My Memory of Michel Legrand

On Saturday, I heard about the death of film composer and songwriter Michel Legrand. Basically, for the longest time, I didn't know who he was. I'd vaguely head a foreign name related to songs. It wasn't until I saw his guest appearances during the fourth series of The Two Ronnies, where he performed for piano with orchestral accompaniment.

Then I realised how many of the songs I really enjoyed were ones I enjoyed. "Windmills of Your Mind" is one of my favourite songs. And having seen some of The Thomas Crown Affair, I also have to say that there's a sense of place and presence about the music that stays with you even if the melody doesn't stick.

I was over the moon when I heard that Legrand had composed one of my favourite film scores. The 1983 James Bond movie Never Say Never Again. Just the theme song, performed by Lani Hall, was enough to remain in my mind ever since I first saw the film in my pre-teens. The incidental music, and incredible sense of style and confidence exuded by the score made up for some of the film's shortcomings. He also knows when to hold back and allow silence to be its own music.

On the whole, the world of music has lost a great creator. And that we have as much as we do of his work is a true blessing.

Short story - Travelling the Sands

Sand. It never seemed to end. Between the luscious flows and bustling settlements of the Tygra and the Balza, there was nothing but a great wilderness of sand. Whether it was the pale-tinted dunes, the blood-like pillars stretching up to form imposing labyrinths amid the shifting hills, or the muddy remains of some ancient tributary of the mythical Great Sea, the sand was everywhere. No caravan crossed the wastes lest they have a death wish, no bird flew overhead except when the sun had all but vanished from the sky, and no water flowed except in piteous spurts from springs half-buried by the advancing tide of silica.

One part of this vast desert was known as the Shifting Tide, because the sands flowed so freely over periods of months that it seemed to adhere to an unknown tidal pull separate from the sun and the moon. There, no settlement could stay seated around the one oasis, as all surrounding the trees shifted and uprooted anything that tried to gain a foothold. The remains of at least three way stations were buried beneath the sand’s terrible folds. Few stopped to take from the oasis’s clear waters now, instead choosing to avoid the region entirely. It had become a land of spirits and death, of uncertain roads and travellers’ fanciful tales.

But there was someone there that day. As the sun blazed, and the ground was baked into a film of interlocking grains of sand, two figures appeared over the crest of a dune. One was wrapped close in clothing intended to forestall the sun’s destructive gaze, but the other wore little protection, and indeed barely looked human.

As the cloaked figure slid down the sand, creating a great gouge in its surface, the other danced alongside leaving nary a mark. Their feet, tapering to dagger-like points rather than toes or feet, left the tiniest of scorches where they touched. These traces were soon obliterated by the progress of their companion. When the two reached the water, the hooded figure was about to bow down and drink, but their floating companion raised a four-fingered hand.

‘Wait.’ their voice was that of a woman, but tinged with a subtle rumble from beyond the world of humans. ‘Let me test first.’

The hooded person waited as their companion floated out over the water. This companion, female in rough form as well as in voice, stared at the water’s surface for many long moments. Finally she stabbed down with one of her feet, causing the point of contact to hiss and bubble. There was a trilling sound, and another figure rose from the pool. It had the full and proper form of a human girl, but made of water and glimmering in the strong sunlight. The two floating figures glared at each other.

‘What do you wish, Iblis!?’ snapped the watery apparition.

‘My mistress wishes to drink. You will allow her a portion of your waters for her immediate thirst and her flask. Do this, and I shall leave you with both peace and a blessing of still sands for two months.’

‘And if I refuse.’

‘I shall take the water, and you shall have no rest from these shifting sands for the next thousand years.’

The watery figure seemed conflicted, then vanished after spitting some intelligible invective at its opponent. Iblis turned to her mistress.

‘It is safe for you to drink.’

The figure nodded, then pulled off her head covering and cloak, allowing her to drink without either getting soaked. As she rose, the water glistening on her lips, the sun seemed to lose its heat and become a lantern for her beauty. Hers was an oval face with the dusky hue of the South, her long hair the colour of jet, her eyes the shade of greenest jade. It was a royal face, but marked by a life of wandering and hardship endured by few of her beauty and grace.

‘How long till we reach the next town?’ asked the woman, wiping her mouth.

Iblis looked at the sky. ‘Judging by the stars, I would say we are still some ten days travel from civilisation. These lands do not foster hospitality.’

‘That’s why I came in here. If the Sultan wants me, he’ll have to send his pimps in after me.’

‘Alas, yes. Such is the life of a loyal soldier of the Sultan. I am frankly amazed any survive. Why do they continue to pursue you when you have proven time and again that you are able to hold your own.’

‘Because they’re dead if they say “it’s useless”.’

‘Yes. Indeed.’ Iblis turned to look at the sun once more. ‘Our mother will be past her zenith soon. We should move on.’

‘I know.’

Filling her flask, the woman donned her cloak and hood and set off once more. After bestowing her blessing on the surrounding sands as promised to the keeper of the oasis, Iblis drifted over to rejoin her mistress as she began clambering up the opposite slope. At the top of the slope, the two gazed out across the sandy wastes. In the far distance, the Midgal Bavel could be seen reaching into the sky and vanishing from sight, rock formations around two hours distant cast few shadows under the near-noon sun, and the dunes ebbed and flowed like the waves of an ocean. Adjusting her hood, the woman nodded.

