Vampire Hunter D Volume 22 Page 2

“Hold it right there. Neither you nor I can do anything of the sort.”

  “We’ve never tried. How about it?”

  “I’ll pass. For the time being, anyway.”

  The blueness over the rustic route deepened as the gorgeous silhouette rode down it—and the pair’s conversation died out.

  Presently, the cyborg horse came to the busiest part of the village.

  “As I recall, they’re supposed to make a kind of salsa booze in this village. Let’s go have a drink,” the hoarse voice suggested.

  “Resist the urge.”

  “No can do! Let me drink some of that salsa booze. I could down twenty or thirty gallons of the stuff. I’ll take on all comers!” The hoarse voice became an angry shout that seemed likely to reach the edge of the village and beyond. “I’ll pay ten thousand dalas to any man that can outdrink me. Lose, and you won’t owe me any money. But the offer’s only open to men with wives, or those with daughters over seventeen!”

  D was just about to lash his steed with the reins when the doors to the saloon on his right opened and figures bundled in heavy overcoats streamed out, blocking the cyborg horse from going any farther.

  “I’ll take you up on that!”

  “Me, too!”

  “No, I’m first!”

  It was as plain as the noses on their ruddy faces that all these farmers were already well into their cups. They ranged from those who looked to still be in their teens all the way up to a hunched-over bald man who had to be over a hundred.

  “Okay, my friend, step into the saloon,” one of them said. “We’re glad to have you.”

  “Very well. I’m only too glad to accept your challenges,” said the hoarse voice.

  “Kinda a husky voice you’ve got there—but you’ve got nerve, and I like that! The village graveyard has a corner where they bury everyone who drinks himself to death.”

  –

  It was about twenty minutes later that Lilia, having collected her cyborg horse, galloped up to the saloon.

  “What’s going on here?”

  A number of the villagers were stacked in a mound in front of the bat-wing doors. As Lilia furrowed her brow, another one tottered through the doors and took his place at the top of the pile before her very eyes.

  “What is this?”

  She was sure something was wrong. Swiftly dismounting, she went over to the man who’d just collapsed, and then she heard laughter from inside the saloon. It was hoarse.

  “It’s him!” she said.

  Spinning on her toe, Lilia pushed her way through the swinging doors. Though she’d smelled it from outside the saloon, the fierce stink of alcohol now assailed her nose. That alone would’ve been enough to leave a child with alcohol poisoning. The saloon could hold perhaps thirty people total. But it looked as if twice that number were crowded in front of the tiny counter.

  Nudging some of the farmers who lay strewn across the floor with the tip of her boot, she said, “What’s with these guys?” Kicking one of them in the side to roll him over, Lilia grabbed four of the villagers who were crowded around the counter by the scruff of the neck, jerking them out of the way before pressing forward.

  “Okay, pretty boy, now it’s time for you to throw down with yours truly!” said a giant of a man seated on one of the center stools, his right hand lifting a whiskey glass.

  The figure to his left said, “You country bumpkins and your big talk!” The caustic remark came from a hoarse-voiced D. “You think because you’re one of the hardest-drinking fellas in the godforsaken sticks of the Frontier you can beat me? Dream on!”

  His left hand indicated the men on the floor. The motion was jerky, as if somewhat forced.

  The giant was easily angered. “Now you’ve gone and said it! Hey, Bob! This glass takes too damned long. Bring us some beer mugs!”

  A cheer went up. The villagers must’ve been expecting big things from their local hero.

  The mugs were set up in front of them. They were filled to the brim with salsa booze—a kind of alcohol that was said to be ten times as potent as absinthe. Both raised their mugs. The rule was that they’d drain them simultaneously.

  “Well, prost!”

  The man’s mug tilted, and its contents swiftly began to disappear. The giant’s Adam’s apple bobbed frantically. “Whew!” he roared, and he was just about to set his mug down when a din erupted, more gasps than cheers. D had already set his empty mug down.

  “Pretty boy here—” The giant stopped, somewhat tongue-tied. “Hey, let’s have another round, Bob!”

  “Sorry, Baska, we’re all out.”

  “Whaaaat?”

  “Think about it: We’ve emptied five kegs in twenty minutes’ time. But what worries me more than how I’m gonna open for business tomorrow is these guys lying all over the place.”

