F. Paul Wilson - The Keep

"You can't say that! I refuse to believe it! There has to be another answer!"

"You weren't there. You didn't see the loathing on his face when I pulled out the cross. You didn't see how he shrank away in terror and cowered until I returned it to the box. It has power over him!"

It had to be true. It went against the most basic tenets of Magda's learning. But if Papa had said it, seen it, then it must be true. She yearned for something to say, something soothing, reassuring. But all that came out was a sad, simple, "Papa."

He smiled ruefully. "Don't worry, child. I'm not about to throw away my Torah and seek out a monastery. My faith goes deep. But this does give one pause, doesn't it? It does raise the question that we could be wrong ... we all could have missed a boat that sailed twenty centuries ago."

He was trying to make light of it for her sake, but Magda knew he was being flayed alive in his mind.

She sank to the grass to think. And as she moved, she caught a flash of motion at the open window above. A glimpse of rust-colored hair. She clenched her fists as she realized that the window opened into Glenn's room. He must have heard everything.

Magda kept watch for the next few minutes, hoping to catch him eavesdropping, but saw nothing. She was about to give up when a voice startled her.

"Good morning!"

It was Glenn, rounding the southern corner of the inn, a small wooden ladderback chair in each hand.

"Who's there?" Papa asked, unable to twist around in his seat to see behind him.

"Someone I met yesterday. His name is Glenn. He has the room across the hall from me."

Glenn nodded cheerily to Magda as he walked around her and stood before Papa, towering over him like a giant. He wore woolen pants, climbing boots, and a loose-fitting shirt open at the neck. He set the two chairs down and thrust his hand toward her father.

"And good morning to you, sir. I've already met your daughter."

"Theodor Cuza," Papa replied hesitantly, with poorly veiled suspicion. He placed his gloved hand, stiff and gnarled, inside Glenn's. There followed a parody of a handshake, then Glenn indicated one of the chairs to Magda.

"Try this. The ground's still too damp to sit on."

Magda rose. "I'll stand, thank you," she said with all the haughtiness she could manage. She resented his eavesdropping, and she resented his intrusion into their company even more. "My father and I were just leaving anyway."

As Magda moved toward the back of the wheelchair, Glenn laid a gentle hand on her arm.

"Please don't go yet. I awoke to the sound of two voices drifting through my window, discussing the keep and something about a vampire. Let's talk about it, shall we?" He smiled.

Magda found herself speechless, furious with the boldness of his intrusion and the casual presumption of his touching her. Yet she did not snatch her arm away. His touch made her tingle. It felt good.

Papa, however, had nothing to hold him back: "You must not mention one word of what you just heard to anyone! It could mean our lives!"

"Don't give yourself a moment's worry over that," Glenn said, his smile fading. "The Germans and I have nothing to say to each other." He looked back to Magda. "Won't you sit? I brought the chair for you."

She looked at her father. "Papa?"

He nodded resignedly. "I don't think we have too much choice."

Glenn's hand slipped away as Magda moved to seat herself, and she felt a small, unaccountable void within her. She watched him swing the other chair around and seat himself on it backwards, straddling the ladderback and resting his elbows on the top rung.

"Magda told me last night about the vampire in the keep," he said, "but I'm not sure I caught the name he gave you."

"Molasar," Papa said.

"Molasar," Glenn said slowly, rolling the name over on his tongue, his expression puzzled. "Mo ... la ... sar." Then he brightened, as if he had solved a puzzle. "Yes—Molasar. An odd name, don't you think?"

"Unfamiliar," Papa said, "but not so odd."

"And that," Glenn, said, gesturing to the cross still clutched in the twisted fingers. "Did I overhear you say that Molasar feared it?"

"Yes."

Magda noted that Papa was volunteering no information.

"You're a Jew, aren't you, Professor?"

A nod.

"Is it customary for Jews to carry crosses around?"

"My daughter borrowed it for me—a tool in an experiment."

Glenn turned to her. "Where did you get it?"

"From one of the officers at the keep." Where was all this leading?

"It was his own?"

"No. He said it came from one of the dead soldiers." She began to grasp the thread of deduction he seemed to be following.

"Strange," Glenn said, returning his attention to Papa, "that this cross did not save the soldier who first possessed it. One would think that a creature who feared the cross would pass up such a victim and search for another, one carrying no protective—what shall we call it?—charm."

"Perhaps the cross was stuffed inside his shirt," Papa said. "Or in his pocket. Or even back in his room."

Glenn smiled. "Perhaps. Perhaps."

"We didn't think of that, Papa," Magda said, eager to reinforce any idea that might bolster his sagging spirits.

"Question everything," Glenn said. "Always question everything. I should not have to remind a scholar of that."

"How do you know I'm a scholar?" Papa snapped, a spark of the old fire in his eyes. "Unless my daughter told you."

"Iuliu told me. But there's something else you've overlooked, and it's so obvious you're both going to feel foolish when I tell you."

"Make us feel foolish, then," Magda told him. Please!

"All right: Why would a vampire so afraid of the cross dwell in a structure whose walls are studded with them? Can you explain that?"

Magda stared at her father and found him staring back at her.

"You know," Papa said, smiling sheepishly. "I've been in the keep so often, and I've puzzled over it for so long, I no longer even see the crosses!"

"That's understandable. I've been through there a few times myself, and after a while they do seem to blend in. But the question remains: Why does a being who finds the cross repulsive surround himself with countless crosses?" He rose and easily swung the chair onto his shoulder. "And now I think I'll go get some breakfast from Lidia and leave you two to figure out an answer. If there is one."

"But what's your interest in this?" Papa asked. "Why are you here?"

"Just a traveler," Glenn said. "I like this area and visit regularly."

"You seem to be more than a little interested in the keep. And quite knowledgeable about it."

Glenn shrugged. "I'm sure you know far more than I do."

"I wish I knew how to keep my father from going back over there tonight," Magda said.

"I must go back, my dear. I must face Molasar again."

Magda rubbed her hands together. They had gone cold at the thought of Papa's returning to the keep. "I just don't want them to find you with your throat torn open like the others."

"There are worse things that can happen to a man," Glenn said.

Struck by the change in his tone, Magda looked up and found all the sunniness and lightness gone from his face. He was staring at Papa. The tableau held for only a few seconds, then he smiled again.

"Breakfast awaits. I'm sure I'll see you again during our respective stays. But one more thing before I go."

He stepped around to the rear of the wheelchair and turned it in a 180-degree arc with his free hand.

"What are you doing?" Papa cried. Magda leaped to her feet.

"Just offering you a change of scenery, Professor. The keep-is, after all, such a gloomy place. This is much too beautiful a day to dwell on it."

He pointed to the floor of the pass. "Look south and east instead of north. For all its severity, this is a most beautiful part of the world. See how the grass is greening up, how the wild flowers are starting to bloom in the crags. Forget the keep for a while."