A
Weekend Break
Alan Early
Marian College, Mohill,
Co. Leitrim
Friday
The skies above
were as grey as the cliffs below. The wind howled endlessly, whistling
through the great building like a child practising the flute. It blew
biting droplets of rain into the ragged, leathery face of the gardener.
He squinted, wrinkling up his face further, against the wet. He wore an
ancient pair of overalls and a tweed jacket that was falling apart. His
head was uncovered, save for the small, chalky tufts of hair behind each
ear. The lump in his back had grown larger and more pronounced over his
years spent weeding and caring. He was totally blind in his left eye,
after an unfortunate accident when he was in his thirties when a stray
rose thorn snapped back at him, scratching the cornea. His name was Godart
and as he snipped the head off a rose, the castle bells tolled morbidly.
Five O' Clock. They'd be here
soon...
Oh! Speak o' the devil.
The drawbridge made a heavy,
dull thud as it hit the ground. Two carriages rolled across it, each led
by an oil-black horse and driven by a well-dressed servant from the Castle.
A young woman in her mid to late twenties accompanied the first driver
up front. As the carriages made their long journey to the main entrance
to the building, Godart set off to find the master...
Lord Sepluchrave sat in the
library breathing in that gorgeous 'book-smell'. He was reading one of
the many books of his grandfather's essays when he heard the familiar,
ungracious thump-thumping of Godart's feet.
Godart saw the master sitting
with his back to him on the high, altar-like reading area of the library.
He climbed the short few steps to the Lord. He didn't flinch or even look
up from his book.
'...Master...'
'What is it, fool?!'
'They're here, Lord
Commodus. What shall I do?'
He paused to think. 'Tell
Peake. Supper in an hour. Send them to their chambers.'
'Yes Lord.' He turned
to leave.
'Oh, and Godart?'
'Yes, Lord?'
'Make them feel at home.'
A man called Peake had led
them to their chambers. He was pale and stick-like. There was no obvious
shape or personality to him. He had brought Troy to his own room and his
parents to an adjacent one. Troy hadn't noticed where the Japanese couple
were led.
The room was just like the
rest of the house. Huge windows that somehow managed to fend off any light.
Ugly, hard furniture. Candles. Lots of candles. A four-poster bed. And,
of course, no TV. Great!
Troy collapsed on the bed,
listening to his parents' delighted glee next door. This was not how he's
expected to spend his summer - travelling around Eastern Europe with Mom
and Pop. And then, they had signed up for 'Gracchusious Adventure'. Some
adventure. A weekend in a leftover set from a Hammer Horror. An hour to
supper. He suddenly realised how hungry he was.
The Banquet Hall was empty
when Troy arrived. He examined the long dinner table, set for nine places,
the portraits of ugly dead Kotchev ancestors and the crumbling stucco
plasterwork above. He heard the guests approaching, led by Angela, the
tour guide.
'....And as you can see, the
building itself is in the gothic style with Roman influences peppered
in. Oh, Troy, you're here already!'
His parents went to
him.
'Oh, Troy, honey, isn't
it magnificant?', his Mom exclaimed in her Wisconsin accent.
'Did you ever see anything
like it, son!', wowed his Dad.
But before he could answer,
they heard someone clearing their throat. The tourists turned. Peake was
standing the opposite side of the table.
'Presenting Lord Commodus,
Countess Kotchev and their son, Titus.'
The Americans and Japanese
didn't know whether to applaud or remain solemn. Angela, however, nodded
and clapped politely.
Commodus was a man in his
late fifties but looked much older. His wife was probably in her sixties
but looked younger. Titus was clearly only a few years older than Troy
yet had a wealth of experience and knowledge in his hazel eyes. The Kotchev
family went to their places at the table; the Lord and Countess at either
end, while Titus sat at the seat to his father's left.
The guests stood for an uncomfortable
moment, not moving. Angela sat at the Lord's right. Troy took the seat
next to Titus, and his father next to Troy. On the opposite side, his
mother sat between the Japanese couple.
Some maids instantly served
dinner. Starters was a soup Troy didn't like and didn't finish. Then the
main course arrived - a pig's head with an apple in his mouth and cooked
tongues and livers surrounding it on the platter. His mother spoke, and
Troy realised that this was the first break of silence since they sat.
'Is that... a pig...?'
'Yes', answered the
Lord.
'And tongues?', asked
the Japanese lady.
'Yes', replied Angela.
'Don't worry!', said
Titus in a loud voice, 'it's offaly good! Geddit? Offal-ly good! Hahaha!!'
'Son...', said his mother
in a warning tone.
'It's only a joke, Mother.'
'Oh my! Where are my
manners!', exclaimed Angela, 'Introductions! Lord Commodus, Countess,
Master Titus, may I introduce to you Mr. and Mrs. Yaksomoto - they're
from Japan.' They nodded. 'And Mr. and Mrs. Wilson from the USA. And their
son, Troy.' They nodded also.
'Troy?' said Titus, 'Like
Helen of...!' He laughed again at his bad joke.
The remainder of the
meal went like this. Very little chit-chat and Titus laughing at his own
jokes.
