“Ethelred, I would imagine,” Simon said. “Maybe the Goddess. And probably the oxen.”
“This is not amusing, Simon,” the wizard said with a frown.
“No,” Simon admitted. “I know.”
“I found another reference to what could be the Chalice.” He riffled through another pile. “Here it is. ‘When I had achieved my fullness of age and judgment, I was given knowledge of the truth as it was delivered to my fathers from the distant lands of the East, the weapons and the Vessel of Light.’ But he doesn’t say what these items are or where they might be found.” He dropped the scroll again with a sigh. “Perhaps they never wrote it down.” He looked at the scrolls all around him. “Perhaps it was passed from father to son aloud, or priest to acolyte.”
“That makes sense,” Simon said, not really listening. Hannah had left him a dagger with his borrowed clothes, and he drew it from his belt, a plain, unornamented weapon, but lethally sharp at either edge and beautifully balanced.
“We may have to begin searching the tunnels at random, as much as I hate the thought.” Simon didn’t answer, and he glared at him, annoyed. “What ails you? Have you heard a word I’ve said?”
“I heard,” Simon answered, putting the dagger away.
“Oh, no.” The wizard came and sat with him on the other side of the desk. “What does she want you to do?”
“No more than would be my duty even if she hadn’t asked.” He met Orlando’s eyes with his own. “I think I must have accidentally made Michel a vampire.”
“What? Who is Michel?”
“The villain I killed at the church.” He explained all that Isabel had told him, from Father Colin’s first warning to her finding the unquiet grave. “At least she found it in broad daylight,” he finished. “I tremble to imagine what could have happened if she’d found it in the dark.”
“Stop trembling,” Orlando said. “I don’t believe it.”
“So Isabel is a liar?” Simon said with a warning frown.
“Of course not,” the dwarf answered. “Lady Isabel is a kind, good-hearted young woman who has lived her life among barbarians who still worship the moon. And you, Simon, are a vampire who believes every ill in the world is your fault.”
“Orlando, she had the cross Michel was wearing.” He got up from his chair. “And what about that girl, the dead girl who was found?”
“She had a cross like five hundred others we’ve seen,” Orlando said, getting up as well. “And even if it were the one this Michel was wearing, what of it? We dropped it dragging his corpse to the grave.”
“And the girl?” Simon said, unconvinced.
“The girl was killed by a wolf, just as they believed, or a pack of wild dogs or a brigand on the road.” He began gathering up the scrolls and putting them away. “She was a defenseless woman, and you feel guilty for having your way with her and leaving her alone—as well you might, I suppose. But her death was not your doing.”
“Her heart and blood were taken,” Simon persisted. “Isabel said—”
“No, she did not,” the dwarf interrupted. “I listened to them very carefully in the hall, even if you did not. Those peasants said the heart and blood were taken. But Isabel saw only a mutilated corpse.”
“But what difference—”
“All the difference.” He put a quelling hand on Simon’s arm. “This island is crawling with demons, to hear its people tell it; the English live and die by superstition, almost as much as the Irish.” The vampire scowled, and he smiled. “It’s good that you promised to help her, Simon. She will trust you now, and our work will be accomplished that much more quickly. But she need not fear this man, Michel; she doesn’t need for you to sla
y him. You already have.”
“And if I have not?” Orlando always sounded so certain, so reasonable, and Simon knew that he himself was not. His emotions ruled him as they always had; that was why he so often trusted the wizard’s judgment over his own. But this time he wasn’t so sure.
“Simon, I promise you, you have,” the wizard said with a sigh. “Think back to your own making. You drank the blood of Kivar. Did Michel drink your blood?”
“No,” Simon admitted. “At least not that I remember.”
“You would remember,” Orlando promised. “The making of a demon is no idle matter, warrior; you should know that better than I. It does not happen by accident.” He smiled. “If it did, you would have a trail of monsters stretching all the way back to the Urals following at your heels.”
Simon grimaced at the thought. “You may be right, Orlando,” he said, feeling rather foolish but still not quite convinced. “I pray… I hope you are. But I will have to make sure.”
“You have better business,” the dwarf said, losing patience. “The Chalice—”
“I will find the Chalice, if it can be found,” Simon cut him off. “But dead or monster, I will find Michel.”