Dragosani shrugged, palmed the grip of his gun, began to turn its muzzle towards Giresci. At the same time he turned slightly to the right. Perhaps Giresci was insane. A pity. Also a pity that there would be a hole right through Dragosani’s jacket and powder burns on the lining, but –
Giresci put on the crossbow’s safety, set it down on a small table. Too cool by far,’ he laughed, ‘for a vampire faced with a wooden stake! And you know: the pressure on that wooden bolt is set to transfix a man but not pass right through him and out the back. That would be no good. Only when the stake is in place is the creature truly immobilised, and – ‘ His eyes went wide and his jaw dropped.
Grey as death, Dragosani had taken out his gun, applied the safety, placed it beside the crossbow on the table. ‘The pressure on that,’ he rasped, is sufficient to blow your heart right out through your backbone! I also saw the mirrors on the walls of the corridor – and the way you looked into them as I passed. Too many mirrors by far, I thought. And the crucifix on the door, and doubtless another around your neck – for all the good they’d be. Well, and am I a vampire then, old man?’
‘I’m not sure what you are,’ the other shook his head. ‘But a vampire? No, not you. You came in out of the sun, after all. But think: a man, seeking me out, specifically desiring to know about the Wamphyri – even knowing that name: Wamphyri, which few if any others in the whole world know! Why, wouldn’t you be cautious?’
Dragosani breathed deeply, relaxed a little. ‘Well, your “caution” nearly cost you your life!’ he said bluntly. ‘So before we go any further, are there any more tricks up your sleeve?’
Giresci gave a shaky laugh. ‘No, no,’ he said. ‘No, I think we understand each other now. Come, let’s leave it at that for the moment. And here, let’s see what else you have in that bag of yours.’ He took the string bag from Dragosani and directed him to sit at a dining table close to an open window. ‘It’s shady there,’ he explained. ‘Cooler.’
The whisky’s yours,’ said Dragosani. ‘The rest was for my lunch – except I’m not sure now that I feel like eating! That crossbow of yours is a bloody thing!’
‘Of course you can eat, of course you can! What?
Cheese for lunch? No, I wouldn’t hear of it. I’ve wood-cocks in the oven, done to a turn by now. A Greek recipe. Delicious. Whisky as an aperitif; bread to soak up the fat of the birds; cheese for afterwards. Good! An excellent lunch. And while we eat, I’ll tell you my story, Dragosani.’
The younger man allowed himself to be placated, accepted a glass which the other produced from an old oak cabinet, allowed him to pour him a liberal whisky. Then Giresci hobbled off for a moment to the kitchen, and soon Dragosani began to sniff the air as the sweet odour of roasting meat slowly filled it. And Giresci had been right: it was delicious. Another moment and he was back with a smoking oven tray, directing Dragosani to get plates from a drawer. He tipped a brace of small birds on to his guest’s plate, one on to his own. There were baked potatoes, too, and again Dragosani got the lion’s share.
Impressed by Giresci’s generosity, he said: ‘That’s hardly fair on you.’
Tm drinking your whisky,’ the other replied, ‘so you can eat my birds. Anyway, I can shoot more any time I want them – right out of that window there. They’re easy to get, but whisky’s harder to come by! Believe me, I’m getting the best of the bargain.’
They began to eat, and between mouthfuls Giresci started to tell his tale:
‘It was during the war,’ he said. ‘When I was a boy, I hurt my back and shoulder very badly, which did away with any question of my being a soldier. But I wanted to do my bit anyway and so joined the Civil Defence. “Civil Defence” – Hah! Go to Ploiesti, even today, all these years later, and mention Civil Defence. Ploiesti burned, night after night. It just burned, Dragosani! How does one “defend” when the sky rains bombs?