Turgo, what are we talking about here? A creature that lives in a man - or a woman - making him or her crazy enough to live by the blood of other men?'
That's exactly what we're talking about,' said the other. 'A wampir which makes its host victim strong, lusty, devious, and very hard to kill. Old Oulio lonescu wasn't a rapist, and he certainly wasn't a murderer! And what about this girl, who came back from the grave?'
"Vampire World 1 - Blood Brothers"
'Isn't it possible she was buried alive?'
'No,' Turgo shook his head in firm denial. 'She was dead for sure. And later - undead!'
Heinar could scarcely take it all in. 'What was that word you used? Wampir?'
Turgo nodded. 'In certain western regions, that's what men call the great bats that suck on goats. If they find a crippled goat under the moon, they'll suck him dry.'
Heinar's mouth was likewise dry. He looked nervously all about - at the tents, the carts and caravans, and not least the shadows - then licked his lips and finally nodded. 'Well, I know about such bats, of course: we Hagis call 'em "vexies". Catch them at our goats, we sneak up, club them, break their wings. But men with giant leeches in them?' He didn't try to hide a small shudder. 'No, I have to admit, you're the expert on this one, Turgo Zolte. So what next? How do we handle it?'
'What we don't do is act too hasty,' Turgo said. 'For we'd never live it down if this Shaitan's innocent - and a hero to boot.'
'Which he could well be,' Heinar let himself down from his branch. 'For after all, young Vidra Gogosita reckons he saved his life!'
Turgo's deep-etched frown showed his dilemma, his uncertainty. 'That's the hell of it,' he nodded. 'It's possible all this talk's for nothing - indeed I hope it is! - but can we risk it?'
'No,' Heinar gave a short, sharp shake of his head, convinced that he'd be far better safe than sorry. 'Vidra's had his head down for a while now. Perhaps we should go and have a word with him.'
They did. The widow Gogosita heard them coming, met them at the flap of her tent with a finger to her lips. 'Shhh! The poor lad's asleep. And Heinar,' she grasped his arm, 'it's very good of you to show your concern this way. Ah, but it must have been terrible up there! Such nightmares! Vidra rambles as in a fever ... he speaks of blood, and murder!'
They went in, all three, to stand quietly beside the youth where he tossed and turned. The night had turned cold, and yet the sweat stood out on Vidra's brow. He was pale as a ghost, with grey hollows in his cheeks and under his eyes.
Turgo glanced at Heinar, went to shake the lad's shoulder. His mother got between. 'What's this?' she hissed. 'But can't you see he needs his sleep? Well, whatever, it will have to keep.'
'No, Elana. It can't keep.' Heinar was familiar with her, but firm. He put her to one side, and ...
... And Vidra came breathlessly, babblingly alive!
He was still asleep, but the cold sweat welled up that much faster, and the words jerked out of him in squalls, like sudden bursts of spattering rain. 'No, no ... keep off ... keep away!' He tugged at his blanket until it was a damp knot. 'Ah, great ghoul ... but do you murder men for their clothes? No, no, for I see it's more than their clothes you're after! ... Keep off! Go torment Dezmir ... not me, not me.' He flopped this way and that. 'Ah, but now I know you, fiend! ... Your eyes like lamps ... they let you find your way in the dark! But not me, not me! Go suck on Dezmir's neck and let me be!'
And with that last he turned on his side, and his neck was visible where his mother had washed it. Turgo and Heinar looked - and saw.
'Punctures,' Turgo growled. 'Tears in the flesh. And the flesh itself inflamed, poisoned!'
Heinar nodded his grim agreement.
The widow's hand had flown to her mouth. 'What did Vidra say? About murdering men for ... for their clothes? But now it comes to me. That stranger was wearing Vidra's long coat. Also Klaus Luncani's trousers! Much too short for him ... they have a patched right thigh. I'd know that patch anywhere, for I put it there. His