The Scholar, the Sphinx, and the Shades of Nyx

Chapter 1-2

BonjourVoulez-vous acheter?” David could tell by the way she had asked, “Would you like to buy?” indicated she had been trained what to say, and most likely she did not understand French. “Hablas español, señorita?” he offered, wondering if Spanish would be an easier language for her.

Hablas español, señorita?”Judging by the confused look on her face, apparently it was not.

“English, perhaps?” David asked her.

A smile bloomed on her face, and she nodded. “Yes, English is better. Perhaps you would like to buy something? I have many exotic charms from far-away lands. They are unlike anything else in the world.”

David instinctively placed his hands over his trousers’ pockets, before she had a chance to pluck something from him without his knowing. While logic dictated that he should walk away, his incorrigible curiosity kept him locked in place. “Sorry, but I don’t need anything. You had better move on.”

“I may have something that would be perfect for you.” The girl dug deep into her basket, producing a stylish old-fashioned dagger in a black and silver sheath. It curved like a basilisk’s tongue. “This was custom made by a highly praised blacksmith in Arabia. Here, you may look at it if you like.”

David took the dagger, removing the blade a few inches from its sheath before sliding it back in. “This is a fine piece of work,” he admitted. “But I’m sure that it is out of my price range.”

“But look at the way it sits in your hand. It is a perfect match. I will sell it at a special price, just for you. Fifteen francs. Such a rare piece would cost thrice that much.”

David paused, calculating in his mind if he had the money to spare. For the girl to sell the dagger that cheaply, it must be of low quality, but it was always useful to have a blade. With a sigh, he held the dagger out to the girl. “I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t.”

“Then how about a game instead?” A voice, thick with a Scottish brogue, ambushed David from behind. David snapped his head around to see a burly man, with copper red hair thick on his head and face, and a brazen smile that would make wolves cower at the sight of his teeth. The man wore a dark green vest with no shirt, and the muscular masses of his arms and shoulders made David’s slim physique comparable to a blade of grass. David realized that this was the juggler who had been performing onstage earlier.

“A game?” David squeaked.

“You seem to be a bright fellow. You win, the dagger’s yours.”

David gulped. “And if I lose?”

The Scotsman chuckled. “Then you walk away as you are now, no better or worse. Nothing to lose. How’s about it, lad? Even a wee bairn could win this game.”

By now, the conversation had attracted the attention of the crowd around them. People pressed in, murmuring in excitement. David cast his glance around, looking for a way to escape. When he did not respond to the juggler’s invitation, the crowd spoke up, urging David to accept the challenge. They began to chant and clap, and the performers encouraged it. David blushed so red he was sure his clothes would burst into flame from the heat in his face. Finally, he nodded in assent. The people cheered as the juggler clasped one of his great arms around David’s shoulders and dragged him up onto one of the stages.

The Scotsman went over to a barrel on the side of the stage and took out three large juggling clubs.

“I don’t know how to juggle,” David said meekly.

The juggler laughed. “You don’t have to juggle. You only have to sit.”

David felt a weight lifted from his body. “Is that all? Sitting?”

“For as long as you can. I’m wagering…twenty seconds. You manage longer than that, you win.”

“Why would I only be able to sit for twenty—”

The juggler came over to David, turned around so that his back was towards him, and knelt down. “Hop up,” the Scotsman said.

“Hop up? On your back?”

“On my shoulders, boyo. I said you’d be sitting, not clinging to my backside like a monkey.”

David took a deep breath, which he instantly regretted because the musk of the Scotsman was enough to make a skunk pass out. He awkwardly lifted one leg up and placed it over the juggler’s right shoulder, and it took him three or four hops before he could successfully swing his other leg up. He was barely in place before the juggler stood up abruptly, and David struggled not to fall off. The people in the audience laughed at David’s shaky shifting, but once he found his balance, he relaxed his muscles. This wasn’t so bad. How was this game a challenge?

An assisting performer walked up on the stage, holding an oil lamp. The juggler touched each club to the lamp’s flame, and they ignited in wickedly dancing flames. David’s eyes opened to the size of tea saucers at the sight of the burning clubs.

“Sit as straight as you can,” the juggler advised. “Don’t lean back, and don’t lean forward. And don’t sneeze. Last fellow who did this sneezed in the middle of the act. I hope the poor bloke’s hair grew back.”

For the first time that day, David’s curiosity was nowhere to be found. In its place was a voice in his head screaming, Get out of there, you i***t!

Get out of there, you i***t!But he couldn’t. The juggler launched into his act before David could demand to be put down, as the burning torches flew up only inches from David’s face. The flames rose and danced around David, trails of orange tongues l*****g at the air around his head. The boy’s skin, usually the color of cream-cooled coffee, blanched to milk white, while his brain willed for Time to pick up its pace.

