As the mournful music continued, a look of puzzlement crossed Magda’s face. “There was no one else in there a moment ago… and there is no way into the room except through here.” She moved to the open door and peered into the massive hall where she had changed clothes.
Three crystal chandeliers of enormous size lit the room. Pillars of stone stood at attention along the white marble walls. The long wooden table dominating the hall was covered by a fine satin tablecloth, as spotlessly white as the ceiling and walls. The clothes Magda had tried on-and the rags she had discarded-covered the table close to the door; place settings for three, along with steaming dishes of meat, soups, and vegetables, lay at the opposite end.
The food and the dishes had not been there when Magda had changed clothes a few moments earlier, yet the Vistani barely noticed the roast or the red wine, even though her stomach was quite empty and her head light from eating so little during the day. No, her attention was riveted by the lone figure at the other end of the hall.
The musician stood before a massive pipe organ, framed by two mirrors that ran along the wall from the floor to the ceiling. A multicolored scarf covered his head, a black scarf protected his neck, and a sash girded his thin waist. His black pants were torn and dotted with blood, as was the billowing white shirt he wore. His head bowed, the man moved stiffly as he played his ancient violin, for all the world like a mechanical toy Magda had seen once in the village.
His song ended, the musician lifted his head. Magda screamed, “Andari!” then staggered a few steps forward.
The Vistani was at her brother’s side before she saw how sickly he looked. His usually dark skin was pale, his eyes watery and unfocused. “Andari?” When he did not respond, she placed her hand against his cheek. It was cold and bloodless.
“Your brother barged into the village late this afternoon, warning everyone about the creature that had destroyed Madame Girani,” Strahd said from the doorway. He turned to Soth. “As I told you earlier, I am quite disappointed in that tribe’s treatment of you. Girani’s kin will be hunted down and destroyed for the insult. Andari is only the first.”
The room swam before Magda’s eyes. She reached up to steady herself against her brother, who had just lowered his head to begin another tune. “Do not be concerned, Magda,” she heard Strahd say. “Because you have cooperated with Lord Soth, I will spare you.” The voice seemed to come from far, far away.
With a soft cry, the woman crumpled to the floor, unconscious. As she fell, Magda jerked the violin from Andari’s grasp, but the being who was once her brother failed to notice. He moved his bow over the air just as if he were still holding the heirloom once so dear to him.
Strahd sighed. “My surprise seems to have exhausted her completely.”
“Why do this?” Lord Soth asked, though he was unmoved by the woman’s plight.
“Exactly as I have said. Andari came into the village, trumpeting what transpired at the Vistani camp. He was eavesdropping on the old woman’s caravan, so he knew all that was said between you and Madame Girani. I learned of this, decided you had been insulted, and chose to make reparations for that slight in the manner you see before you.” Strahd strolled casually into the hall. “Is the payment sufficient?”
Soth followed his host. “Yes. It will do.”
Strahd’s mood seemed to lighten greatly. “Fine,” he said. With a flourish, he tossed his cape over one shoulder and bent down to take the Vistani in his arms. He lifted the unconscious woman easily. “I will see to Magda. There are empty rooms upstairs where she can rest. Remain here, if you don’t mind, and I will return shortly. There is much for us to discuss.”
Without waiting for a reply, the count walked away, the girl held firmly in his arms. “I believe you will find the wait worthwhile, Lord Soth,” he added as he reached the door. “I have something very valuable to offer you.”
The sound of Strahd humming the tune Andari had played came from the adjoining room, then from the spiral stairs. When the noise had grown faint, the death knight crossed his arms over his chest and gazed around the room.
The death knight studied one of the large mirrors towering to either side of the massive pipe organ. For the first time in many years he saw himself-scorched armor, flowing cape, burning orange eyes-yet his own reflection was not what interested Soth. A moment earlier, Strahd had lifted Magda and walked past that same mirror. As the count had passed the silvered glass, he had cast no reflection.
Soth pondered this as he walked to Andari’s side. The Vistani was still fingering the air where the strings should have been and moving his bow mechanically back and forth. With care, the death knight removed the black scarf covering the man’s neck. His throat had been torn open, and the flesh around the gaping wound hung in tatters.
“Yes,” Soth said softly, “the count is a man of many surprises.”
Gently the death knight replaced the scarf, then retrieved the fallen violin. After placing the instrument in the Vistani’s hands, he sat at the long table. In a room filled with melancholy music, the death knight waited for his host to return.
The door to the bedroom opened of its own accord as Strahd approached. Like everything else in Castle Ravenloft, it recognized its lord and master.
A single four-poster dominated the room. The white sheets were musty and moths had damaged the gauzy cloth that hung from the canopy, but in the light from the room’s single torch the bed looked luxurious. The count lowered Magda onto the mattress. His face half in shadows, he stood back to admire the woman.
The Vistani’s hair had fallen loose. The raven curls spread around her head in a stark contrast to the whiteness of the pillow. Strahd’s eyes followed a line from her cheeks, pale from shock, to the gentle curve of her neck and bare, tanned shoulders. He ran his tongue over his cruel lips. An involuntary hiss escaped those lips as a wave of lust swept over him.
The woman’s eyes fluttered open, and the sight that greeted her was far more horrifying than the one that had sapped her strength earlier. Strahd loomed over the bed, surrounded by sheets of moth-eaten gossamer. His eyes were closed, but his mouth was open wide enough to reveal sharp white fangs.
Magda screamed when Strahd grabbed her. “I should kill you for what you know,” he hissed. His eyes were open now and glowed red.
With the discipline of hundreds of years of existence as a vampire, Strahd Von Zarovich fought the urge to drink deeply of the Vistani’s blood. Plenty of other unfortunates filled the larder the count kept in the dungeons; he would sup on one of them before the night was through.
“The dark powers smile on you this night, girl.” Strahd let her go. “I have a use for you. Listen closely.”
Magda scuttled backward on the bed, her dress riding up her legs as she moved. When she had pressed herself against the wall and drawn her knees up to her chest, Strahd continued.
“Now that you are comfortable,” he said smoothly, the mesmerizing purr coming back into his voice, “I can state my generous offer.” Strahd smiled. “I want you to continue as Lord Soth’s guide. In return for this service, I will allow you to live.”
“W-Where am I to lead him?” Magda managed at last.
“The death knight will be undertaking an errand for me,” the count replied. “You will lead him to his destination and report back to me each day through an ensorcelled brooch I will give to you.”
As best she could, Magda forced the fear from her eyes and stilled the trembling of her hands. “We Vistani live to serve you, Your Excellency,” she said evenly, letting her body relax. The lie was spoken with the same practiced air that had served her well in selling useless trinkets to boyars in the village; Strahd was no uneducated shopkeeper, however.
Strahd was amused at her false humility. He took her chin in his hand and looked deeply into her eyes. “I think you realize I am a man of my word, Magda. Serve me well, and you will be rewarded.”
The count crossed the room. “Do not leave here until I call for you,” he said. “I will tell Lord Soth you are resting after your long trek.”
Strahd closed the heavy door but did not lock it. This could be a test of sorts for the Vistani, he decided. If she followed his command and remained cloistered until the sun set tomorrow night, she could be trusted to carry out further orders. If she disobeyed… well, the castle was very well guarded, and the creatures that patrolled the halls during the day would tear her to bits.
Content with the plan, Strahd paced quickly through the halls. He entered a small room without knocking,
