A Question Of Time Fred Saberhagen (reading the story of the .TXT) 📖

      Sarah stared at him again. This time she perhaps saw something that, for the moment at least, offered reassurance. Presently she said: “I think that he expected you to come seeking him one day—or someone like you.”

      “Indeed? Why?”

      “I never knew. Perhaps it was that he had broken some law of your kind, and his…”

      “From what I have been able to discover about your husband, I should say that he had good cause to fear our law. Our law does not allow killing without just cause, or the keeping of slaves. Or unprovoked theft, a crime I consider particularly reprehensible.”

      Sarah stared out over the Canyon. “I make no apologies for Edgar,” she said at last. “He had chosen his own life, as we all do. And he will have to accept the consequences. But I wish…”

      Almost half a minute passed before Drakulya asked softly: “What is it that you wish, Sarah?”

      Sarah looked down at the earth again. “That I had some flowers,” she said. “to decorate my child’s grave.”

      Her companion bowed lightly. “Let me see what I can do.”

* * *

      He had no need to go far, no trouble in locating several specimens of mistletoe, growing low enough to be easily reachable, on one of the nearby oaks. Mistletoe, the parasite ripening in winter, with one pale berry already on the sprig. No trouble to find, to pull a sample from the tree, to bring it back to the still-grieving mother.

      Going down on one knee, with some difficulty, Sarah placed the simple offering on the otherwise completely unmarked grave.

      She accepted the help of a strong arm in getting back to her feet.

      “Now,” said Mr. Strangeways. “Will you tell me how the infant died?”

* * *

      That was a terrible thing for Sarah to talk about, but eventually she managed.

      “Then you are not sure that the death was your husband’s fault?”

      “Not sure, no. I never could be sure. But the doubt—I couldn’t stay. I had to get my surviving child away.”

      “I see. I understand.”

      By silent agreement they had left the unmarked grave behind them now, and were walking slowly back in the direction of paved walks and people.

      Sarah asked: “Are you—working with Mr. Keogh?”

      “I am his colleague, yes.”

      “Now I can begin to understand how he expected to be able to help me.”

* * *

      A few minutes later, Sarah and the old vampire were talking freely, back in the Tyrrell House. There, once a smoldering fire was stirred to life, Sarah could be physically warm and comfortable. For the time being they had the place to themselves.

      Though she felt she could speak more freely now, still her mind was far from easy. “He was a good man once, and I loved him. I came to fear him too—I came to fear him terribly, and sometimes I still do—but for all that I love him still.”

      “Have you spoken to him, Sarah, since Cathy disappeared?”

      “Only very briefly, at the house the other night. Nothing you could call a real communication. About all we did was exchange looks, and curses.” The old woman’s voice was hesitant, but Drakulya thought that she was telling the truth. He could not be absolutely sure. Even after five hundred years he was sometimes wrong.

      Sarah pleaded with Mr. Strangeways to do all he could to help Cathy. “I appeal to you as a man of honor. She is still missing, and I am greatly worried, in spite of what the young man told me.”

      “If you appeal to me in such a way, then I must do what I can.” He smiled, and patted Sarah’s arm. “Is there anything else?”

      “There is another matter, Mr. Strangeways, since you are gentleman enough to ask. I would like, if I could, to protect my nephew from the consequences of his own folly. He is a great fool in many ways, but he is not a vicious man. And he is the only father that Cathy has ever really known.”

      Mr. Strangeways frowned.

      “At least—if it is possible—can you protect him from serious harm as long as he remains here in the park?”

      “I do not promise anything.”

      “Please.”

      “Very well, I will do what I can.”

      “Thank you. You are a gentleman.”

Chapter Fourteen

      Jake was taking the morning off from work, without permission.

      Dragging with him a numb and resigned Camilla who wore her hat and sunglasses, he had sought a place well away from the house and cave, where he felt they had a chance of being able to talk safely, at least in broad daylight. They had gone down the little canyon, Jake leading the way and looking about him earnestly, until Camilla had asked him what he was looking for.

      “The place where you used to sit drawing. Where we first met.”

      She shook her head slowly. “I don’t know if we can get there, lover. If we can, it won’t do us any good. Why d’you want that place?”

      “I just did.” He sighed. “I want a place where we can talk.”

      Camilla repeated what she had already told Jake several times: that during the hours of daylight they could talk freely anywhere, that Edgar was sure to be in his daytime refuge at this hour. But Jake still had a hard time freeing himself from the idea that the old man was likely to be in hiding, listening to them, anytime and anyplace.

      At last, reaching an area that looked familiar, Camilla and Jake sat down side by side on a rock, right on the edge of the creek, whose voices today were only noise for Jake.

      As soon as they were seated, he said: “I can’t take it, Cam, watching him do that to you.”

      “How do you think I feel?”

      “I don’t know.” He turned his head to gaze at her steadily. “When I was the two of you last night, it looked to me like maybe you were enjoying yourself.”

      “That’s a rotten thing to say.”

      He was silent.

      “There’s only one way we can get out of this, Jake.”

      “I know. That’s what I came out here