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“Can you give us examples?” Erik asked, first in Russian and then in English.
“Of course! They would appear to have died of natural causes, though the way in which they’d come to their end was hardly natural. It’s rumored that Vlad—a member of the Order, just like his father—would send a noble down beneath the castle with the promise that he would find treasure there. Other times he’d send corrupt boyars to these chambers to hide, saying an army was outside the castle walls and they should take shelter. They’d follow his instructions, enter the marked chambers, and meet their deaths. He could then pass their demises off as an unfortunate accident to other boyars, though I’m sure they suspected otherwise. He had quite the reputation for razing corruption from this country in sweeping ways.”
Thomas’s eyes narrowed, focus now latched on to Radu as if he were a starving mutt with a bone. I knew precisely what that expression meant.
“What of the poetry, though?” I asked. “What did it signify to members of the Order?”
Radu pointed to the parchment with stubby fingers, careful to not smudge the ink. “Take this one here.” He translated the text from Romanian to English once again:
XXIII
WHITE, RED, EVIL, GREEN. WHAT HAUNTS THESE WOODS STAYS UNSEEN.
DRAGONS ROAM AND TAKE TO AIR. CUT DOWN THOSE WHO NEAR HIS LAIR.
EAT YOUR MEAT AND DRINK YOUR BLOOD. LEAVE REMAINS IN THE TUB.
BONE WHITE, BLOOD RED. ALONG THIS PATH YOU’LL SOON BE DEAD.
“Some believe this poem refers to a secret meeting place of the Order. One in the woods, where they hold death rites for other members. Others believe it refers to a crypt beneath the castle: a crypt only because once unsuspecting guests traveled inside, they were locked in by the Order until they rotted away. I’ve heard villagers claim their bones were turned into a holy site.”
“What sort of holy site?”
“Oh, one where sacrifices are made to the Immortal Prince. But not everything you hear is to be trusted. The dragons-taking-to air bit is metaphorical. Translated plainly, this means the Order moves about stealthily, stalking and protecting what is theirs. Their land. Their God-chosen rulers. Their way of life. They are transformed into ferocious creatures who eat you whole and leave your bones. Meaning, they murder you and the only thing left is your remains.”
“Do you suspect the Order of the Dragon maintains the tunnels to this day?” I asked.
“Goodness. I don’t believe so,” Radu said, laughing a bit too loudly. “Though I suppose I cannot say for sure. As mentioned earlier, the Order first fashioned themselves after Crusaders. In fact, Sigismund, king of Hungary, later became Holy Roman Emperor.”
Before Radu could go off about the Crusaders, I blurted out another question. “Exactly what methods of death did the tunnels contain?”
“Oh, let’s see, Miss Wadsworth. Some passages contained bats. Some were overrun with arachnids. Wolves are said to have hunted in other passages. Legend claims the only way to escape the water chamber is to offer a dragon a bit of blood.” He smiled ruefully at the thought. “I don’t believe the creatures would be able to live underground without a source of food or care. If the passages exist today, they are likely harmless, though I’d not suggest searching for anything this book contains. Most superstitions have some basis in fact. Hmm? Yes? Take strigoi, for instance—there must be some truth behind these rumors.”
I wanted to point out that the legends regarding strigoi were likely the result of not burying bodies far enough underground during winter. Bodies became bloated with gases and pushed out of their graves; nail beds receded, making hands look like claws—ghastly a
nd vampiric in appearance but not practice. To the uneducated, it would most certainly seem that their loved ones were trying to climb out of their graves. However, science proved that was simply myth.
The clock outside tolled the end of our class. Guards wasted no time making their presence once again known. I collected the pieces of parchment Radu had given us and tucked them into my pocket.
“Thank you, Professor,” I said, watching him closely. “I rather enjoyed this lesson.”
Radu clucked. “My pleasure. I thank you. I now have—is it really three o’clock? I was hoping to get to the kitchens before retiring to my chambers. They’re making my favorite sticky buns. Off I go!” He grabbed an armful of journals from his desk and vanished out the door.
I had turned to Thomas, ready to talk through everything we’d learned and discuss Radu’s possible involvement, when Danesti waved from the doorway. He grinned at Thomas, taunting my friend in a way I knew he wouldn’t resist.
“Sa mergem. We do not have all day.”
Thomas inhaled deeply. There was only so much goading he could withstand. Before I had time to react, he opened that cursed mouth of his.
“Lapdogs do as they’re told. They have nothing to do but sit and wait and beg for their master’s next orders.”
“They also bite when provoked.”
“Do not pretend escorting me to and fro isn’t the highlight of your miserable day. Shame you didn’t do the same for that poor maid. Though I am much prettier to stare at,” Thomas said, running a hand through his dark locks. “At least I know I’m in no danger of being whisked away by a vampire—you’re too busy admiring me. Quite the compliment. Thank you.”
Danesti’s grin turned absolutely lethal. “Ah. I have been waiting for this.” He called out in Romanian, and four more guards piled into our now-empty folklore classroom. “Escort Mr. Cresswell to the dungeon for the next few hours. He needs to be shown Romanian ospitalitate.”
Dear Wadsworth,
