The Last Resort, Page 2

  Boo, Sue and Lou drifted about Norm, their visibility ebbing and flowing. As Viktor regarded the sisters, they gradually coalesced into a trio of translucent white Victorian ladies, hovering more or less in one spot. That, at least, was easier on the eye.

  Blake was next. He squirmed in his seat, clearly uncomfortable out of the water. He rarely came inside the castle, preferring his underwater cave set into the bedrock of the island. Viktor appreciated the effort Blake was making, coming to the meeting, but wished he wouldn’t drip on the antique furniture. Watermarks were almost impossible to remove.

  Seated next to Blake, Barbara Yaga grumbled and muttered under her breath. This was a regular occurrence, so Viktor took no notice. Although the old crone had lost many of her marbles, her eyes were still sharp. Viktor was pleased that she had found a safe refuge at the castle.

  Ah yes, safe refuge. That was the issue, wasn’t it? As Viktor regarded the residents, he felt a pang. He was the master of the castle, they were his guests, and so naturally he took responsibility for them. Anything that threatened the castle threatened them. It was time to begin the meeting.

  “My friends,” said Viktor. “As you are aware, Harriet delivered a letter to me as soon as I awoke this evening. The contents of the letter are dire, to say the least. Allow me to read it to you.”

  “Dear Uncle Viktor,” he read. “Following the recent death of my father, Godfrey Romanoff, it has come to my attention that he was in possession of the property in which you currently reside, and which has been known for generations as Castle Romanoff. Under the terms of my late father’s will, all of his assets have been left to me, including this property. I have little information about you, and indeed your relationship to the family. My father did once tell me that his grandfather had met you, when you were about thirty, which means you must be at least a hundred years old by now.”

  There was a small bark of laughter from Ankh. Viktor still looked to be about thirty. In fact he had looked about thirty for more than three hundred years.

  Viktor went on. “My father did not have much more to say – except to tell me that ‘we do not talk about Uncle Viktor’. I am not sure about the reason for this reluctance to discuss you. Perhaps you were the black sheep of the family. Nevertheless, for whatever reason, at least four generations of my family have seen fit to allow you to live rent-free in what was rightfully their property. You will find that I am not such a soft touch.”

  At this point, Harriet groaned, anticipating what was to come. Viktor continued. “I have sent this letter via my solicitors as formal notice of my intention to sell the property. I will be arranging for you to move into a retirement home, at my expense, within the next few weeks. I am sure you can see that a retirement home will be the best place for you. You will have all your medical and nutritional needs catered for.”

  At this, the doctor chuckled again, and worried as she was, Harriet smiled. Nutritional needs indeed. If only this man knew the truth about Viktor!

  “I am unable to come to the castle myself, – after all, time is money. However, I will be sending a representative to appraise the castle and determine its sale value. Her name is Eleanor Davies, and she will be arriving in about three weeks, to stay for several days. Please extend her your hospitality, providing her with a room and meals. While there, she will also begin the arrangements for your upcoming move to the Shady Villas rest home here in London. I am sure you will be delighted with this opportunity to live out your life in a residence more suitable for a man of your years.”

  Viktor let the hand holding the paper drop, and looked up again at the residents. “It is signed Trevor Romanoff.” There was silence from the residents as they regarded Viktor, looking for direction from him. He sighed, and sat down on the ornate throne-like chair at the head of the table. “Yes, it’s true,” he said. “Through a twist of fate, I do not technically own this castle. I was a twin. My brother was two minutes younger than me, and we were identical in almost every way. My father had intended to leave the castle to both of us, but when I was… changed into my current form, and felt the… hunger for the very first time, I was unable to control myself. I… did something I would later regret. My actions brought shame upon the family. My father disinherited me, and so when he died, the estate ownership passed to my brother, Sebastian. Sebastian and his wife Rose allowed me to live here. In fact, they protected me from the wrath of the villagers, and Rose was the one who suggested I try to sustain myself on the blood of sheep. Thanks to my brother, I was able to live a somewhat normal life. In time, Sebastian and Rose had a son. I watched the boy grow up, and my brother and his wife grow old, while I, myself did not. Eventually, my brother died, and the property passed to his son. The son, my nephew, continued to allow me to live at the castle, but he went travelling. Over the generations, ownership of the castle passed from son to son, along with a lot of mythology and superstition concerning ‘Uncle Viktor.’ Members of the Romanoff family have always had great wealth, and so, until now, every Romanoff son has seen fit to leave the castle alone, allowing me to occupy it, undisturbed. But I suspected this day would come, and it has.”

