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invitations to the homes of the really rich.
Anyway, outfit of towel and swimsuit would presumably signal guest. Arrayed in
his own leisure-class uniform, Simon reached the broad curving stairs, and
padded down them. The feel of their stones under his bare feet evoked memories
again. But he'd had all he wanted of memories for now. But in a moment he was
probably going to see Vivian&
The stair passed an intermediate floor, whose rooms Simon recalled only
hazily, and of which he could see almost nothing now. The ground floor rose to
him round the next curve of stair, the natural persistent coolness of its
great rooms grateful today. Here were the candles he had seen from above, set
about on tables and sideboards, in rooms so vast that almost any furniture
would have left them feeling empty.
Flame flickered also in the fireplace of the great hall, which he now entered.
The roasting that he and
Margie had observed from inside the secret passage had evidently been
completed, though the rich odor of it still hung in the air, assuring him that
he had not imagined everything. The motor-driven spit had been dismantled and
except for a few tiny flames the logs had burned down to a bed of glowing
charcoal.
The sound of the stringed instrument that he had heard upstairs was plainer
now, coming from some room
file:///G|/rah/Fred%20Saberhagen/Fred%20Saberhagen%20-%20Dracula%2005%20-%20Do
minion.htm (53 of 186) [2/5/2004 12:21:15 AM]
Saberhagen, Fred - [Dracula 05] Dominion not far away. The effect was somehow
distractingly beautiful.
Modernity intruded again, this time in the form of splashing sounds, from
outside but not far away; the pool was in use as announced. Simon had just
turned toward the wooden screenwork covering one end of the great hall, behind
which the secret passage burrowed, and Margie presumably waited silently, when
he was stopped by the sight of a painted portrait. The picture was mounted on
the screen itself, and so of course had been invisible earlier when he had
looked out from behind the screen. It showed a middle-
aged, powerfully glaring man; and Simon was sure it hadn't been there fifteen
years ago, the last time he remembered entering this room.
It stopped him for a moment, but the need to contact Margie dominated. Still
facing the screen, as if he were studying the portrait, he raised one hand,
brushing momentarily at the hair behind his right ear--and saw at once the
answering wink of Margie's penlight through the screen.
Relief was intense. Being still alone in the room, Simon could allow himself a
great unburdening sigh of it. Amnesia and hallucinations were bad, but not as
bad as the fear that reality had turned treacherous on him. He allowed himself
also a smile and wink toward Margie.
As he turned away, his eye was caught once more by the portrait. Its glaring
subject was dressed stylishly in the fashion of the late nineteenth century.
Simon had last seen him holding a dark sword in his hand, as he stood beside a
bloody altar.
EIGHT
As soon as Simon had left her alone in the secret passage, a little after
three o'clock, Margie put her shoulder bag down on the dusty floor, with the
silent hope that nothing was going to crawl into it.
Actually the risk didn't seem great. The passage was basically free of vermin,
as far as she had been able to see, except for those few spider webs near the
entrance. It wasn't really dirty except for the inevitable layer of floor
dust. This dust was thin in most places, and had been untrodden everywhere
until she and
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Simon had left their tracks in it.
A faint, unidentifiable sound was coming from somewhere now, doubtless from
deep in the house. Marge reacted by looking through a spyhole again, into the
nearest bedroom. The room was well furnished in a sort of pseudo-antique
style, and there was no sign that anyone was currently using it. She guessed
that a door in one wall, standing ajar, led to a private bath. It would be
great to be able to nip in through the secret panel and use the can, but there
was no evidence that the bedroom was going to remain unoccupied for the next
two minutes. Things weren't desperate yet.
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