He looked at Zahar again. 'A man must be careful in this place,' he said, apparently innocently. 'It would seem a dire thing, even perilous, to put a foot wrong and fall into a vat such as this!'
'Indeed, Lord,' Zahar agreed, with just the suspicion of a smirk.
'But -' said Nestor, his voice hardening, '- I am not a man. I am Wamphyri!' And he slowly, very deliberately stripped off his clothes, even discarding his belt and knife, to step down naked into the tepid swirl and sluggish gurgle. And fixing Zahar with his eyes, in which the spark of red was now grown to an ember, he moved alongside the bulk of the waxing warrior and touched it with his hands.
You are mine! he told it. All which was Vasagi's is mine! That which he was is now in me ... I have eaten him! And you are my creature for ever and ever.
The ripples in the fluids became small waves as the warrior flexed its great body. Palps with claws which were as yet of soft, flexible chitin closed on Nestor, and various appendages lifted out of the glue to clasp him -but gently! He was .. . examined. And accepted. The thing lay still again, and its uppermost eye regarded Nestor with something of fixation, and perhaps something of fear.
You are a good creature, he told it then, and I shall care /or you and feed you well. When you are ready to be born, call me and I shall attend to it myself ...
And leaving the thing to wax and wallow, he waded to the steps, climbed them, and stepped up onto the level floor; and stood there with the muck dripping from him in small puddles, gazing at Zahar with eyes as cold as the warrior's. But oh so much more knowing.
Take off your leather jacket,' he told him.
'What?' Zahar stepped back a pace, his Adam's apple wobbling. His eyes went from Nestor to the thing in the vat and back again. 'My jacket, Lord?'
'Are you hard of hearing?' Nestor's voice was harsh. 'Your jacket - now!'
'Yes, Lord!' Zahar stripped it off, let it fall.
'Now your shirt of cloth,' said Nestor.
'Lord,' Zahar gibbered. 'You may be Wamphyri - no, you are Wamphyri, assuredly! - but I am just a common thrall. A lieutenant, aye, and a vampire of course, but just a man for all that. To me these special liquids are a poison. If I were to do as you have done and plunge myself into them, be sure I would not surface! And even if I did, your warrior would roll on me with its spines.'
Nestor held out a hand for the shirt. 'And yet these were the things you would have wished on me, just a few moments ago. Indeed, it was even your thought to push me in! Did you think I would not know? Now one last time: your shirt.'
Zahar needed help with it; Nestor dragged the shirt from the grey flesh of his back; for a moment they stood there, the little master calm and his great thrall trembling. And finally Nestor dried himself on the shirt.