  Again, there was silence around the table. Finally Harriet spoke. “We don’t know what the date is. This Davies woman is supposedly arriving in three weeks, according to the letter. But let’s assume the letter took a week to get to Mortavia from London… and the librarian told me the letter arrived at the village two weeks ago.”

  Everyone except Norm groaned. Skully smacked himself in the head until his two glass eyes rotated to look at Viktor. The skeleton’s thick black eyebrows were stuck to his skull with Velcro, and now he pulled one off and repositioned it, angled upwards, to give himself a quizzical expression. “So what are we going to do?” he asked.

  Viktor smiled, exposing pearly-white razor-sharp canine teeth. “Well, Skully. I think we all know the answer to that one. We’ll simply do what we do best.” The other residents returned Viktor’s smile. It was a long time since any human had dared to approach the castle. This was going to be fun. They began to talk amongst themselves, plotting and planning, devising the best way to deal with the intruder. Barbara cackled. Boo, Sue and Lou clapped their hands excitedly.

  “Duh…” Norm said suddenly, his slack face becoming animated. “One week plus two weeks makes three weeks.”

  “That’s right my friend,” Viktor said. “Which means this woman could arrive any minute now. So let’s make some plans!”

  Chapter Two

  Eleanor Davies snorted in frustration, and continued along the wide street heading for the next fishing vessel. One of the heels of her fashionable boots had got stuck in the cobbles and snapped off. Her silk blouse, thin grey blazer and miniskirt were no match for the freezing wind driving in from the sea, which also whipped her sleekly bobbed hairdo into a frenzy of lashing strands. As she hobbled along, she muttered under her breath. This had seemed like an ideal assignment, worthy of a real estate appraiser of her calibre. She had, after all, evaluated some of the most luxurious country manor houses in England. It was only right that she move on to the old money estates of Europe. This was the next stepping stone in an already illustrious career. Appraising an ancient castle in Eastern Europe had sounded so exotic, that she’d jumped at the chance to take on this job.

  Now she was beginning to regret the decision. The flight from England had been smooth enough, but then she’d had to catch a train, and had discovered that first class was fully booked. She’d yelled, wheedled and finally begged, but the people at the railway ticket office were immovable. Stupid foreigners. So, she’d ended up in cattle class, in a festering sea of native people. The women were all bent over and ugly. The men had no more than five teeth amongst them, yet had still managed to leer at her. There were animals on the train too – goats and sheep and dogs. The whole carriage reeked of animals and sweat and tobacco, and now her suit did too. Then, after the train trip, there followed a local bus, which was even worse. It contained a
ll the same horrible elements as the train, but also threw in an insanely reckless driver who insisted on hurtling around blind bends in the wrong lane. Finally she had fetched up in the village, relieved that her long ordeal was over – only to find that it was not. No one would ferry her to Castle Romanoff! The first fishing captain she had asked had made the sign of the cross and backed away from her. The second one looked like his eyes were about to pop out. The third just ran away. And the fourth – well, he had spat at her feet.

  So, it was with little hope that she approached the fifth fisherman. As soon as the word ‘Romanoff’ had left her mouth, the man began to shake. This was ridiculous. How could she do her job and earn her outrageous commission if she couldn’t get to the castle? Finally, in desperation, she asked the fisherman to sell her a boat. After all, she could pass the cost onto her client, couldn’t she?