‘This is fine. I’ll get lost in here.’

‘And when you run out of food and water?’

‘I won’t. I’ve got you, remember?’

The woman held up her left hand meaningfully. On the middle finger of that hand, a circle of gold inset with a blood-red gemstone. On that gemstone was a single character in the Old Tongue, the mark of the Mother’s hand on the world that all things held as an invisible cartouche across their soul. Iblis bowed her head slightly upon seeing the word. That name, that Emblem embossed for all to see, the revelation that bestowed service on any who wore the ring and spoke the world.

‘Yes. You have me, mistress. For as long as you hold my Emblem on that tiny trinket, I am your servitor.’

‘You know I’d release you if I could.’

‘So say all humans who hold one of my kind. So said Ala-Ud-Din when two of my brethren came into his hands. He built the Old Empire upon their power.’

‘But the legends say he found out the methods of capture and dismissal, and set out to take them. I took you out of ignorance and necessity, not greed.’

‘Fortunate for you. The Mother still gives me free will. Had you taken me for selfish ends, I would have turned you into ashes the moment you touched my emblem.’

‘Perhaps you’d like to go back to my father’s treasury. Be an ornament gathering dust on some shelf. I didn’t think you were so eager to be a spoil of war. Or a mere object to be commanded like those jinn you so fondly remember from the Old Empire’s founder.’

‘Barely together five weeks and you already abuse your humble servant. What else can I expect from a human. You enslave your own kind and the Mother’s children.’

‘If you want real abuse, you should talk with my warder of robes. She says my tongue is like the barb of a cuttlefish. Besides, have I actually commanded you to do anything yet? And I certainly haven’t used my wish.’

‘No. You found my ring and spoke the word upon it without knowing its true meaning, and did take me without knowingly asking for my power. And your tongue may be sharp, but barbed it is not.’

‘Then pray forgive any insult I paid you. Five weeks on the run will strain anyone.’

‘I accept the apology. And while human concerns of strength and energy are foreign to me, I have heard it described by others.’

‘Shouldn’t we press on? We need to find some shelter before nightfall. It gets too cold for my liking here.’

‘Agreed. Jinn are made from flame, not eternal fonts of it. The night would chill me beyond my liking. We may find shelter in that place where the rocks grow. There, the stone will give us warmth where in daylight they provide a cool relief.’

‘Then let’s go.’

‘As you wish, mistress.’

‘Didn’t I ask you to use my name?’

Iblis seemed to think for a moment. ‘As you wish... Aisha ibn Abdulla ibn Faris al-Ala-Ud-Din Rasalased.’

And so the trek began anew. Aisha slithered down a dune before surmounting the next, her dark cloak billowing in the wind she created through her movements. And next to her, Iblis danced and floated beside her, keeping an eye out for any traps the desert might spring upon them. Such feints and ploys were commonplace in this ruined world, where jinn lingered and would relish their chance for revenge against the race that once enslaved them.

As they slid down one particular dune, there was a humming sound in the distance. It took some moments to distinguish it from the slither of sand beneath Aisha’s feet. She clambered up another dune and scanned the horizon. It took her little time to find the sound’s source. Swooping across the horizon, its crystalline wings flickering in the intense sunlight, was an Island Ship. Iblis looked at the monumental ship with barely-cocealed disgust.

‘Sickening, twisted trumpery. People who believe the world our Mother made is not good enough, who insist upon reaching for the firmament. Twisting our inherited artes to serve their prideful mummery. When those travesties fall from the sky and their citizens die screaming as they plummet into the desert, I shall welcome it. I should gladly witness it.’

‘But would you participate in it?’

Iblis frowned. ‘You always ask the most difficult question. No, I should not. I may see them as disgusting, but ordinary people still walk through their halls. Should I attempt to bring it down, I would allow them to escape first.’

‘A merciful jinni indeed. Ai!’

Aisha raised her hand, shielding her eyes from the intense reflected glow coming from the Island Ship’s wing. It was turning slowly, following the long-dried course of the Qasmirn. Many who lived on those floating monstrosities liked to hail themselves as descended from the lineages of the Old Empire, before the Emblem War, when all was green and plentiful. Now they cultivated great terrace gardens in their ships of gold and crystal, shining peacocks floating above the desolation.

Iblis blazed briefly, sparks flying into the air. ‘Such arrogance. They think they can blind those who walk on the earth with their brilliance?’

‘Enough.’ Aisha rubbed her eyes, recovering from the glare. ‘Let them strut. They’ll know hardship sooner or later.’

Turning away from the pretentious monster, Aisha slid down the dune once more and continued on her way. The sand flowed beneath the soles of her boots like water, brushing against her cloak and making a low-pitch singing sound. Iblis danced along behind her, tongues of flame flickering from her forearms like the sleeves of an exotic dancer’s dress. The walking was hard, but slithering down the slopes from their peaks relieved their boredom and fatigue. An hour seemed to fly by, halted only by Aisha taking sips from her water bottle once or twice.