  “Okay,” the giant said, clambering off the stool. Raising both hands and taking a boxing stance, he said, “We’ll settle it with these, pretty boy. A man’s gotta prove himself with his fists, not his cups.”

  III

  “Sure,” the hoarse voice replied magnanimously. And then it hiccupped.

  “Are you drunk? Your face is paler than a damned moon gourd. The god of alcohol can’t help you now. I’ll send you to the ground with just one shot to the gut. Anyway, your voice don’t match your face at all, mister.”

  “True enough.”

  “Oh, he speaks!”

  The giant’s eyes went wide, but he rolled up his sleeves. The pose he took looked like something he’d taught himself.

  “What’s with that goofy fighting stance? You really are a bumpkin, aren’t you—ouuuuf!”

  D’s left hand squeezed into a fist, crushing out the insult, but that didn’t stem the giant’s anger. Hauling back with his right hand, he bellowed, “You son of a bitch!”

  His fist arced out, plowing through the air.

  “Huh?” he cried in astonishment after the punch that should’ve caught D right in the ear met only empty space. He was about to spin completely around, but he stopped himself halfway and returned to his stance. That was actually rather remarkable—his whole body was like a spring. And then the man let out another cry of surprise. By the time he’d resumed his stance, D was standing right in front of him. Dark eyes of impossible depth reflected the giant’s ruddy face. Their depth probably frightened the man.

  Usually, the giant would get in a few shots in rapid succession while drawing his opponent in for a hook and then a body blow—but he forgot all about his winning combination and just took a swing. Still, the man couldn’t find a hole in his opponent’s defenses, which would’ve been easy if he’d been up against an ordinary human.

  A hard slap reverberated. The man’s fist had stopped in midair. D’s left hand was wrapped around it.

  Cries of surprise rang out in the room. They only whipped the giant into a frenzy. Letting out an unintelligible cry, he struck to the left. Before his blow could connect, the giant was sailing through the air. Easily flying over the heads of the oohing patrons, he landed at the other end of the room, right in front of a door that led to the back. The saloon quaked.

  “Not bad at all,” Lilia said, her eyes agleam. “Slammed him headfirst, eh? He won’t be—” Her amused tone broke off there. “Apparently he will be okay after that.”

  Rubbing a neck as thick as a log, the giant used his other hand to lift his upper body from the floor. The way D had thrown him, it wouldn’t have been surprising if his neck had been broken. He was like toughness in a pair of pants. Giving just one shake of his head, the giant used his hand to easily lift himself from the floor. And the bumpkin wasn’t even shaking when he resumed his stance.

  “Caught me off-guard. Shouldn’t underestimate you just ’cause you’re a pretty boy. Okay, time for the real deal.” His drunkenness must’ve left him completely, because his face had a look of what some might term integrity as it twitched with murderous intent.

  “Oh, he means business,” Lilia said, a darin
g smile skimming across her lips. She was starting to enjoy this.

  The floor creaked. The giant had gone into motion. His unbelievably light footwork put looks of amazement into the eyes of the villagers that testified they’d never seen it before. He’d never had a need to show anyone until now.

  “Have at you!”

  Leaving only his words behind him, the giant glided to the right.

  Lilia’s eyes bulged in their sockets. The deadly battle resumed. And this time, it was for real. It wouldn’t stop until blood had been spilled.

  Just then, from the door to the back room a voice called out, “That’ll be all for now, Baska. We’ve got an urgent patient!”

  It was a cultured female voice. Everyone turned to look, and the giant—Baska—grimaced with regret.

  Standing in the doorway was a middle-aged woman in a long white coat. The face framed by her graying hair was surprisingly youthful and brimming with rationality. A decade earlier, she wouldn’t have been able to go anywhere without turning the head of every man.

  “Mr. Shova’s boy has a stomachache. The symptoms sound like appendicitis. Go get the wagon ready.”

  She sounded like a boss giving orders to an employee.

  Baska turned and said, “Hey, Doc, hate to tell you this, but I ain’t your freaking slave. No need to be talking to me like that in front of all these folks.”

