This was as well, for after the view from the platforms, landing-bays and bartizans, Nestor found Vasagi's rooms something of a disappointment; patently the Suck had not been one for luxuries but within Wamphyri parameters had been satisfied with a life of austerity. His bed was of stone slabs raised up, with a large depression hollowed in the middle and filled with the cured furs of Sunside animals. Beneath the bed was a fire hole containing a few scattered ashes. A blackened bone flue angled off from the head of the bed to join with another above a massive fireplace in the vastly thick outer wall. In a curtained corner niche, a dark-stained hole angled down into the floor, from which issued the occasional draught of fresh air. It was just as well that the other end of this hole vacated in some lofty, inaccessible exit over the abyss, for it had been Vasagi's toilet.
From another room, hewn deeper into the stack's porous outer sheath, a large, deep, circular window fitted with cartilage baffles gazed out in a north-easterly direction, showing on the one hand the barrier range dwindling into distance, and on the other the far, dark-blue sheen of the aurora-lit Icelands horizon. There were rooms with wooden tables and chairs, and others with benches cut in the walls. A large sloping hall was enclosed behind an east-facing wall with a row of window holes admitting a maximum of light - and of air! Before being walled-in, this draughty gallery had been one of the manse's great scars; during the period of Vasagi's occupation at least, it had become his studio. This was where the Suck had worked on the 'designs' of his metamorphic creatures, before he gave them life in his vats. And as Nestor examined the huge and intricate paintings, he felt glad Vasagi had not invested oJJ of them in flesh.
The east wing of this one level had now been explored, and Nestor and Canker returned to the sweeping staircase down into the great hall. But as they descended a cry rang out, and Canker was galvanized into activity. 'Hah! I had expected it,' he growled. 'The brothers Killglance, scavenging!'
'What?' Nestor looked at him. 'You can only mean pillaging, surely? But I am the master here, and all that is here is mine. Would they dare?'
Canker snorted. 'Wratha was right: being here and existing here are different things. Unless you are sure of a person or thing, never invite him or it into your house! If you must, make sure he, or it, enters of his own free will. Which is to say: he faces the consequences of any transgressions, whether of his making or of yours! Letting the brothers in here, why, that was like giving them a licence to work their will! Remember: Wran the Rage killed Vasagi. Already he may consider himself entitled to whatever's on offer, while you as yet merely aspire.' He shrugged. 'In my way, I tried to warn you.'
'From now on I shall value your warnings,' Nestor told him. 'But right now I may require your help! Here they come.'
Wran and Spiro had emerged from one of the tunnels into the great hall. Behind them, they dragged female thralls with their clothes stripped mainly from them and hanging in rags. The women were vociferous in their protests; here in Suckscar, they knew what was their lot... but in Madmanse?
Hurrying towards Wran, Spiro, and their struggling prizes, Zahar and Grig went to intercept. Back from seeing to the former's wounds, they seemed affronted by the twins' rapaciousness. But these were the Kill-glance brothers, Lords of the Wamphyri; if things turned nasty, Nestor's lieutenants wouldn't stand a chance. Still, it said a lot for Zahar that even with a dangling arm and damaged hand he now knew where his loyalties lay. For the moment at least...
Laughing, the Lords faced down the would-be defenders of Suckscar; but Spiro grew calm in a moment, his grin becoming a scowl as Zahar and Grig drew closer.
Until at last he queried: 'Oh? And is there a problem?' Giving his captive a back-hander in the face, he sent her skittering among a crowd of cowering thralls where they'd emerged from their various places. So far, Suck-scar's 'people' had kept well out of it; they had guessed that the Lord Vasagi was no more, but had not known the nature of their new master. Curiosity is a powerful force, however, especially among vampires. A good many of them were here now, anxious to discover what was their lot.
'Make or break!' Canker coughed in Nestor's ear, where they too closed on the frozen tableau. 'It's come sooner than I thought. Gore Sucksthrall was the best of Vasagi's men, and he's dead. These others are useless to you, and the Killglance brothers are fiends in a fight. I ... I like your cut, Nestor, but this is not my problem. It's up to you now: a "diplomatic solution" - cowardice, if you like - or a beating, and possibly death.'
'Or something else,' Nestor answered, in a voice empty of emotion, cold as the winds off the Icelands. 'Watch your back.'
'Eh?' Canker glanced to the rear, and saw Nestor's furry familiars flowing across the hall's flags behind them.
'Even without you,' Nestor told him in that same emotionless voice, 'I am not alone. And I'm not about to be beaten.'
Canker paused a moment, then threw back his head to howl like a mad thing and shake from head to toe. And catching up with Nestor, he said: 'Why, now I like your cut even more, my crafty Lord Nestor - not to mention the odds! Very well, we stand together.'