It seemed no time at all by Aisha’s reckoning when they had reached the rocky outcrop where they could safely shelter for the night. The sun had passed away from its zenith and slowly descended towards the irregular horizon. For Iblis, the time had passed at the pace it always did, and she felt the two hours that they had traversed the sea of dunes to reach here. The sun had caressed her during their journey, and she felt the chill of shadows thrown by the rocky pillars more acutely for it. Glancing about her, she reached out for any sign of others who might occupy this place.

‘We are alone here.’ she said after a while. ‘No human or jinni has set foot in this place for many a year. But that in itself is strange. Perhaps something else here hides from our view.’

‘Could anything hide from your view?’

‘There are more things in land and sky than your poets can dream of. I knew of at least seventeen abominations that no jinni could sense until it was upon them and tearing their soul apart.’

‘Then we’ll be careful.’ Aisha sat down in the nearest shade. ‘I’ll keep my eyes pealed, and so should you.’

‘We shall be most in danger when you sleep. My eyes see as little as yours without the Mother’s light.’

‘Then perhaps we should move on?’

‘No. We have little enough shelter here. Out there, we have none.’

‘Then we stay. And we’ll be careful. Think we’ll find anything useful here?’

‘You mean to explore?’

‘Best do it in daylight, when we can both see.’

‘Very well.’

Aisha rose again and began walking deeper among the sandstone pillars, carved from the actions of wind, sand and waters long-since dried. Iblis followed close, her eyes darting left and right, her every sense on the alert. If an ambush came, it would be in some narrow crevasse or awkward corner, when they had little opportunity for a good defence. As they explored, Aisha got a feel of the structure. Ten or twelve pillars of varying heights, some of the gaps between them submerged in sand, others clear and allowing the biting desert wind to blow freely. Its heart, a clear area where a central column had once stood, was free of wind and the worst of the sun.

Slowly but surely, the pair explored their surroundings, and they seemed assured of their safety. The day wore on, and Aisha began to feel safe again. Safe, satisfied, and best of all free. Free from the constant incense, the sycophantic courtiers, the wiggling dancers, the suitors which ran the gauntlet between tepid and flaccid. If there was a hell for each person’s soul, that would be her own. Trapped in that forever, chained to it, unable to escape.

The sun was approaching the horizon when Iblis suddenly pricked up her tapering ears. Something was close. Something unpleasant. Rising slowly from where she rested on the sand, she snapped her fingers and generated a bright spark which illuminated the darkest corners near them. She sent it flying out, peering into each crevasse, listening at each pile of sand. Aisha saw Iblis, and both nodded. No words were needed. Aisha’s hand reached for her one memento from the palace, slung about her belt and ready for combat.

Iblis’s spark was lost to their view, but Iblis saw what it saw. And she saw the slight movement that retreated into a gap. The spark followed it inside, and instantly Iblis felt the pressure of something huge and hungry grasp it as prey. The spark expired with a flash of flame, and in the distance something let out a bestial hiss. Aisha was on her feet, and drawing her memento from within its baldric; a saif blade with a straight edge and ornate guard, its damascened blade flashing with intricate patterns only known to come from the smithies of her homeland.

Slowly but surely, the sound of the thing approached. Aroused from its hunger-induced torpor by the spark of magic it had mistaken for prey, its long-dormant nostrils had scented two equally desirable morsels; a human and a jinni. It slunk from its hole after who knew how long, its feet delicately hoisting it up above the sandy ground, dancing along the walls of the pillars that had been its home for over a millennium. It would feed on those that had destroyed its master, rendered it mute, banished it to these putrid rocks in the midst of desolation.

It was the next minute when it launched its attack. A spinning ball of silk swung down from the monster’s elongated abdomen. Aisha barely dodged the blow and swung with her blade, slicing at the ball as it swung back up out of range. Iblis also ducked and swooped across to be near her companion. Balls of fire materialised about her, ready to launch themselves when the thing came into view.

The two stared up at their attacker, a silhouette against the darkening sky. It had a form like some freakish spider or scorpion, though it was truly neither. Its two all-black eyes stared down at them, serrated pincers snapped about its slobbering maw, its ten legs bristled with great hairs that had caught generations worth of flies on their sticky surface. Its mandibles twisted apart and roaring words poured from the mouth, causing Aisha and Iblis to avoid gobbets of foam and spittle.

‘FOOD! I.....MUST.....FEED. YOU.....WILL.....FEED.....ME!’

Aisha grimaced at the thing, while Iblis felt a momentary pity for the monstrous thing one of her brethren had become over a millennium of isolation and brooding over the Emblem War’s humiliations. Another attack from the monster’s silk, but this time it was several small strands that might have entangled those caught. The two avoided them, and one that almost caught Aisha was burned into ash by Iblis’s fire. The monster let out a slobbering roar and scuttled towards them.

Aisha skittered back as its front legs stabbed at the ground, sending billowing clouds of sand into the air. Iblis also had to dart left and right to avoid the weaving strands of silk that poured from the thing’s behind. It weaved through the air, attaching to any surface and becoming a taut wire that could cut flesh with a touch. Iblis easily weaved around these tripwires and sliced through several of them, creating holes for her companion to slip through. The monstrous beast gave a roar of rage as its pray danced out of reach.

‘FOOD! I....MUST.....FEED! EAT! CONSUME! DESTROY! DEVOUR!’

Iblis’s face momentarily registered pity. ‘Soon, lost and mad sibling, you shall know death’s sweet kiss.’ then to Aisha. ‘Are you ready to deliver it succour?’