  “And you can make all the bones you like about that after you’ve paid me back that five thousand dalas. Just how is it that a man whose gambling drove off his wife and kids, a man who had mobsters going after him for the money he borrowed, is living safe and sound now?”

  That one icy blow showed just how sharp she was.

  Quaking from head to toe, Baska fell silent. He was like an active volcano given human form. His anger bubbled like lava.

  “Sooner or later, he’s going to explode,” Lilia said, shrugging her shoulders.

  “Hurry up!” the woman he’d called “Doc” ordered, walking out into the room. The villagers in front of her cleared a path.

  Clucking his tongue, the indignant Baska left.

  Right in front of the doctor was the dwindling back of a figure in black. As D walked toward the bat-wing doors, the doctor called out to him, “Just a moment, please.” Realizing he wasn’t going to stop, she increased the length of her strides and went after him. “Won’t you hear me out? I’m Vera. I’m the village doctor,” she told him. “You have such good looks—could it be you’re the man they call D?”

  D pushed against the doors. A heavily wrinkled hand grabbed his shoulder.

  “If you are, listen to what I have to say. I was hired by the Sacred Ancestor to do a certain job.”

  D turned around fluidly.

  Vera was frozen—partly due to astonishment at his speed, but the rapture on her face said the real reason was something else. D was right there in front of her.

  “What was it?” the dashing figure in black inquired. That alone seemed like it would suffice to make even the most tight-lipped person tell all. And no one would’ve blamed them. The young man was that gorgeous.

  “What was . . .” Vera began, repeating him as if suffering from some sort of dementia.

  At that point, they heard someone say, “Don’t tell him.”

  A split second after D stepped to one side, the swinging doors opened. It was one of the men the Hunter had met with in the mayor’s office—Director Marquis.

  “What are you . . .” Vera began, the bewilderment showing in every inch of her as she gazed at the face of the tall, thin old man.

  “You mustn’t tell him. I came out here looking to somehow keep him from leaving, and now I’ve found my ace in the hole. D, if you want to hear what the doctor has to say, I need you to agree to go up the mountain.”

  Now it was Dr. Vera who was at her wits’ end.

  “No matter how handsome you may be, that won’t work on Vera. It may be three years since I last saw her, but that doesn’t change the fact she’s my daughter,” the old man said boastfully, but then a hint of anxiety suddenly crept into his expression. It spread across his entire face in the blink of an eye.

  Taking his eyes off his daughter, the director looked at D. He then hurriedly tried to look away—but it was too late. In a heartbeat, both father and daughter were captives of his beauty.

  “What was it?” D asked once more.

  “It was . . .” Vera began.

  Something whistled through the air. It looked as if it went in through one of D’s temples, out the other, then ripped right through the bat-wing doors.

  “Don’t tell him!” Lilia cried, her left hand still poised from throwing the dart as her right hand reached for the sword on her back. “If he won’t agree to go into the mountains, that leaves me in a bind. Because I was hired on condition of getting him to go along with me. So, that being the case, I’m in your corner.”

  “That’s how it is, then,” Director Marquis said, shaking his head. It was like waking from a dream. Or from a nightmare of unearthly beauty. “How about it, D? We don’t have to stand around here jabbering. Would you care to discuss this in the private room in the back? Lilia and Vera, you two come along, too.”

  “Sorry, but I have an urgent patient to tend to,” said Vera.

  “It’ll have to wait. This is the top priority. You can’t be a widow playing country doctor for the rest of your life. I’ll bring you back to the Capital with me.”

  “Another ace in the hole.” The doctor shrugged her shoulders. Lowering her voice, she continued, “I’m sick and tired of living out in the sticks, tending to a bunch of filthy farmers. Take me with you. But not right now.” Glancing at the bat-wing doors, she said, “Baska’s back. See you later, Dad.”

  And with that she left, shaking her head from side to side.

  The old archaeologist kept his eyes diverted from the Hunter as he asked, “Okay, D—what’s it going to be?” Though he spoke rather triumphantly, he couldn’t imagine what the future would hold.

  Assorted Traveling Companions

  chapter 2

  I

  You need to tell me what the cargo was,” said D.

  “That again? I’ll say no more about it. You’ll have to be content with my daughter’s secret.”

