It was while looking around that he thought of the dread of ironand of the cross that vampires were supposed to have. There were iron objectsall over the house, and, while he had seen no crucifixes, he had seen plenty ofobjects, suchas these crossed rapiers, which made cruciforms. If Igescu was avampire (Childefelt ridiculous even thinking this), he certainly did not object tocontact with iron or sight of the cross.
Perhaps (just perhaps), these creatures had acquired an immunityfrom these once-abhorred things during thousands of years. If they had everdreaded iron and the cross, that is. What about the years before iron was used byman? Or the cross was used by man? What guards and wards did man have thenagainst thesecreatures?
Shakily, Childe got out of the bed and stood up. He had no timeto search for a secret wall-exit, which he thought could exist here and whichhe mightfind before his captors returned. But the door at the far end swungopen, andGlam entered, and the big room seemed much smaller. He stopped veryclose to Childe and looked down at him. For the first time, Childe saw thathis eyes werelight russet. The face was heavy and massive as a boulder, but thoseeyes seemedto glow as if they were rocks which had been subjected toradioactivity. Hairshung from the cavernous nostrils like stalactites. His breath stankas if he had been eating rotten octopus.
"The baron says you should come to dinner," he rumbled. "In these clothes?" Glam looked down at the wet patch on the front of Childe's pants.
When he looked up, he smiled briefly, like a jack-o'lantern just before thecandle died.
"The baron says you can dress if you want to. There's clothesyour size ornear enough in the closet."
The closet was almost big enough to be a small room. His eyebrowsrose when he saw the variety of male and female clothing. Who were the ownersand where were they? Were they dead? Did some of the clothes bear labels withthe names of Colben and Budler, or had borne the labels, since the baron would notbe stupidenough, surely, to leave such identification on.
Perhaps he was stupid. Otherwise, why the sending of the films tothe Los Angeles Police Department?
But he did not really believe this about the baron.
Childe, after washing his hands and face and genitals and thighsin the most luxurious bathroom he had ever been in, and after dressing in atuxedo, followedGlam down several hallways and then downstairs. He did not recognizeany of thecorridors nor the dining room. He had expected to be in the dining room he had seen yesterday, but this was another. The house was truly enormous.
The motif of this room was, in some respects, Early GrandioseVictorian-Italian, or so it seemed to him. The walls were gray black- streaked marble. A huge red marble fireplace and mantel were at one end, andabove the mantel was a painting of a fierce old white-haired man with longmoustachioes. He wore a wine-red coat with wide lapels and a white shirt with thickruffles around the neck.
The floor was of black marble with small mosaics at each of the eightcorners. The furniture was massive and of a black dense-grained wood. A white damascene cloth covered the main table; it was set with massivesilver dishes and goblets and tableware and tall thick silver candleholders whichsupportedthick red candles. There were at least fifty candles, all lit. Alargecut-quartz chandelier held a number of red candles, also, but thesewere unlit.
Glam stopped to indicate a chair. Childe advanced slowly to it. The baron, at the head of the table, rose to greet him. His smile was broad butfleeting. He said, "Welcome, Mr. Childe, despite the circumstances. Please sitdown there. Next to Mrs. Grasatchow."
There were four men and six women at the table. The baron. Magda Holyani. Mrs. Grasatchow, who was almost the fattest woman he had ever
seen. The baron's great-grandmother, who had to be at least a hundred. Vivienne Mabcrough, the titian-haired woman with the man-headed
snake-thingin her womb.
O'Riley O'Faithair, a handsome black-haired man of about thirty- five who spoke a charming Irish brogue. And now and then a few sentences in anunknown language to the baron and the Mabcrough woman.
Mr. Bending Grass, who had a very broad and high-cheekboned facewith a hugeaquiline nose and huge, slightly slanted, very dark eyes. He couldhave been Sitting Bull's twin, but something he said to Mrs. Grasatchowindicated that he was Crow. He spoke of the mountain man, John, Johnston, "Liver EatingJohnston," as if he had been a contemporary.
Fred Pao, a tall slender Chinese with features that could havebeen carved out of teak and a Fu Manchu moustache and goatee.
Panchita Pocyotl, a short petite and beautiful Mexican Indian.
Rebecca Ngima, a handsome lithe black African dressed in a longwhite native costume.
They were all expensively and tastefully dressed and, thoughtheir speechwas not free of foreign pronunciation, their English was fluent,
"correct," andrich with literary, philosophical, historical, and musical allusions. There were also references to events and persons and places that puzzled Childe, who was well-read. They seemed to have been everywhere and, here he felt coldthreadingthe needle of his nerves, to have lived in times long dead.
Was this for his benefit? An addition to the hoax? What hoax? It was then that he got another shock, because the baron
addressed him againas Mr. Childe. With a start, he remembered the first time. He hadbeen too dull to have realized then what that meant.
"How did you learn my name? I carried no identification with me." The baron smiled "You don't really expect me to tell you?" Childe shrugged and began eating. There were many different
dishes on the sideboard; he had been given a wide choice but had decided on NewYork-cut steak and baked potato. Mrs. Grasatchow, who sat on his left, had a platterwith an entire bonita fish and a huge bowl of salad. She drank before, during, and afterthe meal from a gallon decanter of bourbon. The decanter was fullwhen she sat down and empty when the dishes were cleared off the table.
Glam and two short, dark, and shapely women in maid uniformsserved. The women did not act like servants, however, they frequently talked withthe guestsand the host and several times made remarks in the foreign tonguethat caused the others to laugh. Glam spoke only when his duties required. Heglanced atMagda far more than his duties required.
The baroness, seated at the opposite end from her great-grandson, bent like a living question mark, or vulture, over her soup. This was the onlyfood she was served, and she allowed it to get cold before she finallyfinished it. She said very little and only looked up twice, once to stare a long timeat Childe. She looked as if she had only recently been brought out of anEgyptian pyramidand as if she would just as soon go back into the crypt. Her dinnergown, high-necked, ruffle-bosomed, diamond-sequined, red velvet, looked asif she had purchased it in 1890.
Mrs. Grasatchow, although as fat as two sows put together, had aremarkablywhite, flawless, and creamy skin and enormous purplish eyes. When shehad been younger and thinner, she must have been a beautiful woman. She talkednow as if she thought she was still beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful anddesirable woman in the world. She talked loudly and uninhibitedly about the menwho had died--some of them literally--for her love. Halfway through thedinner, and two-thirds through the gallon of whiskey, her speech began to getslurred. Childe was awed. She had drunk enough to kill him, or most men, andshe only hada little trouble with her speech.