Aisha’s answer was to brandish her blade, then ready for a killing blow. The monster had scuttled round to stare at her, its eyes almost shining in the residual sunlight. Iblis understood. She would draw it in for the killing blow. Iblis swooped in to taunt the monster, flicking her flaming missiles past its face to taunt it.

‘Well? Why do you wait? We are here. Feed on us.’

The thing’s mandible’s twitched. ‘FEED! I MUST FEED!’

It charged, its legs scouring deep gouges in the rock and throwing up sand as it slid down and clattered towards them. Aisha readied her blade as it rushed towards her, its mandibles snapping, its jaws flailing. Finally, it pounced. But instead of landing on top of its prey, it sailed over it. Aisha dove underneath, then righted herself into a crouching position and slashed upwards. The edge of her sword cut through the weakened seam of the chitinous armour.

The monster let out a pained scream as it crashed into the narrow space like a carpet rolled oblong driven through a door. Its back cracked as it rolled and drove itself into the narrow crevasse between two pillars, and its foul-smelling innards began pouring out. Aisha’s and Iblis’s eyes met, and Iblis sent her remaining missiles into the flailing creature. After a moment of flames and screaming, the monster lay still, its tormented life snuffed out. The two looked at its burning corpse for some moments, then Aisha flicked the slime from her blade and sheathed it.

‘Friend of yours?’

Aisha shook her head. ‘No. But I sensed its origins. A jinni from the Emblem War. Imprisoned in this place in that form as a perverted punishment, and driven to insanity by regret and pain.’

‘Then I’m glad we could free it?’ Aisha was uncertain how to sound, and looked at her jinni companion. ‘Would you rather move on from here? I wouldn’t be the first time we’ve had to walk at night.’

‘No. We can remain here. This thing is no longer a jinni. It is merely a monster that we put out of its misery. Besides, it will soon be gone. Look.’

Aisha looked. Before their eyes, the monstrous creature was turning to dust and disintegrating. Its form was lost into a flow of sand, shimmering in the dying daylight. Soon, all that was left was a mound of sand, which itself was being blown flat by the gentle breeze. Iblis nodded.

‘It is best. Best for us all. Come, we should rest.’

That night, both were quiet. The fight had drained Iblis of her spark and Aisha of her strength. They contemplated their camp fire, maintained by Iblis’s energies, until the stars shone overhead. There was no moon visible, causing the nearby glories of the Island Ship to be lost in the gloom. Even the luscious surfaces of that great folly could not shimmer in the modest brilliance of starlight.

Soon the only clear light was the fire, and as the time for sleep advanced, Aisha wrapped herself in her cloak. Before lying on the ground, she took off her ring and gave it to the waiting Iblis. With a final smile, she closed her eyes and was soon in a deep sleep. The warmth of the rock and Iblis’s flame kept away the night chill, and Iblis herself remained awake and alert.

As she patrolled the area, she looked down at the ring resting in her hand. If she wanted, she could fly away and leave her charge now. Without the ring, Iblis could not be commanded. But that was not their agreement. Aisha did this as a sign of trust. She trusted Iblis to stay by her side as long as was needed. When she as safe as she could be from her father’s pursuit and retribution, Iblis could depart as a free jinni. Iblis still did not trust her entirely. She could easily revoke their deal and Iblis would be powerless to prevent it. But she had yet to make a single command, or even use her wish for anything.

One person, one wish. One riddle, one answer. That was the rule of the jinn. While they could be commanded any number of times, they were only allowed one wish. A command was limited in power, but a wish could alter the fabric of reality. It needed to; some wishes were so terrible that they could have crippled reality had it not been bent by its jinni to accommodate it. Aisha could have commanded Iblis to protect her for her lifetime, or wished herself free forever from his pursuit. But Aisha had neither wished nor commanded. Iblis’s power was being gifted. It was almost idiotic, farcical even, that a jinni would behave in this way.

What had her old master told her? She was the most cynical and utterly pessimistic being he had ever met in his life. What would he say now if he could see her now? Guarding a human who had not commanded or wished, not used or abused her power beyond their initial connection when she grabbed the ring and felt its power. All those years sleeping in that tacky band of metal, all but deaf and blind to the outside world, had ended with a young girl’s thoughtless action. A desperate grab as a treasury guard came upon her. She remembered glancing at the inscription beneath the ring’s plinth after knocking the guard away.

Here lies the ring of the jinni. Do not touch, lest it take your soul.

Flowery and interesting, but utter garbage. Not that she would say so. The myth of a curse was more effective than a curse itself. And did less harm. She smiled, thinking in amused contemplation of all the jinn who would have loved a true curse placed upon their prisons, that any human touching them would feel their sting. She had seen too much bloodshed in her time to wish for more. And humans could not help who or what they were. They always lusted for what they did not have. As jinn did. It was what made them the Mother’s favoured children.

The night wore on, and Iblis continued watching. No form was seen on the sands, and Aisha continued to sleep soundly. She fingered the ring she now kept safe, her ring, her bond to this world. If it were gone, she might be able to escape into her Mother’s embrace once again, as many other jinn had done. She longed for that soft light, the humming of eternal music, the safety of that plain where none but the jinn could find shelter, a place of flame and wind where they were unbound and free. Just as they had been in the beginning.

