Read Online Borrower of the Night: The First Vicky Bliss Mystery by Elizabeth Peters - Free Book Online

across the court. The candle flame flickered in the wind; I had to shield it with my hand. When we entered the Great Hall, the illusion of antiquity was complete. The feeble flames were overpowered by the vast darkness of the room. They woke a dim reflection in the polished surfaces of helmet and breastplate, giving the armored shapes an illusion of life and surreptitious movement.
    “I am glad to have company when I cross this room,” said Schmidt, scampering for the stairs. “Brrrr! In candlelight it is too full with atmosphere. I expect to see the countess herself.”
    “The countess?”
    “But yes, have you not heard the legend? The countess walks here, on moonlit nights. Which countess I know not, but she is one of those who has no right to be walking.”
    He chuckled. I wasn’t amused. I had a feeling I knew which countess he meant. Nor was I precisely easy in my mind about Herr Schmidt. If ever a name sounded like an alias… And he had been decidedly elusive about his occupation.
    In the dim light of the candle, my room looked like an apartment in Castle Dracula. I lit the oil lamp beside the bed, lay down, and tried to read. The smoky light made my eyes ache.
    It was a warm night, but the room had a clammy chill which the air from the open window didn’t alleviate. I went to the window and looked down into the tangled underbrush beneath. There were no screens in the window; the drop was sheer. To the left was another window—that of Tony’s room, I assumed. It was dark, as were all the other windows I could see.
    I looked across the grounds at the bulk of the old keep. The jagged walls made a picturesque outline against the moonlit sky. As I stared, something peculiar happened. For a moment a square of wavering yellow light interrupted the blackness of the tower’s silhouette. Just for a moment; then it was gone.
    I gulped, and told myself to be rational. What I had seen was not a ghost light, but a candle, behind one of the windows of the keep. But why would anyone be in the crumbling ruin at this time of night?
    A possible answer wasn’t hard to find.
    Frowning, I turned from the window and met the enigmatic eyes of the Countess Konstanze.
    I lifted the lamp from the table and held it up so that its light fell full on the painted face. It was not one of the world’s great portraits. Though the physical features seemed to be accurately represented, the painter had failed to capture a personality. He had been more successful with the pose—the shape of the head and shoulders, the arrogant tilt of the chin suggested a strength of character not implicit in the expressionless face. The resemblance of the sixteenth-century countess to her downtrodden descendant was probably not one of character; but feature by feature the resemblance was uncannily exact.
    “If you could only talk,” I muttered — and then made a quick, instinctive gesture of denial. The Gothic atmosphere was thick enough already. A talking portrait would send me screaming out into the night.
    I looked at my watch. It was after midnight. The old Schloss and its inhabitants should be sleeping soundly by now. I put on a dark sweater, which I had brought for the purpose of nocturnal prowling, and tied a scarf over my light hair. I found my flashlight, and blew out the lamp.
    Talk about dark. I hadn’t seen anything like it since the old days on the farm. The faint moonlight from the window didn’t help much, and when I closed the door of my room behind me the corridor was pitch-black. I didn’t want to use the flashlight until it was necessary, so I stood waiting for my eyes to adjust.
    A hand touched my shoulder.
    I thought of screaming, but my vocal cords didn’t cooperate. Before I could get them into operation I heard a voice.
    “Hi,” it whispered.
    “Tony,” I whispered back. “You rat.”
    “Scare you?”
    “Scared? Me?”
    “I figured you’d be prowling tonight. Couldn’t let you go alone. Who knows, you might be