A Matter Of Taste by Fred Saberhagen (ebook pc reader TXT) 📕

room and hall, a discovery that did not soothe his temper in the least.

      When he emerged from the bedroom ten minutes later, leaving the door open, he was alone, once more neatly garbed in fresh street clothes, and looking thoughtful. Angie and John, both somewhat recovered by now, met him in the living room, where they had been examining the machine that the attackers had used to break in the front door.

      The appearance of this device now suggested to the old man some abandoned relic of the fitness room downstairs. Essentially it was a long lever, which when braced firmly on the floor outside a door could exert terrific force, over a short distance, to force the barrier in. Maule had heard of police, firemen, and several enterprising bandits who used very similar devices.

      Maule advised his allies to barricade the door as firmly as possible after he was gone, using whatever furniture they could move. Then they were to rest, and eat. He spoke with peculiar emphasis to Angie, looking steadily into her eyes, once more touching her forehead with his fingers. Under his influence she brightened visibly. A touch of color came to her cheeks, and more life into her voice.

      Stony-faced, the old man laconically assured them both that the atrocity of rape was going to be avenged.

      They accepted whatever he said, nodding in agreement, not saying much. He could see that they were both almost worn out.

      He asked them: “Have you heard from Joseph?”

      Angie cleared her throat. “Not since—since before the vampires came in.”

      “I am concerned about him, and I am going out now to look for him. Where is this Southerland condominium that has been mentioned?”

      John told him and handed over a key. “What about you? You’re recovered completely?”

      “I am.”

      “Thank God!” said John fervently. Then he looked as if he wanted to ask for details; but in a moment he had thought better of the impulse.

      In any event, Mr. Maule, a gentleman to his fingertips, would not have dreamt of revealing his liaison with Mrs. Hassler. Briskly he changed the subject.

      “If I understand the position correctly, the only nosferatu allies of Kaiser who have ever been invited into this apartment are now dead. If the breathers should assault your door again, have no hesitation in using the gun you now possess. Or in calling the police. Otherwise—I would prefer they not be called. Not yet, at least.”

      “We won’t call them, then. Unless we have to. Where are you going now?”

      “Out. To look for Joseph, to help him if he needs help. It is hard to be more specific.”

      John nodded as if he understood. “What about—?” He jerked his head in the direction of the bedroom hallway.

      “My prisoner? Gone, completely gone. There is no need to concern yourself.” And Maule, after pausing to provide himself with a trench coat from the front closet, moved on. Angie saw him, with a sense of wonder that would never be quite the same again, exit by the half-inch gap at the side of the propped-in-place front door.

* * *

      Well, Maule thought as he progressed in man-form down the corridor, passing his neighbor’s door, he would deal with the situation regarding Mrs. Hassler when the time came. Selling his condominium and moving elsewhere was about the least of the problems he could foresee in an interestingly crowded future.

* * * * * *

      Angie, a little pale and weak now that the first effects of Mr. Maule’s bracing counseling were wearing off, and the last of the draught reasserting itself, thought she could feel herself developing an alarming tendency to faint. Against this she struggled bravely.

      “God, I need a bath. But I’ll fall asleep in the tub.” She giggled lightly, a faint echo of hysteria.

      “Try a shower, then. I’ll fix you some soup.”

      “That sounds good. It sounds great. Oh, John? Uncle Matthew recommended iron tablets. He said there’re some in our room’s medicine cabinet.”

      On emerging from her shower Angie explored, on a hunch, the farther recesses of the guest bedroom’s closet, which was deeper than she had thought at first. The effort turned up a modest collection of women’s clothing, all new and discreetly packaged in protective garment bags. Angie found jeans and a pullover that fit.

      Then she went to the kitchen, sat down, and ate some soup. John, sitting across from her, related how he had spent some of her shower time fortifying the apartment against a repeat invasion, wrestling and wedging some heavy furniture in place against the broken door. The enemy had left their door-breaking gadget in the living room, so John felt reasonably confident that they were not going to come smashing in quite so suddenly a second time.

* * *

      Moving in a form invisible to almost everyone he passed. Maule ventured forth to meet the deepening night, night as always in the city slashed with a million wounds of electricity.

      Five hundred years of experience as hunter and as hunted assured him that Kaiser’s plan was working, up to now, even though Kaiser had decided not to take part in the actual break-in of Maule’s apartment. Something else had been important enough to claim his attention instead. But what?

      Before saying good-bye to Mr. Stewart, the breather with the mangled elbows, Maule had extracted from him words that tended to confirm his own suspicions—Joseph Keogh had suddenly become a most important target for the enemy.

      Certainly Joseph, with his knowledge of vampires, and his wooden bullets, would be a dangerous opponent. But there had to be more to it than that, the old man thought. A matter of revenge, perhaps? A turning aside from the main goal, whose attainment had been and very likely would continue to be frustrated, to catch and crush an impertinent mere breather … or was there more to his opponent’s plan than that?

* * *

      Given the nature of the drug with which he, Maule, had been paralyzed and his young friends’ description of the man calling himself Valentine