But that was not to be. She was here, now, tied to this human. Or at least, travelling with her. She could not truly claim that they were tied as previous masters had tied her. She held the key to her freedom. She could just abandon her. And Aisha knew it full well. She accepted it, placed her faith and trust in a jinni’s judgement and heart. That was why Iblis stayed. A prankster and cheater and fighter, all these things she was. But she was not a turncoat or a liar. She would stay as long as was needed, until Aisha told her otherwise.

After an age and in no time at all, the first light of dawn appeared, the Mother’s rays gently caressing the wasted land. Iblis sailed up to the top of one of the stone pillars and watched the sun’s rise. She smiled. A truer sight she had never seen. None could taint this pure expression of the Mother’s love. Not clouds, not the Island Ships, not the sand beneath nor the hubristic cities of humanity. This beautiful orb, rising through the firmament to light and warm the world, was a truth none could corrupt, that none could defile. At least, none now.

Her skin crawled at the memory. The legends of Ala-Ud-Din seeking to touch the Mother, and the Month of Endless Eclipse. That had paved the way for the unrest, for the Emblem War, for the wasting of the land. It was a legend little told. Who would wish to remember a hero of legends as a tyrant who sought to touch the very fabric of the world for their own aims. Truly humans reached too high and fell. But in falling, they caught a ripple of creation’s fabric, and brought it crashing down about them in a bonfire of war and destruction.

The land may yet recover, Iblis thought as she watched the sun disk’s advent, but not now. Not for some little time to come. And that is all beyond my ken.

Sensing her mistress’s awakening, she sailed down to be near her. Aisha had slept deep, untroubled by bad dreams or further night terrors. She got up, stretched, yawned wide and deep. As she rubbed her eyes, Iblis floated up to her and held out the ring.

‘You will want this back.’

‘Oh. Thanks.’

Aisha took the ring and slipped it onto her finger. At once Iblis felt its bond strengthen, the yoke of her Emblem’s enthralment weighing upon her like a lodestone on the back of a prisoner. Aisha seemed to see this and frowned.

‘Would you rather carry it?’

Iblis frowned. ‘You do understand what it is to be mistress of a jinn, do you not? You do not offer them freedom so openly or compassionately.’

‘I’m not your mistress. That’s what you call me. Besides, I don’t like seeing you in pain.’

‘No. I suppose you do not. Shall we leave? I have cast my senses wide, and it seems your father’s minions are but twenty miles distant. If we hurry, we shall be free of their direct pursuit for at least another day.’

‘How far away was the next town again?’

‘Ten days. We could take another route and risk discovery, which would cut our journey down to a mere three days.’

‘Should we take it?’

‘Perhaps so. We can hold our own if ambushed. Shall we?’

‘Yes.’

‘Very well, Aisha ibn Abdulla ibn–’

‘Iblis, couldn’t you just call me “Aisha”? It’d be easier on both of us.’

Iblis thought for a while, then smiled. ‘It would indeed. Then shall we take this shorter route, Aisha?’

‘Yeah. Let’s. Come on.’

With a smile, Aisha pulled her cloak and hood about her, and strode off into the sun. Lingering for a moment, glancing at the pile of sand which had been her monstrous brethren, Iblis nodded to herself. Yes, this was a very different mistress indeed. Almost too different. It would be worth staying just to see how she faced this cruel world. With a last glance at the pile of sand, Iblis floated after Aisha, leaving the rocky outcrops alone once again in the vast desert.

Short story - Ranger and the Lady; Part 2

If you want to know what happened last time, read "Part 1" of this narrative. We rejoin the narrative as Ranger and the Lady begin investigating a mysterious castle.

Finding out about Castle Vytautas was easier said than done. The Cluj division’s archives held nothing on the name aside from its ancient dynastic connections with the Duchy of Lithuania. They finally had to go to the local State Archives, and after badgering their way through about ten Soviet officials, they reached some old information about “Castle Vytautas”, buried deep in a musty corner of the Archives.

Castle Vytautas was a half-ruined grand house which belonged to a collateral branch of the Vytautas line; while one branch would birth the man known as Vytautas the Great, another branch established Castle Vytautas under the noble title of Golescu, reigning over the region of Malamures in which the Rodna Mountains were nested. Ranger breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that their quarry lay nowhere near either Wallachia or Transylvania. No train lines ran into the Rodna Mountains themselves, so the two caught multiple trains to the nearest station, enduring several hours of uncomfortable travelling.

When they arrived, it was nearly night, and they had to stay in a local hostelry. While the Lady barely managed to sleep due to a lumpy mattress and fleas, Ranger slept like a child. The next morning, they found a local shop which still stocked cars for hire. They were ancient, over twenty years old, with the fuel consumption of a leaking plane, but it would do. The man hiring out asked an extortionate price for a week’s use, which the Lady provided with barely a murmur and much to the shock of both ranger and the car’s owner. Ranger was sure the price was many times the worth of the car.

They were guided on their journey by the owner of the hostel, who while initially unwilling did eventually tell them that a nearby valley held all that remained the Castle Vytautas. According to him, it was only a single tower with a few walls and half-overgrown foundations, left to rot away long before the abdication of King Michael and the formation of the country’s Socialist Republic two years ago. They also learned that the castle’s Golescu line had died out in the mid-1400s when all male heirs died during the Ottoman incursions.