  Grudgingly, the fisherman agreed to sell her a dinghy for an exorbitant price. She paid up without batting an eye. Anything to get the job done and get back to England, away from these crazy, superstitious peasants, she thought. She had the fisherman drag the little boat to the shore, and then waded into the water – her soft, lambs’-leather Italian designer boots were ruined anyway – and clambered aboard. The fisherman mumbled an ominous warning – yeah, whatever, Eleanor thought – and then shoved the dinghy free of the shore. Eleanor took hold of the oars, and began clumsily to row.

  #

  Blake’s streamlined body cut through the water with ease. He slipped past the entrance to his submerged cave, swam through its chambers and emerged at a hole in the cave ceiling, which was also the dungeon floor. “Norm!” he called out urgently.

  As usual, Norm was lurking in the gloomy depths of the dungeon’s shadows. He shuffled over to the hole, and looked down at his friend. “Hi Blake,” he rumbled.

  “She’s here,” Blake said. “Go and tell the others.”

  “Who’s here?” Norm asked him.

  “The woman. The real estate appraiser. Just go and tell Harriet will you? Just say ‘The appraiser’s here,’ okay?”

  Norm shrugged. “Okay.” He began to haul his body up the wide stone spiral stairs into the castle. Blake watched for a moment, then ducked under and swam back out to the sea to monitor the dinghy’s progress.

  Norm found Harriet in the library, sorting papers. She looked up as he entered, surprised to see him in this particular room. He spoke. “Blake says there’s something for you. It’s your ape razor.”

  Harriet stared at Norm, puzzled. Her hand went to her chin, and she absently stroked the stubble which was rapidly thickening into a beard. An ape razor? Was that some sort of industrial strength hair removal device? If so, how had Blake managed to order one for her, and why? Not that she was ungrateful… but it sounded odd. “Are you sure that’s exactly what he said, Norm?” she asked gently.

  Norm’s face screwed up in concentration, stretching the stitches across his forehead which attached his scalp to his brow. “He said ‘tell Harriet the ape razor’s here’.”

  “The ape razor’s…” Harriet echoed, then slapped herself on the forehead as she worked it out. “Oh, hell, the appraiser! Uh, thanks Norm. Good job.” Norm beamed at her, turned, and lumbered out of the library. Harriet stood, and smoothed out her tweed skirt. Showtime.

  Her low heels clacked against the marble flagstones as she walked purposefully through the grand entrance hall. She lifted the thick wooden beams that barred the main entrance, as easily as if they were matchsticks, and flung open the oak double doors, frowning when they failed to creak ominously. She peered out, and her sharp predator vision spotted at once the small figure of a woman gingerly making her way across the field which separated the castle from the small pier that serviced the island. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her, which Harriet could see was constantly sticking in the grass. Harriet inhaled deeply, hoping to catch the scent of the woman, but the wind was blowing the wrong way, and all she could smell was the sheep in the upwind paddock. Delicious, but distracting. She shook her head slightly to clear her mind. Now the woman had seen Harriet, and raised her hand in greeting. Harriet did not respond. This made the woman stand up straighter and lengthen her stride – all business, and the grim determination etched on her face was not a good sign.

  Once she was within hearing distance, Harriet said, “Ms. Davies.” It was not a question.

  The woman smiled. “Eleanor, please. And you are…?”

  “Harriet Fullmoon, Mr. Romanoff’s personal assistant and house keeper. Do come inside.” Harriet watched with amusement as the woman fought to keep her face neutral. She was now close enough to see Harriet properly, and what she had taken to be either a bearded man in a kilt, or a woman wearing a woolen scarf around her chin, was in fact a bearded woman.

  Eleanor murmured a limp “Pleased to meet you.” Aware that she was staring, she averted her gaze to look past Harriet into the gloomy castle. Now her appraiser training took over, and she licked her lips. While the outside of the castle made it look derelict, the interior of the castle was clearly something special. The chandelier in the entrance hall was easily worth three thousand pounds. Greedily, her eyes roved over the antique furniture in the hall, as she mentally affixed price tags to everything in sight.

