Page 5 of The Shadow of the Count
One way or the other, he was not happy with that turn of events.
Three
Peter stood at the base of the huge doors to Castle Pollidorus, where a carriage had dropped him and his trunk unceremoniously. He said carriage, because it might have been animated on its own, for all he saw of the driver.
The place was…imposing. Standing there now, he remembered what his new friend Yvgeny had told him when they’d parted ways at the train station.
“I hope you will not soon find out why we all fear that place.” Yvgeny had squeezed his hands. “But if you do, and you can make your way out, come to my home and I will help you. I swear it. The Balan farmstead, only a small way outside Bistritz to the south.”
Just the look of the castle made him want to run and tell Yvgeny he had changed his mind.
Don would understand, would welcome him back with open arms, and he would find something in the States, possibly in London…
The doors opened, the creak and groan shaking him to the bone.
Peter gulped in a breath, pasting a smile across his face. He straightened his shoulders, but no one was there.Blinking, he cleared his throat. “Erm. Hello?”
“Please enter and be welcome.” The voice came from the shadows, startling the hell out of him.
“Thank you. Let me just get—”
“Your trunk will be brought in. Please.”
He stepped inside, determined not to let anyone see that his hands were shaking.
This was either a butler or the count himself. He needed to stay calm, patient. Relaxed. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate it.”
“I am Count Polidorus.” The man stepped into the light, and it was all Peter could do not to backpedal. The fellow looked to be a hundred years old. The wispy hairs on his most bald pate were yellowed, and his eyes were slits in a mass of wrinkles. His English was heavily accented but utterly understandable.
“Pleasure to meet you, sir. I am Peter Hilliard. I’m also versed in French and Greek, if you prefer.”
“English is fine, my friend. I need to practice.”
“Ah. Well, then, I am at your service.” He shifted from foot to foot, not sure what to do.
“Come in. I will get you something to drink while my…servants bring in your trunk.”
He followed when the old man turned and paced through the grand hall, which seemed to take a year as slowly as he was moving. The place was painfully empty, the corners heavy with dust and cobwebs, old moldy leaves built up in heaps in the corners.
There had been precious rugs on the floor at one time. He could see scraps of them, but they were only faded memories now.Please, Lord, don’t let the library be like this. If so, why was he here?
“The house is very large, so we maintain only some spaces.”
Had he mentioned it out loud? Peter supposed his dismay showed on his face, but then, the count had his back to Peter…
“Ah. Wine?”They stopped in a room that had a certain amount of intimacy, as if it was a private sitting area.
“Please. Wine goes to my head, but a little can’t hurt.” There was a pair of chairs in decent repair sitting in front of a small fire burning in a hearth, a plate of cheese, hard bread, and sliced meat next to carafes of drink and two goblets.
“Of course. Please, sit. Eat.” The count poured him a measure of deep red wine. “Drink.”
Then the count sat, leaving himself an empty glass.
“Are you not going to join me?”
“I never drink—” the count smiled, exposing shockingly bright, straight teeth. “—wine.”
“Oh. Will it bother you?” He hated to be rude by eating and drinking in front of the man if he wasn’t going to indulge.