‘Sounds familiar.’ said the Lady.

‘Guess so.’ said Ranger.

The man struggled not to remember that famous fictional Nightwalker created by a certain Victorian journalist and theatre manager. The Lady also struggled not to mention it, and had to bite her lip to suppress her smile.

The road they travelled was bumpy, but the surrounding scenery – untamed woodland and fields kept trim by herds of goats – did something to relieve the discomfort of a car with very primitive suspension. They went uphill for some miles, they came to the head of a valley cast into shadow by the surrounding hills. Ranger and the Lady looked into its depths, and as the morning sun crept into the sky and truncated the shadows, they saw the slender tip of a tower. Its one adornment was a severely weathered Christian cross.

‘So that’s Castle Vytautas.’ the Lady sounded unimpressed.

‘Yeah. What’d you expect from a ruin?’

‘Who’d make their home in a place like this?’

‘Someone who doesn’t want to be found. Say, a Nightwalker? Come on, we should get down there. If we’re caught in that valley after dark, we’ll be in serious trouble.’

‘Speaking from experience?’

‘Yeah. Something like that. There’s a track over there.’

The Lady looked. The “track” looked like little more than a path worn by the local goats. Her look said everything.

‘If we walk,’ said Ranger. ‘We’ll never make it before nightfall. And since I’m at the wheel, you’ll just have to lump it.’

The Lady lumped it. In fact, she lumped it for several miles before a final jolt and clunk signalled the car’s rebellion. It phutted to a stop after a nasty grating sound and the snapping of something metal, and it was only the Lady’s swift use of the handbrake which stopped them slipping down a steep section of the track into the valley. Ranger looked at the Lady with a grin.

‘Oh well. Fancy a walk?’

A sound clap on the back of the head was her reply. Jumping from the car, the two made their way down the track and found a well-worn path leading deeper into the valley. Towards Castle Vytautas.

When they arrived, the castle was even more of a ruin than they had imagined from the hostel owner’s description. The foundations were barely visible beneath years of overgrowth, the surviving walls were half-rotted and encrusted with lichen and moss, and the surviving tower was covered with a thick coat of ivy that Ranger speculated was helping hold the structure up.

‘Quite a place.’ said the Lady. ‘Must be very crowded during visiting time. How do they manage catering?’

‘Probably get in lots of black pudding. Hold the oatmeal, fat and suet.’

‘Charming thought. So where would our killer be hiding?’

‘At this hour? Up at the top. Where there’s greatest safely and least light.’

‘Right. Why don’t you go up there, and I’ll wait down here. Flush it down, and I’ll pin it down. We can interrogate it.’

‘Yeah. Thought you’d say that.’

‘Then why are you still down here? Go on.’

She might have been sending away a servant on an errant. Grumbling under his breath, Ranger began climbing the outside of the tower. The ivy gave him perfect grip, and his heightened strength and senses allowed him to scale the structure without fear of mishap. The Lady watched him climb with admiration. His Sunwalker heritage was clear to see, and it impressed her. She didn’t like them as a rule, but this one was a clear exception.

As he reached the top of the tower, the Lady reached into her jacket and pulled out her weapon. It was a special type of Luger salvaged from an armoury belonging to the Europäisch Geheime Polizei predecessor the SS’s Geist Gegenschlag division. It was modified to fire iron bullets, which to her usual prey was like firing bullets of lava. She watched as Ranger’s figure disappeared through one of the windows at the top of the tower, covered by shutters of rotted wood.

A second after the initial splintering of wood, there was an inhuman shriek from inside and a crash. Then the Lady heard a heavy object falling from the top of the tower, landing with a crash which made her wince. There was a splintering of wood, and the monstrous Nightwalker burst from the door leading into the tower, giving a horrific roar of agony as it passed through a beam of sunlight. The Lady was thrown back as it slunk into the shadow of the tower and crouched like a wild cat disturbed by a rival.

For a moment, the Lady caught sight of a humanoid form made thin by fasting, leathery skin stretching over a skin-and-bone physique, a head too large for the rail-thin neck which supported it, and fangs so large that the beast couldn’t close its mouth properly. It crouched down and the Lady aimed her weapon, but then a dark shape rushed from her left and pinned the monster down. It was Ranger, and as she watched his mouth widened, a barb extended from his tongue, and he bit deep into the Nightwalker’s neck.

There was the sickening sound of sucking, like a pump draining the last dregs of liquid from some ancient cistern. The monster rasped in agony as its precious lifeblood was drained, its struggles weakening as Ranger fed. After a minute, Ranger broke away, wiping his mouth with a grimace. The thing tried to get up, but as its captors watched its limbs shrivelled even further and it collapsed like a giant crab out of water. Before Ranger said anything, the Lady stepped forward, aimed her gun, and shot the monster in the head. It was over.

‘What a pathetic creature.’ said Ranger. ‘It’s been fasting for months.’

‘Fasting? Or starving?’

‘Both? Let’s look in the tower.’

They did, and quickly found a stash of letters on modern paper. Bringing them into the light, they read through them. The tale they told was not pleasant, and the Lady felt sick at some of the details. Finally Ranger looked at her.

‘We’ll have to tell my Head.’