Back in his chambers, Troy
got ready for bed. He looked out of one of the windows. The black landscape
stretched forever to the right while the oily waters and ragged cilffs
took up the left. He looked down and, to his surprise, saw several animals
moving around, like dogs. Climbing onto statues, trotting behind bushes,
some even fighting. Strange.
He awoke at 3 o'clock by the
sounds of arguing outside in the landing. He only caught snatches of the
velvet of speech.
'No...not now... later...
we can't be sure... later...'
Saturday
The vampire smiled slyly.
He grabbed Troy by his throat with his right hand and tapped the crown
of his head with the left. Knock, knock. Then, he spoke; 'Troy, honey,
are you up?'; in his mother's voice. 'Troy...'
Troy drifted into the space
between sleep and wake. He didn't know who he was, where, or why. Then
it all came to him, like the waves crashing at the cliffs outside. He
opened his eyes.
'Troy. It's me. Are
you awake?'
'Yes, Mom', he called
croakily.
'Good. Angela's bringing
us on a tour of the castle. Hurry up.'
His parents were at the head
of the large staircase with Angela when he emerged from his chambers.
'Good morning Troy.
Are you ready? Yes? Then, let's go!' exclaimed Angela.
'Aren't we waiting for
the Yaksomotos?', he asked.
'No. They're still asleep.
We knocked at their door and there was no reply.'
They set off for the gallery,
an extremely long room with various pieces of art along the walls. Seven
or eight skylights above provided the room with soft shadows while the
candles brought them to life.
'You know', explained
Angela, 'during the long, harsh winters here, the women of the House of
Kotchev used to walk around this gallery for exercise. That's why it's
so long...'
Troy was growing more and
more bored.
'I'm... uh... still
pretty tired,' he excused himself, 'I'm gonna head back. Get a couple
more hours sleep.'
'Sure honey', said his
Mom, while simultaneously posing for a photo beside a bust of Sepluchrave
for his Dad.
He had just left the gallery
when he met Titus.
'Oh... eh... hi... I
don't know how to address you... I'm sorry.'
'Call me Titus. It's
my name.'
'Titus. Just headin'
up to my, eh, chambers, to... eh...'
'Bored?'
'No no no.'
'No. You're bored. I
can tell. I'm constantly bored. Follow me. I'll show you something.'
The 'something' turned out
to be an enormous animal pen filled with a pack of 150 or so wolves. They
growled at the visitors above them at the balcony.
'What are they for?'
gasped Troy in awe.
'My bodyguards. After
sunset, they are let free to roam the grounds. I'm important to the "continuance
of the House of Kotchev". And many people would love to see the downfall
of the House. Therefore, I must be protected.'
A moment's silence. Then,
'Titus, could I ask you a question?'
He nodded in reply.
'Why are we here, as
guests, us tourists?'
'I don't know. I dare
not ask. "Lord Commodus knows what’s best, blah, blah, blah". Though,
it is the first time I recall any guests staying.'
Troy pondered this but it
wasn't until the following morning that he realised the answer.
Sunday
We're wolf-food!', he told
his parents. 'Don't be ridiculous, son.'
'I'm telling you! It
all fits. I haven't seen the Yaksomotos since Friday night. The Kotchevs
fed them to the wolves and we're next on the menu!'
'Oh Troy!'
'Let's leave. Now. We
have to leave now!'
'Troy, you're acting
weirder than that Peake fella!', said his father, 'Now let's go to breakfast.'
Angela was nowhere to be seen
at the breakfast table when they arrived. Nor were the Yaksomotos.
Twelve o' clock. Troy wasn't
going to hang around waiting to be eaten. He was in his parents' chambers,
packing their bags. His were already packed at the door. He was leaving
even if they weren't.
He went downstairs carrying
the bags. Then he saw them.
The Kotchev family were
sitting in front of the hearth in the Great Hall, all with their backs
turned to him. And behind Titus stood two figures, each rising a dagger
above their heads.
'Mom? Dad?' His parents turned
to meet his highs, the daggers still raised. The Kotchevs turned also.
Suddenly, Troy's father shouted;
'The Downfall of the House of Kotchev!'
'The House of Wilson shall reign again!' screamed his mother.
Then things started moving
too quickly for Troy to comprehend. The Kotchevs were on their feet, grappling
with the Wilsons. The next thing he knew, his parents were on the ground,
not moving, and the Kotchevs looking at them with distaste. Lord Commodus
held his left side where he was wounded while the Countess and Titus held
the daggers.
Troy couldn't have moved even
if he wanted to. He was frozen to the spot and his eyes were glued to
the dark liquid creeping from underneath his parents.
'So', said Commodus,
looking at Troy, 'It was the Wilson's all along. Angela had been right.'
'Pathetic', muttered
the countess to the bodies on the floor.
Titus slowly approached Troy,
spinning the dagger in his hand.
Please God, let me move.
'Mmmmm...', mused Titus,
'"Helen of Troy"? More like the Wooden Horse of Troy.'
The last thing Troy heard
was Titus laughing at yet another bad pun.
Godart was there when they
arrived and when they left. He watched as the dark seas swallowed them
up. After a while they bobbed up again. And down once more, sinking slowly
to the bottom. He turned to look at the great Castle of Gracchusious.
He smiled.
The House of Gorart shall
soon reign again.
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