“May I be of assistance?”
“I have here Herr Blomberg,” Stephan said in English, indicating the small, round, nervous-looking individual who accompanied him. “He wishes to borrow your horse.”
Grey was sufficiently startled by this that he merely said, “Which one?” rather than “Who is Herr Blomberg?” or “What does he want with a horse?”
The first of these questions was largely academic in any case; Herr Blomberg wore an elaborate chain of office about his neck, done in broad, flat links of enamel and chased gold, from which depended a seven-pointed starburst, enclosing a plaque of enamel on which was painted some scene of historic interest. Herr Blomberg’s engraved silver coat buttons and shoe buckles were sufficient to proclaim his wealth; the chain of office merely confirmed his importance as being secular, rather than noble.
“Herr Blomberg is bürgermeister of the town,” Stephan explained, taking matters in a strictly logical order of importance, as was his habit. “He requires a white stallion, in order that he shall discover and destroy a succubus. Someone has told him that you possess such a horse,” he concluded, frowning at the temerity of whoever had been bandying such information.
“A succubus?” Grey asked, automatically rearranging the logical order of this speech, as was
his
habit.
Herr Blomberg had no English, but evidently recognized the word, for he nodded vigorously, his old-fashioned wig bobbing, and launched into impassioned speech, accompanied by much gesticulation.
With Stephan’s assistance, Grey gathered that the town of Gundwitz had recently suffered a series of mysterious and disturbing events, involving a number of men who claimed to have been victimized in their sleep by a young woman of demonic aspect. By the time these events had made their way to the attention of Herr Blomberg, the situation was serious; a man had died.
“Unfortunately,” Stephan added, still in English, “the dead man is ours.” He pressed his lips tightly together, conveying his dislike of the situation.
“Ours?” Grey asked, unsure what this usage implied, other than that the victim had been a soldier.
“Mine,” Stephan clarified, looking further displeased. “One of the Prussians.”
The Landgrave von Erdberg had three hundred Hanoverian foot troops, raised from his own lands, equipped and funded from his personal fortune. In addition, Captain von Namtzen commanded two additional companies of Prussian horse, and was in temporary command of the fragments of an artillery company whose officers had all died in an outbreak of the bloody flux.
Grey wished to hear more details regarding both the immediate death and—most particularly—the demoniac visitations, but his questions along these lines were interrupted by Herr Blomberg, who had been growing more restive by the moment.
“It grows soon dark,” the bürgermeister pointed out in German. “We do not wish to fall into an open grave, so wet as it is.”
“Ein offenes Grab?”
Grey repeated, feeling a sudden chill draft on the back of his neck.
“This is true,” Stephan said, with a nod of moody acquiescence. “It would be a terrible thing if your horse were to break his leg; he is a splendid creature. Come then, let us go.”
W hat
is
a s-succubus, me lord?” Tom Byrd’s teeth were chattering, mostly from chill. The sun had long since set, and it was raining much harder. Grey could feel the wet seeping through the shoulders of his officer’s greatcoat; Byrd’s thin jacket was already soaked through, pasted to the young valet’s stubby torso like butcher’s paper round a joint of beef.
“I believe it is a sort of female…spirit,” Grey said, carefully avoiding the more evocative term “demon.” The churchyard gates yawned before them like open jaws, and the darkness beyond seemed sinister in the extreme. No need to terrify the boy unnecessarily.
“Horses don’t like ghosts,” Byrd said, sounding
“I have here Herr Blomberg,” Stephan said in English, indicating the small, round, nervous-looking individual who accompanied him. “He wishes to borrow your horse.”
Grey was sufficiently startled by this that he merely said, “Which one?” rather than “Who is Herr Blomberg?” or “What does he want with a horse?”
The first of these questions was largely academic in any case; Herr Blomberg wore an elaborate chain of office about his neck, done in broad, flat links of enamel and chased gold, from which depended a seven-pointed starburst, enclosing a plaque of enamel on which was painted some scene of historic interest. Herr Blomberg’s engraved silver coat buttons and shoe buckles were sufficient to proclaim his wealth; the chain of office merely confirmed his importance as being secular, rather than noble.
“Herr Blomberg is bürgermeister of the town,” Stephan explained, taking matters in a strictly logical order of importance, as was his habit. “He requires a white stallion, in order that he shall discover and destroy a succubus. Someone has told him that you possess such a horse,” he concluded, frowning at the temerity of whoever had been bandying such information.
“A succubus?” Grey asked, automatically rearranging the logical order of this speech, as was
his
habit.
Herr Blomberg had no English, but evidently recognized the word, for he nodded vigorously, his old-fashioned wig bobbing, and launched into impassioned speech, accompanied by much gesticulation.
With Stephan’s assistance, Grey gathered that the town of Gundwitz had recently suffered a series of mysterious and disturbing events, involving a number of men who claimed to have been victimized in their sleep by a young woman of demonic aspect. By the time these events had made their way to the attention of Herr Blomberg, the situation was serious; a man had died.
“Unfortunately,” Stephan added, still in English, “the dead man is ours.” He pressed his lips tightly together, conveying his dislike of the situation.
“Ours?” Grey asked, unsure what this usage implied, other than that the victim had been a soldier.
“Mine,” Stephan clarified, looking further displeased. “One of the Prussians.”
The Landgrave von Erdberg had three hundred Hanoverian foot troops, raised from his own lands, equipped and funded from his personal fortune. In addition, Captain von Namtzen commanded two additional companies of Prussian horse, and was in temporary command of the fragments of an artillery company whose officers had all died in an outbreak of the bloody flux.
Grey wished to hear more details regarding both the immediate death and—most particularly—the demoniac visitations, but his questions along these lines were interrupted by Herr Blomberg, who had been growing more restive by the moment.
“It grows soon dark,” the bürgermeister pointed out in German. “We do not wish to fall into an open grave, so wet as it is.”
“Ein offenes Grab?”
Grey repeated, feeling a sudden chill draft on the back of his neck.
“This is true,” Stephan said, with a nod of moody acquiescence. “It would be a terrible thing if your horse were to break his leg; he is a splendid creature. Come then, let us go.”
W hat
is
a s-succubus, me lord?” Tom Byrd’s teeth were chattering, mostly from chill. The sun had long since set, and it was raining much harder. Grey could feel the wet seeping through the shoulders of his officer’s greatcoat; Byrd’s thin jacket was already soaked through, pasted to the young valet’s stubby torso like butcher’s paper round a joint of beef.
“I believe it is a sort of female…spirit,” Grey said, carefully avoiding the more evocative term “demon.” The churchyard gates yawned before them like open jaws, and the darkness beyond seemed sinister in the extreme. No need to terrify the boy unnecessarily.
“Horses don’t like ghosts,” Byrd said, sounding
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