‘I know.’ she gestured to the corpse. ‘what about that?’

‘This place’ll be in full sunlight soon. By tonight, there’ll be nothing left here but ashes. Let’s leave it.’

A week later, they were back in Regensburg reporting to Ranger’s Head. The story they told shocked him.

It appeared that Ardeleanu had discovered the monster hiding in the Rodna Mountains, half-starved since the locals began using local herbs in their cooking which made their blood poisonous. The ambitious woman had struck a deal with it; she would provide low-level employees as clean meals if Nightwalker incidents stopped in Romania. The arrangement had continued until two weeks before, when the loss of agents was causing gossip. Ardeleanu had decided to cover her actions by framing the Nightwalker as the sole culprit. Her betrayal had left to swift retribution, while the secretary had merely been collateral damage.

The Head pondered the question for several minutes. ‘We can’t let this get out. If it became known that one of our own consorted with a Nightwalker for personal gain... Ranger, I’m sure you understand.’

Ranger nodded. ‘There’s enough prejudice against me already without some kind of witch hunt. What about you, Lady?’

The Lady nodded, though she was clearly unsatisfied with the decision. She took her leave a week later. As she stood on the platform waiting for her train back to Paris, she was surprised to see Ranger come to see her off.

‘Thought I’d let you know.... There’s been a top-level meeting, and the Europäisch Geheime Polizei’s going to be investigated.’

‘Cleaning out their skeletons?’

‘Something like that. They still want the Nachtwanderer Secktion, but I’m not sure what’ll happen to how it’s run.’

‘I think we can assure some kind of continuity on our end. If you want a transfer.’

‘Is that an offer?’

‘It’s a possibility.’

‘What a team we’d make. Ranger and the Lady.’

‘You know, I quite like the sound of that. Of course, it’d probably be cooler if you told me your name.’

The Lady wagged her finger. ‘Nothing doing. And here’s my train. I hope we need again soon. Weidersehen.’

‘Auf bald.’

The train had pulled in. The Lady got into the carriage, closed the door and lowered the window. They exchanged some final words, then the train moved off. They waved until each lost sight of the other. Then as the Lady closed her window and settled down for the journey, Ranger began his walk back to the Regensburg division of the Europäisch Geheime Polizei – Nachtwanderer Secktion.

Short story - Ranger and the Lady; Part 1

‘Ready.... Now!’

Ranger flew forward, his articulated mouth widening his canines thrusting forward to bite into the dummy’s simulated flesh. His old secured, the hollow barb in his tongue shot out and pierced the jugular vein, sucking out the coloured nectar used as blood. The bell rang, and Ranger pulled away. The tiny wound caused by the barb sealed instantly, leaving only a drop of the red-dyed nectar to betray its existence. The overseer stepped from the shadows, a smile on her face.

‘Ten seconds. A new record.’

‘For biting. Not for sucking.’

‘Sorry, but that record must wait. The Head wants you.’

Ranger groaned, but dutifully slipped on his top and walked up the seven flights of stairs from the basement training room to the Head’s office. This “Head”, or more properly “Abteilungsleiter ”, was a gaunt figure whose dark complexion served to reinforce his position as leader of the Regensburg division of the Europäisch Geheime Polizei – Nachtwanderer Secktion. Ranger sat down in one of two chairs placed on the opposite side of the desk to the Head.

‘You sent for me, Sir?’

The Head nodded. ‘We’ve had an alert from our colleagues in Cluj. We’ve had a murder. It’s Nightwalker related.’

Ranger scowled. ‘Nachtwanderer Schweinhunde. What’s their deal this time?’

‘More territory. More food. More everything. They’re still not content with the way of things.’

‘Why call us in? It’s Cluj’s problem. Let them sort it out.’

‘That’s not an option. Their Abteilungsleiter was the victim.’

This made Ranger sit up and take notice. ‘Their Head’s dead?’

The Head tried not to groan. He didn’t like Ranger’s blunt and informal way of putting things.

‘According to the report, “dead” is a mild understatement. Her body was ripped limb from limb, her torso disembowelled with extreme prejudice, and her head was thrown through the wall into the next room. Gave her secretary quite a shock.’

‘How do we know it’s a Nightwalker?’

‘The secretary. He ran inside to see what was happening and saw the attacker silhouetted against the window. He swore that it was a Nightwalker, in a highly advanced stage of....change.’

‘A Strigoi?’

‘Possibly.’

‘And why send me? Why not Klauser or Sigsun? They’re free. I’m still in training, as you’ve reminded me when I tried requesting missions.’

‘You’re the best we’ve got.’

‘I haven’t even passed my exams yet.’

‘Aren’t you committed to following rather than questioning orders?’

‘I feel justified in questioning unusual orders.’

‘Need I remind you that you were transferred here from Berlin for insubordination, and that if you weren’t the best trainee Nachtwanderer Secktion’s ever seen, you’d be out on your ear and in the hands of the authorities? Or have you already forgotten who you once worked for... Vernichtungslager Aufseher?’

Ranger squirmed in his chair. He never liked reminding that he had once been a part – however unwilling – of the worst war crime in Earth’s history. He swallowed his questions and became the dutiful servant.

