‘All right,’ I said, grinning. ‘I’ll admit they could be useful. But what’s with the costume?’
He had hauled on the tunic. It was long on the body, and tight on the arms, but with Fen’s dark trousers it was an almost passable uniform.
‘You need boots,’ said Mira. Fen grimaced, and went out again, returning with the dead man’s boots on his bare feet.
We continued to work, fashioning the sail into a sling, and rewrapping the rope so it would hold. Soon we were able to make out that beneath all the debris was a tombstone. It was worn smooth with age, but we could see that it was marked with a single word.
Dracul. Dragon.
This, then, was where he should have lain to rest, and taken his evil with him. But instead, when we heaved the slab off, breaking it in two, we found an empty maw, emanating a demonic chill.
‘There really is a passage,’ said Fen, and I shot him a sharp glance.
‘Of course there is.’
‘I wonder who made it,’ said Mira, frowning. ‘Not the Dragon, surely. Strigoi can’t enter churches, can they?’
‘No,’ I said, with more certainty than I felt. But I had no better ideas. I looked at the pit. My skin prickled, and not even Mira’s touch could soothe me. But still, I lowered myself down. The tunnel was only waist deep, and I swallowed down a rising nausea.
‘We’re going to have to crawl.’
Mira jumped down next to me. ‘So we crawl.’
There was no hope of light in such dark. Soon the sun-filled church was behind us, and I felt I had been cold and in darkness for ever. I have never had cause to be afraid of small spaces, but this was a primal fear, the earth of the passage loose and crumbling, the whole weight of the castle poised overhead.
I closed my eyes, unable to bear the physical press of the darkness, and felt my way forward. All I could hear was my own breathing, and the breaths of Mira and Fen. Mira occasionally gripped my ankle, just to tell me she was here. Still with me, I thought. Even there, that simple fact was a comfort.
After what felt like hours, but could not have been more than minutes, my forehead struck something hard. I felt above me, and to my relief found an iron ring pull, fierce with cold. One hand on my axe, I crouched beneath it.
‘Ready?’
‘Yes,’ said Mira.
I twisted the handle and pushed my shoulder to the door.
The trapdoor ground on its hinges but did not swing up.
‘It’s stuck.’
‘Maybe Fen could take a run at it,’ said Mira.
‘Ha,’ said Fen mirthlessly. Mira crawled up beside me, and we pressed our bodies together. I twisted the handle once more, and this time when we placed our shoulders to the rough wood, it grated open.
The noise was awful in the echoing tunnel. I saw that we had emerged into a stone corridor. I looked left and right but there was no one there.
‘All clear,’ I whispered, and hauled myself out, Mira following behind. Together we pulled Fen up onto the wooden floor and lowered the trapdoor. It was a seamless fit, the lines running smoothly from one join to the next, but the rust from the hinges had left a dark red smear. I kicked some rushes over it, sending staleness into the air.
There were wooden doors set along it, just as Mamă had shown me, and I counted one, two, three. ‘This one,’ I whispered, pulling out the keys. My fingers felt numb with nerves and I fumbled them. Could it really be that Kem was just the other side of this door?
‘Calm, dragă,’ said Mira, and took the keys, trying and swapping them until she found the right one. ‘This one fits.’
She moved aside, and I placed my hand on the doorknob. Fen stayed my hand.
‘Are you sure?’
I pressed my ear against the wooden door. I could hear a sound, like a dog whimpering.
‘What is it?’ he whispered.
‘A child,’ I hissed back, shrugging him off. I opened the door, and the crying stopped.
Before me there were four children, two girls and two boys, huddled together. They were all young, but none were Kem. My heart tumbled. None were pale and blood-eyed either, and I moved hurriedly inside. Fen and Mira hovered on the threshold, watching.
The children shrank back, and I noticed one hadn’t moved. A girl, lying prone on the floor. I held out my palms to them in a gesture of peace.
‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘I won’t hurt you.’ I sheathed my axe, turned my face to the flames so they could see my skin did not glitter and that my eyes were brown, not red.
‘I’m Lil,’ I said. There was no response. I tried again. ‘Lillai. I’m looking for my brother, Kem. He looks like me a bit.’
None of them spoke. The girl’s nose was running, and her leg was shaking as she stood, shielding the unconscious child from sight.
‘Hello,’ I said to her. ‘What’s your name?’
‘You’re the dancer,’ she said hoarsely, voice thick with tears. ‘You’re his.’
Her face twisted with fear, and something else, something cold and glinting, that aged her young face. Hatred.
‘No,’ I said, palms still outstretched. ‘I’m not. I have a sister though, Kizzy. Is that who you mean?’
A little boy hissed. ‘You are, you’re her.’
‘We’re twins,’ I said. ‘We look alike. I swear, I’m not her.’
Even as I protested, my heart felt heavy as a stone. What had Kizzy been made to do, to make Tamás and these children fear her?
‘It’s true,’ said Mira, stepping in after me, and at the sight of her pale skin they shuddered. ‘We’re looking for the dancer though, and her bear.’
‘They’re his,’ repeated the girl, staring at me suspiciously. ‘You’re really not her?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m her sister. Are you their sister?’ I gestured at the two boys, and the figure on the floor.
She nodded. ‘They got Olga. She’s our big sister. They took her and she won’t wake up.’
‘Can I see?’ said Mira, and the boys moved aside. Olga was lying very still, pale as a strigoi. There were two holes by her neck, neat as pinpricks. I would not have seen them had I not known what to look for.
Mira reached out, and the little boy went as though to stop her, but I said, ‘It’s all right. She’s good at healing.’
This seemed to calm him, and the siblings watched as Mira lifted Olga’s eyelid. Her eyes were blue, and glassy. Mira lay her fingers to the girl’s neck. She looked up at me and shook her head. The girl was dead, then. But she had escaped a worse fate. She was not to be a strigoi.
I turned to the girl and boys. ‘What’s your name?’
The boys looked down at the floor, but the girl answered. ‘Alina.’
‘Where’s your home?’
‘A long way,’ said Alina. ‘Our father sent us. There wasn’t enough food, and they would send him some if we came. They said we were heroes.’
‘You should get out of here,’ I said, swallowing down my anger. What sort of father would send his children to such a place? ‘Now, before night comes. We have a way—’
‘It’s too far,’ Alina said. ‘Olga says …’
‘I think Olga would want you to go,’ I said. ‘She can’t wake up just now, but there’s a village over the hill. We can show you the way out.’