Then there was a fourth club—more specifically, a butcher knife. Then a cleaver. Then a machete. The assistant stood off to the side, tossing blades to the juggler, who caught them in mid-pass and added them to his twirling tornado of t*****e. The audience held its breath as the juggler increased speed, catching and releasing his implements while David sat petrified, his hair standing on end. As David was about to scream for deliverance from this death trap, the blur of fire and flashing metal stopped.

“Thirty seconds! Well done, lad!”

The next thing he knew, David was back down on the stage, planted securely on his feet. He felt something pressed into his hand, and it took him several moments to regain his wits to realize it was the dagger—his prize. He looked up to see the dark-eyed girl, who gave him a quick congratulatory kiss on the cheek. The crowd was cheering and applauding, but David could not hear it. His head was still spinning as the juggler guided him off the stage, patting him roughly on the back.

“Not bad, boyo. I was sure you would be screaming for your mum before time was up. You have thicker skin than I thought.” The juggler shook David’s hand, giving him a smile that seemed less genuine than before, even tinged with a bit of irritation.

That was when David noticed the tattoo on the juggler’s arm: a silver spear standing straight in the middle, with two golden arrows crossing behind it, and a white lily wrapped around the head of the spear. The Master Huntsmen’s crest.

The exclusive guild of the most exceptional hunters in the world had intrigued David ever since he had heard about them from his uncle, who, admittedly, claimed to always know more than he truly did. David himself would have liked to give hunting a try, but his mother had adamantly protested it, calling it a barbaric sport not suitable for a refined young gentleman.

Was it possible that the juggler had once been a Master Huntsman? No, he couldn’t be. The tattoo must be a facsimile. After all, who would give up the excitement of being a Huntsman to be a second-rate juggler?

David’s room at the inn was small, only a stiff bed, a bedside table and one window, but it was enough. Sleep eluded David that night, the adrenaline from his near-death encounter keeping him awake, so he lay in bed reading his books. He had become enthralled in one story by a writer named Johann Ludwig Tieck, about a woman named Brunhilda who was brought back to life by a sorcerer and then went about drinking the blood of children. Heaven only knew why David wanted to indulge in a horror story after the evening he had been through, but he could not put it down. The story tainted his paranoia enough, however, that he removed his new dagger from his pack and stuck it under his mattress. His logical mind knew that no demon named Brunhilda was going to pay him a visit, but he recalled hearing a superstition about how placing knives under one’s mattress or pillow was an effective ward against evil and bad dreams.

It was after midnight when David finally felt sleep seeping into his bones. He settled into bed and extinguished his bedside candle. He was just about to fall asleep when a sudden draft blew open his window’s shutters, causing them to flap and clap like wooden wings in the breeze. That was odd, he must have not locked his windows well enough, although he was certain he had latched them shut. He got up and closed the shudders again, confirming the lock was secure.

Once he returned to bed, his eyelids began to droop again, but then he caught the scent of something. It was pleasant, soothing, like the odor of herbal tea. He could tell this new smell was too strong to be wafting up from the inn’s kitchen. It was like the source of the smell was right there, in that room with him. Yet panic did not seize him; the delightful smell calmed him, drawing him into a state of contented relaxation.

Blurry visions of wonderful colors and shapes passed through his mind, and a soft tinkling of bells filled the air. He smiled a little, a tiny hum of peace escaping his throat.

He enjoyed it for about another minute until his consciousness slapped him to attention. The tinkling sound was very close to him, as if someone were jingling coins next to his ear, and something was pressing down onto his body. A touch alighted on his cheek. He shot his eyes open, and although he could not see his intruder, he could feel a hot breath warming his face.

Something was right on top of him.

Horror grasped David’s entire body. The word “vampire” rang loudly in his ears. He had no wooden stake or cross on him—not that it would have done any good, given that he could not move. David cringed on the inside and the intruder sniffed gently on his nightshirt collar. He could hear his blood pounding in his ears, and he knew any moment his assailant was going to bury its teeth into his neck.

His mind grasped for logic long enough to remind him: the dagger… under your mattress…

the dagger… under your mattress… David swung his leg around and kicked the thing in the side. It huffed and reeled back, startled. He kicked it again, this time digging his heel into its neck, sending the intruder tumbling off the bed onto the floor. He flipped out of bed and thrust his hand under the mattress, quickly pulling out his dagger. He ripped it from its sheath and held it up threateningly. Rather than attack him, the creature burst out the window, nearly breaking the shudders right off their hinges.