‘You won’t be going alone.’ said the Head. ‘We’ll be sending someone with you. It wasn’t only the Cluj Head – a woman called Ardeleanu – who had died. Before leaving, the attacker wounded the secretary. He died just yesterday, shortly after the initial message was sent.’

‘Whose this person coming with me?’

‘A human. Quite a character from London. She’s been the top operative of that country’s Nachtwanderer Secktion for three years.’

‘Her name?’

‘I’m sure she’ll tell you herself.’

The Head pressed a buzzer on his desk, and a young woman came in. Ranger looked her up and down. In her late twenties, wearing a strange fusion of men’s and women’s clothing, hair that hung down in defiance of post-war fashion, she immediately appealed to Ranger’s jaded tastes. The woman bowed theatrically, and spoke to the two men with a smile.

‘Lady Isabella Harker-Morris, at your service.’

Introductions were made, and the mission briefing was given. They were to travel to Cluj by train from Regensburg. This, as Ranger knew, would entail a change at Munich and an uncomfortably long journey across Austria and Hungary before another set of changes out from Bucharest. The journey was as long and tedious as he expected, but to his surprise his new companion remained in high spirits. During much of their time together, she played with a length of twine, making shapes between her fingers. Ranger couldn’t help but smile at her antics, and the easy way she talked with virtually everyone she met.

During one particularly uncomfortable part of the journey, where they were bumping along “temporary” tracks laid during the final years of the War, Ranger decided to engage his companion in conversation. ‘Are you really called Harker-Morris? Rather an odd name, isn’t it?’

The woman looked sheepish for a moment, then grinned. ‘Nope. It’s not. I just use it for my professional life. It’s good to have pseudonyms. What about yours?’

‘Call me “Ranger”.’

‘That’s not a name. That’s a title.’

‘Then we’ll both have them. I’ll call you “Lady”. Suit you?’

‘Lady...’ the woman considered long and hard. ‘Well....Alright. But only with you. To everyone else, I’m Harker-Morris.’

‘It’s a deal.’

Upon arrival in Romania’s fourth largest city, it was a long walk from the train station to the decidedly castellated headquarters of Europäisch Geheime Polizei’s Cluj division. The interior was dull and bland, much like Ranger’s memories of the place from his time in the German army three years before. They were shown first to the scene of the crime, where Ardeleanu and her secretary were brutally attacked and killed. Everything was untouched.

As he looked at the splashes of gore where the first murder had taken place, Ranger kept one eye on his companion. To his surprise, she acted like some detective from fiction; she stepped around the room on tiptoe with a peering expression, then threw herself flat upon the floor to examine some part of the rich carpet, before bounding up again and darting to each of the corners before stopping dead still to view a particular angle for upwards of a minute.

Finally she spoke. ‘The killer came in through the window. Ardeleanu was taken completely by surprise. She was hoisted from her chair and thrown over the desk, then the assailant swooped down on her and killed her. His...unusual use of her head as a rugby ball attracted her secretary, who came in through the broken door. It’s clear that the assailant was in the midst of departing when the secretary arrived, but for some reason they didn’t do to him what was done to his Head.’

‘A warning.’

‘Hmm?’

Ranger picked up the blotting pad on the desk. There was a slight spray of red from its owner’s death, but the mirrored writing was otherwise legible. The Lady came over and studied it in the small mirror Ranger produced.

‘Look at this. It’s a report to Europäisch Geheime Polizei headquarters in Berlin. Let’s see. “Two agents lost in the Rodna Mountains....” then there’s “...alert headquarters and... Castle Vytautas–”. It’s cut off there. Guess that’s when she got her last visitor.’

‘Isn’t that going a little far?’

‘You obviously know the name. Castle Vytautas. You’ve heard the title if not the full name. I saw it in your face.’

The Lady frowned. ‘Alright. Yes. We’ve had trouble there for some time. This region of Europe’s always been a stronghold for Nightwalkers, ever since the nearly 300s. We’ve been doing our best to keep numbers down, or failing that keep them contained. If they started spreading–’

‘Looks like we’ve got an excuse to go there.’

‘Eh?! You’re not serious?’

‘You expect us to go back without doing anything? That’s insane.’

‘You’re the one that’s insane, wanting to chase after Nightwalkers.’

‘Hey, I’m not afraid.’

‘But you’re human.’

As answer, Ranger extended his four fangs and barbed tongue, showing his true heritage. His gaze momentarily darkened, as if rain clouds were passing behind his eyeballs, then he was normal once again. His widened mouth snapped back into a normal shape, and his eyes became bright once more. The Lady looked at him for some moments, then smiled.

‘I see. That explains what your Head said to me about “being prepared for unexpected developments” when he acknowledged our telegram. Guess he didn’t want me getting startled by one of his operatives being a Sunwalker.’

Ranger’s smirk was harsh. ‘Yeah. It’s what my comrades called me. Sonnewanderer. Someone whose abandoned the dark and chosen a life among humanity. There’s more than some might think.’

‘I know. I’ve worked with some of your kind. And killed a few too.’

‘Some don’t make the transition well. They’re still Nightwalkers at heart.’

‘And you’re not?’

‘We all are. So what next? Go home and report?’

The Lady smirked in return. ‘No. I think we’ll go to the Rodna Mountains and catch ourselves a killer. At least once we’ve found out what we can about Castle Vytautas.’

Come read part two of this narrative here!