The tip of the sword wavered a little. Hugue's voice was low but demanding. He squinted, as if watching something just out of his vision. His memories shaped the words for him now: "I didn't see who took her. He was wearing a mask. But he had chestnut hair and purple eyes. He had a tattoo of a flower on the back of his hand. I want to know who this man was."
"Chestnut hair? Purple eyes... and a flower tattoo?" Darsus almost forgot his situation. He couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. Perhaps Hugue had lost his mind. "That was Gie. Gie de Granville. The man you killed tonight. Didn't you notice?"
"What?"
Darsus looked up at the intruder.
Hugue frowned and started to raise his voice — the first emotion he had truly shown in this altercation. "Don't be an idiot! Bruges didn't have a tattoo! Are you making fun of me, Darsus?! Or are you trying to lead me off the trail?!"
"I'm not lying! The man who stole your sister was Gie!"
The old man's protestation sounded truthful. Hugue was confused, and he was about to make another rebuttal when he suddenly remembered something: "Wait. You said something strange. You said that I killed your men tonight. What do you mean? I killed Renault about three days ago..."
"Look up!" It was time for Darsus to get angry. He was able to move finally, and so he pointed a weak finger up the sky. "You killed all my men. Are you trying to confuse an old man?"
"That wasn't me. Everyone was already dead when I got here — apart from one man. When I entered the mansion, he was looking for a corpse. I thought that there must have been some kind of internal problems." Hugue went quiet as he thought. He raised the tip of his sword up. "Stand up, Darsus," the swordsman ordered the Methuselah. He didn't relax his muscles, though. "I'll kill you later. Right now, I think we've been caught up in something strange."
"Strange? What do you mean by that?" "I don't know. But..." The priest suddenly cut off his analysis. He heard something move. His body turned with the precision of a machine. A sharp shaft of light swiftly moved past him. "Crap! Darsus?!" Hugue exclaimed.
Blood now was pouring from the vampires mouth in pints. A silver arrow was embedded in the old vampire's throat. The area around his mouth was smoking. It looked like there was also nitric acid in the arrow's shaft—it meant instant death for a vampire.
A calm voice reverberated through the corridor: "Good evening, Count of Brussels and Mister Watteau."
There were several shadows now looming in the corridor. About twenty men and women stood there, dressed in plain suits. Standing in the middle of them was a man with a bow that still vibrated from releasing its arrow.
"I answered your invitation and came to visit Count Brussels, but you didn't come to meet me, so I made my own way here. I hope you don't mind?"
"You... You're Gie!" The old man was clearly angry despite the blood dripping from his mouth, choking him. It took all that was left in him to utter the name of his enemy. "Gie... Watteau killed you!"
"Ah, that was my double. If I had made it, you'd have just killed me anyway, right Cardinal Darsus?"
The man's voice held a cruel humor, but his expression never changed. He was wearing a very thin mask over his face. But behind the mask, Watteau could make out his purple eyes glinting with glee.
"Count Darsus, you planned it so that I and Watteau would meet. You then planned to deal with whichever one of us lived. Those are the kind of tactics I've come to expect from you. You did the same to Count of Amsterdam and Count of Antwerp," the new contender said.
"Gie... you... you..." Darsus' voice was breaking up. He desperately tried to point at the masked man, but it was too much. His body stopped moving suddenly, as if someone had flipped a switch inside.
And that was the end of Thierry Darsus—the top man of Count Four.
Words of hatred spilled from behind the mask. "What a disgusting excuse for a life form. He always did exactly as he pleased." The man, bow still firmly in his grasp, shook his head. His purple eyes looked down at the dead man. The masked man was lost in his own world for a moment, but then he suddenly realized the man standing next to him. "Well Hugue, I think I owe you some words of gratitude. You distracted Darsus so that he had no idea what I was doing. Excellent work."
"You're Gie?" He adjusted the grip on his dagger and asked again: "You are Count of Brussels Gie du Granwelle?"
"That's right. I'm Gie. I'm the man who crushed your clan." The man introduced himself without pride or fear. He answered calmly while playing with the bow in his arms: "Ten years ago, I burned your castle, killed your family, and took your arm. I did it all."
A scream never left the swordsman's throat. He ran like a mad dog down the corridor, his dagger ready. Before Hugue could reach his target, some of the black-suited people moved to make a human shield between Hugue and Gie.
"It's all right, Bosch. I will be his dueling partner," Gie told the loyal servant who had sprung to hid defense. Gie twirled the bow in his fingers. He swung it onto his back as if it were a spear and then threw it with terrifying force.
The makeshift bow flew at alarming speed. With a howl, it hit Hugue's dagger, splitting it in two. The masked man reached for the rapier at his waist.
"GEIIII!"
There was a spark of white light. The sound of metal hitting metal reverberated throughout the corridor. The two men jumped back like two repellant magnets, putting some distance between them. Hugue ran like a cat up the wall and pushed himself off it. "Your Excellency!" one of the black-suited men yelled the instant that the two rays of light clashed.
The dagger shattered Gie's rapier. Hugue then flicked the knife up, and Gie's mask was cracked.
It was Hugue that screamed, though. Protruding from his stomach were the shattered parts of the rapier. Dark liquid oozed from his mouth. His liver and spleen had taken the hit. He was going to die.
"What?!" But through the pain, Hugue had noticed something. His green eyes had lost their taste for revenge, but now they looked up into the eyes of a man whom he would never forget.
On the other hand, the masked man smiled, clearly enjoying the shock on Hugue's face. Count of Bruges, the man in the mask, grinned at his opponent. "Oh, Hugue. What's the matter? Why are you pulling such a face? Are you in pain?" "It can't be."
He looked up into the eyes he had seen in every nightmare for the last ten years. Hugue shook his head in furious denial. "It can't be. Its not possible."
"What's not possible, my friend?" Gie asked the priest, who was desperately trying to deny what he saw with his own eyes.
But this man had the same voice as the man he had met two weeks ago, when he had saved him from Tres' purge. The same voice as the man he had scolded when he took the offered hand. The same man who had gone on his quest for revenge against the vampires...
Rodenbach looked back at Hugue.
"Maybe you're talking about the false name I gave you so I could get close to you? Or that I pretended to be a prosecutor? Or maybe you're mad that I took your sister Agnes?" Gie de Granwelle looked like a small child who had been playing a trick on his friend. His purple eyes glinted in untold joy. He added one last shameless blow: "I'm sorry. I would like to give your little sister back to you. But that's no longer possible. We toasted with her blood that night. Very delicious."
The swordsman howled as he looked into those cold purple eyes, and he saw his own reflection. He cursed the world itself.