  Something glittered and zipped in front of the director’s eyes. He shut his arrogant mouth. All the old man’s achievements as a scholar, his fairly good points as a person, and even his position in the Capital burned away like mist before that pale blade. Not that the man hadn’t been through tough situations before. Excavations always involved problems with landowners and villagers, and the thugs they hired could be set off with a single boast, so he’d actually engaged in gunfights with pistol in hand. He also considered himself to have a good deal of nerve. But now all of that bravado came crashing down, just like the glory of the Nobility. The blade in the old man’s field of view wasn’t the same sort of weapon that he’d wielded in those battles. Even Lilia, his professed ally, couldn’t so much as move a muscle.

  “Answer me,” D said.

  Marquis didn’t think he’d be able to reply. His fear was so great, it choked his throat. Yet from it issued the words: “A coffin.” And they came the instant he heard D’s voice.

  “A coffin?” D asked, taking a step forward. Though he could no longer see the blade, the director moved too. The unlikely pair crossed the barroom and stepped out onto the planks of the wooden sidewalk. Walking down to the end of the building, they turned to the left. Just before the Hunter did so, he said, “Stay out of this.”

  That one icy remark made Lilia, who’d finally started after him, halt in her tracks. “Don’t be such a spoilsport, D.” There was something coquettish about her tone. “The fact is, I’m plenty curious about the cargo myself. You might’ve been called to this village, but I came here after hearing rumors about what that plane was carrying. See, this is the only route up the mountain.”

  “What sort of rumors?”

 
; “Let me join up and I’ll tell you.”

  “If they’ve hired you, we’ll find out sooner or later, I reckon.”

  The sudden hoarseness of D’s voice made Lilia’s eyes widen. They shifted strangely to D’s left hand.

  “You—you can talk out of your left hand?”

  “Heh heh heh, so the jig is up?”

  “You make that voice on purpose? I think you need a third party’s opinion on the matter. It’s crude, and it sounds like some country bumpkin—just the worst!”

  “My sentiments exactly,” said D.

  “Excuse me?” said the hoarse voice, but since both came from D, Lilia’s eyes bugged again.

  “The mayor and the director of whatever-it-was say you’ll see what the cargo is as soon as you reach the aircraft,” said the woman. “That’s kind of obvious, isn’t it? But I want to know now.”

  “You’d be betraying your employer,” D told her.

  “No problem. This clown’s half-unconscious. He won’t even remember I was here—”

  Suddenly the girl tore open the right side of her combat vest.

  “My goodness!” the hoarse voice remarked with admiration at the full breast that glistened in the moonlight.

  “—but if he does remember anything, this’ll throw him off track.”

  “Whose coffin is it?” D asked. He sounded as if he’d completely forgotten Lilia was there.

  “Duke Gilzen’s.”

  The director’s reply drew a gasp. Lilia’s eyes were drawn to D’s left hand. From it, a groan of a voice had croaked Duke Gilzen’s name. “This is too dangerous. What do you say to passing on this one? Did I hear you right, mister? What you say and what you do are completely at odds!”

  This time there was no reply.

  As if there’d been no place for Lilia here from the very start, D and Director Marquis continued talking.

  “The coffin was unearthed from ancient ruins about two hundred miles north of this village. It was made of stone, and devoid of any Noble title, name, or any other description. That in itself was rare, but then all the defenses around the coffin completely defied common sense.” As if even the memory itself were a curse, Marquis shuddered three times, but D’s blade would brook no silence from him. The director continued. “There was no trace of any of the defenses Nobles set about their coffins. Not only that, but it even had a heavy chain wound five times around it. As if to guard against anyone getting out. That’s all well and good—though no similar cases have been unearthed, if the chains were put there by humans, the reason for their actions is understandable. However, the following had been carved into the coffin’s lid with some sort of blade: The demon Duke Gilzen. Buried in the grave he truly deserves in the manner he has earned by Grand Duke Brubeck and his brave compatriots. This Noble was sealed away by other Nobles. That, too, has precedent. Relations weren’t necessarily cordial between all Nobles. However, the one ironclad rule among the Nobility was broken by those who buried him. No matter how loathsome their sworn enemy might be, Nobles always interred fellow Nobility in a fitting grave. But the grave we found Duke Gilzen in was—”