon.”

      “I am no chevalier, but an American.”

      I accepted the correction with a slight bow. “Still, my suggestion stands, M’sieu Radcliffe.”

      “You give me good counsel, which only confirms my own plan, which is to depart for Paris within the hour. As for what you think you owe me, I would have done as much for anyone.” Then the American paused to think about it. “Almost anyone,” he amended.

      “Nevertheless, Philip Radcliffe, I shall not forget the debt.”

      We shook hands firmly.

      And I bowed to the young lady, Melanie Romain, who had come downstairs and out into the dooryard, to see me off. She looked a trifle pale, and serious. I thanked her gravely for her help.

      I felt a natural kinship with the aristocracy. But I quite agreed with Radcliffe that if this French aristocracy cared nothing for the welfare of the people they ruled, and ignored all the people’s problems, they had only themselves to blame for the Revolution.

      We shook hands once more and I took my departure, after gracefully declining a last suggestion that perhaps we would be better off traveling together.

* * *

      When they had watched their visitor out of sight, Philip said to the lady standing beside him: “A strange man.”

      “Very strange,” she agreed thoughtfully.

      Meanwhile, Old Jules’s granddaughter, who had come out to gaze after the visitor’s departing form, raised one hand to touch the scarf which, Philip noted, she had put round her throat, against the morning chill. She had found it somewhere in the house, he supposed, and maybe it had once been his mother’s. But let the poor child have it now; she certainly deserved something for her loyalty.

      Yes, Marguerite was looking a little pale this morning, though otherwise cheerful and well-satisfied enough. She was humming a little song as she went cheerfully about her voluntary chores. Radcliffe decided that he had better pay her a little something, besides the scarf, before he left for Paris.

Chapter Fifteen

      After doing his best to provide their mysterious wounded visitor with all the help that he was willing to accept, Philip Radcliffe had found himself a decent-looking bed, not too dusty, in one of the upstairs rooms, and had slipped off his boots and thrown himself down. His plan was to rest for perhaps half an hour before making final preparations for an early resumption of his journey to Paris.

      He awakened in the late afternoon, feeling that he had slept for hours. Guilt at his tardiness was ameliorated by an accompanying practical conviction that the sleep had been essential.

      Travel and nervous strain had left him more exhausted than he had realized. After a good sleep, the problems of the world, even those of Revolutionary France, looked considerably less formidable.

      He awoke to find Melanie in his room standing over his bed, looking at him with what he thought was a strange expression.

      “I thought I heard you stirring,” she said. Vaguely Radcliffe noticed the servant girl, Marguerite, hovering in the doorway.

      Melanie, her impatience showing, half-apologetically urged her new companion to start for Paris.