the long flight of steps to the dome, thinking to find refuge from troubled slumber in my work. When I arrived I found an entire group of workers occupied in a most curious task. The gold-plated inside of the dome was covered in what appeared to be a fine red mist which they were methodically wiping clean. But I discovered that it was more of a dust, slightly wet to the touch, and that it seemed well ingrained. The dome top above was partly open, revealing a scattering of dull stars. I sought to question one of the workers about this red dust but he would not answer me, only continuing his task dumbly, and looking as if he wanted to sleep more than anything.
Finding no answer to my questions and scant solace from my surroundings, I now went down into the lower portions of the castle. There seemed to be no one about, but then I nearly stumbled over the servant Franz at the entrance to the back gardens. He seemed very intent, and for the first time since my arrival at Castle Mayhew there was not a beaming smile on his face but rather a watchfulness that did not immediately vanish when he sighted me. He looked less childish, older, even; and there was a wolfish light in his eyes. But then his ebullience seemed to return a bit and he nodded mischievously toward the garden.
I thought he would shy away but he did not, and he remained where he was as I advanced on the entrance.
There, as once before, were Natisha and the Count in an embrace.
Now all the feelings that I had held within me, all the engendered trust and love that Natisha, by her wiles and words, had managed to instill in me, were dashed once and for all. I rose heatedly, seeking to break in upon them and expose this folly, but at that moment they parted. There was such reluctance in that parting—such pain, I thought, and tender feeling—that for a moment even my blind jealousy and sense of betrayal were held at bay. As Natisha melted into the shadows, leaving the Count alone, I watched in mute fascination as his hands suddenly went to his face and he was racked with what I thought must be sobs; but in a moment his erect frame quieted, and when he took his hands from his eyes they were as dry as they had ever been. As he walked from the small circle of moonlight that had illuminated this scene, his head bent, I was so captivated that I failed to rush after him to shout the many denunciations I felt within me. In a moment he had disappeared into a far entrance, back into the castle.
When I turned, the dwarf-jester Franz was gone, and I spent the rest of that night walking like an apparition through the empty corridors of Castle Mayhew, my mind whirling with broken dreams before I finally stumbled to my lonely bed before dawn to find an unhappy and fitful sleep. I dreamed of Natisha, her arms out toward me but then floating past me to embrace the Count, and then being pulled away by some unseen power to fly off into the mist, and through and around these dreams swirled that unearthly high scream...
I awoke sometime the next day, not by the action of my own body but by, of all people, the Count himself. He stood over me, a tall, sad spectre, and for a moment I forgot that he was the author of my misery and nearly rose to ask what he would have me do. But then clarity returned to my mind. As I sought to throw myself from the bed to denounce him he suddenly bent over me, putting his hands on my shoulders. I could have thrown his hands from me; his touch was as light as that of a feather.
'You must leave the castle immediately,' he said.
I noticed now how chilled his breath was, and how deeply fathomless his eyes were. They seemed orbs of dead glass rather than living tissue, and his breath the Autumn wind that chills flowers in their final bloom. The fire in his eyes was gone.
'Natisha—' I began, struggling up against him and pushing his hands aside.
'It is she who sends me,' he responded, holding me as firmly as he might. 'Listen to me. You must forget Natisha and leave Castle Mayhew immediately; if you do not all will be lost for you.'
'I saw you in the garden last night,' I said in a cold voice.
He stood up very straight and looked out the window to the side of my bed, which gave a view of the sloping grounds to the town below, and, beyond that, the thin blue ribbon of the Murstein River beyond. 'I am her father,' he said.
This statement proved effective; I lay back upon my pillows with my mouth agape.
'What! But—'
'There is no time for discussions. You must go.' He was about to say something further when there came from behind him a low chuckle which rose to a healthy, booming laugh.
'Then in this too I have failed,' the Count said.
In the doorway stood Franz, much improved from his appearance the previous evening. Gone were the lines on his face, and the healthy pallor of his skin had returned; once again he was the jolly cherub and he laughed delightedly to see me.
'So happy to see you awake, Herr Begener!' he shouted jovially, coming into the room. 'I am happy to tell you that the silver has arrived, and that your final plans are being implemented at this moment. Soon, your job will be completed!' He laughed again, a bright cheerful trill. 'Perhaps you would like some breakfast?' He turned to Count Mayhew. 'Perhaps you would like to get Herr Begener some breakfast?'
The Count made no move, but merely hung his head.
It now occurred to me just how bright little Franz's eyes were this morning, how taunting, and how sharp the smiling line of his lips was.
'No matter,' little Franz continued. 'Perhaps you can get Herr Begener something to eat after he has dressed. You would like to join me in the dining hail, Herr Begener?'
I nearly opened my mouth to tell him that I would not countenance his sudden insolence, but something in his tone impelled me to do what he asked. I looked to the Count for guidance but he merely said, 'You would do well to follow his instructions.'
A few moments toilet found me in presentable condition and I made my way into the dining hall.
It was a dining hall greatly changed. At first the alteration was not apparent; there seemed to be the same furniture, the dining table and other dark furnishings in their accustomed places; but then, suddenly, a chill went up my back as I turned to the fireplace.
For there, over the mantle, hung a portrait—but not the one that had greeted me my first night in Castle Mayhew. Gone was the painting of the tall, spare man who was Natisha's father, and in its place, its somewhat smaller frame showing the dusty outline of the larger portrait that had been removed, hung a stylized, somberly depicted painting of the little man Franz who stood before me laughing.
'You are in the presence of the true Count Mayhew!' he said, throwing his head back and losing himself in his own mirth before continuing. 'Don't let the serious expression I wear in that rendering fool you, Herr Begener,' he went on, the laugh somewhat dissolving into a cultured, hard tone. 'The subject is me.' He waved a hand at the painting before turning away to sit down at the long table, which was laden with a late breakfast and from which he now took a lengthy repast. 'It was painted by one of my own subjects before he was, ah, called to other tasks. I must admit I rather like it.' Again he laughed, and motioned me toward the table.
'You must be hungry,' he said, flashing his sharp, pointed smile. 'I am not,' I said weakly.
'Then sit by all means, for we must talk.'
I sat, and was silent, staring at the far wall without seeing it.
'You have done me a great service, Herr Begener,' the real Count Mayhew went on, talking as he ate. 'And a service for which I am willing to pay a great deal. In fact, I am so happy with your work that I am willing to pay you anything you wish, many times the amount of your commission—if that is what you want.'
Again he flashed his canine smile, wiping his greasy hands on his short robe.
'Natisha,' I said weakly, not looking at him.
'That is impossible. I'm afraid she is not,' he paused, searching for a phrase that would please him and finally finding one, 'available any longer.' He laughed wildly for a moment, rolling in his chair like a child with his hands on his pudgy knees, before continuing. 'But perhaps I should let her tell you herself. I have been much interested in the course of this true love, and am interested to see where it will lead.' He grinned rapaciously and reached for the small servant's bell next to his chair—the same bell I had seen used to summon him so many times these past weeks.
While we waited his face suddenly turned dark and I saw now just how old he really seemed; when the smiles and jolly caperings left his countenance he looked vastly aged. Wrinkles, just held in check, sought to burst forth and he appeared, at this moment, a stunted skeleton covered with layer upon layer of dead fatty skin.
'Perhaps I should tell you,' he said, and again for the first time his voice attained something other than mirth; there was almost nobility in it, 'that I am a man of my word. I have been so for a thousand years.' He did not wait