  “I will show you to your room,” Harriet said, slipping past Eleanor. “Allow me to take your suitcase.” She picked up Eleanor’s large travel case one-handed, as if it weighed no more than a pillow. Eleanor had struggled to get the bulky case onto the train, then the bus, then into the dinghy, then out of it, and she goggled in disbelief at the stocky middle-aged woman who now bounded up the grand central staircase, the suitcase balanced on one shoulder.

  Eleanor trotted after her. “I should like to meet Mr. Romanoff as soon as possible.”

  “He is resting at the moment, and cannot be disturbed,” Harriet said. “You will meet him after sundown, at dinner.”

  Eleanor opened her mouth to protest, but Harriet had swept into a room, and once Eleanor had followed her inside, she immediately become enchanted with the antique furniture within.

  “Make yourself comfortable,” Harriet said. “I will come for you after sundown.” She left the room, closing the heavy wooden door behind her. Eleanor looked up sharply as she heard the sound of the key turning in the lock. She raced over to the door, and pulled on the handle. The door wouldn’t budge. She was locked in!

  “Hey!” she yelled indignantly, thumping the door with her fists. The ancient wood merely absorbed the sound. Sighing, Eleanor turned back to face the room, wondering if there was any other exit. She traced her hands over the rough stone walls, seeking a gap which might indicate a hidden door. She peered under the worn carpets in case they masked a trapdoor. She squinted out of the small slit-like window, but saw only fields of grass. Finally she approached the four-poster bed on which her suitcase sat, and retrieved a notebook and pen. She began to itemize and price the antiques in this room. Might as well make good use of my time, since I’m stuck here. Although annoying, it was not surprising. She had expected some form of hostility from this old ‘Uncle Viktor’ character. After all, she was there to arrange his eviction. Over dinner, she would explain the benefits of the retirement home, and of course he would see reason. She knew she was a good saleswoman.

  #

  Smiling to herself, Harriet pocketed the key to the guest bedroom, then bustled through the castle, informing the others that the woman was here, and reminding them of their agreed roles. Despite their initial excitement and enthusiasm, they had decided against using all-out scare tactics. The residents of the castle were very sensitive about the way society viewed them. Those who were over two hundred years old carried memories of angry mobs wielding pitchforks and lit torches. Many of the younger residents had faced men with firearms and packs of vicious snarling dogs. Every single resident of the castle had experienced persecution and prejudice of one form or another. In many cases, this was not justified. Norm, Blake an
d Skully had done nothing whatsoever to harm a single hair on the single head of a single human. They simply looked terrifying, and this was enough to damn them in the eyes of superstitious people.

  Boo, Lou and Sue had done their share of haunting, and had enjoyed it immensely, but had never actually hurt anyone, and nor had Barbara and Ankh. Callie had inadvertently turned five men to stone once, but they were bad men, and she had no regrets about the experience. Harriet, however, in the grip of blood-thirst, had hunted, and hounded, and hurt an innocent boy, and she was deeply ashamed. But at least she had never killed anyone. Not like Viktor.

  Harriet admired the cautious way Viktor had directed the other residents, urging them to remain calm and in control. After so many years of being pursed and threatened by humans, the residents had found a safe haven at the castle, and this woman, this appraiser, was jeopardizing their way of life. They had wanted simply to scare the pants off her and drive her away.

  But Viktor said no. There was no way they were going to risk doing harm to the woman. What if she had a heart attack and died? Then they’d really be in trouble. He had a plan for getting rid of this woman simply and effectively. All of this meant that the other residents, especially Skully, had to remain hidden.

  As sunset approached, Skully made his way down to the dungeon. Norm and Blake had already set up the card table next to the pool which led to Blake’s underwater chamber, and cracked open a couple of beers. Skully looked at the bottles longingly. The worst thing about being a skeleton was the lack of a digestive system. He missed his taste buds most of all. Losing the ability to taste food was a cruel fate for Skully, since in life, he had been one of the top chefs in New Orleans. Of course, being unable to pick things up was another problem, given that his skeletal fingers skittered off most materials, but he got around that by wearing a set of latex gloves. The latex gripped a range of surfaces, including playing cards. Now, in preparation for their poker game, he pulled on his gloves with a satisfying surgical snap.