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Shattered Concealments Dracula's Account
It was a commonly believed adage, widespread and often whispered in the same breath as warnings against venturing out: never trust a gypsy. Though not uncommon for the area, the race of wanderers had severe obstacles to overcome when passing through Bistritz. The villagers had no welcome for gypsies, whose precarious reputations and questionable talents merited them little more than somber glances and wary murmurs. This time of year it was the group of Tsigane that came, brief as their stay was. Whether they were ambitious enough to cross the Carpathians in departure, or were merely lured by the promise of gold, the Tsigane had disregarded superstition to answer the summons of the boyar whose wealth outweighed the danger.
�You are certain it will arrive without repercussions,� I articulated carefully, passing the envelope between my hands lithely.
�On my honor as a gypsy,� replied the swarthy man, in his native Romany tongue.
I laughed softly; slow, deliberate peals that confused the man further, echoing off the mountains and dying away gradually. �That is not saying much; a gypsy�s word is as disposable as his life.�
If he was insulted he did not show it. Instead, concern etched itself on his countenance as he tugged at his cap in frustration. �Begging your pardon, sir.�
�No, you shall have to do much more than that,� I answered with a restless movement. �The post is uncertain here and it is imperative this letter reaches its destination. I cannot have another letter of interruption reaching my doors and disturbing my guest.�
�Yes, yes, of course,� agreed the gypsy, making an attempt to take the envelope I still retained. I handed it to him resignedly, glancing up at the castle windows as I did so.
Pressing one gold florin into his palm, I gave my final instruction. �Tell no one what you do.�
The Tsigane faded away into the deep mist, the sounds of bells and carriage wheels lingering in the twilight. I waited until no more could be heard of them before going in, ascending the staircase to the room where I knew Kelantha waited. The evening hours witnessed our discourse, and the shade of night concealed the laboratory in which we both challenged and tested the boundaries of science. There was no project she evaded, no subject mentioned that she was not at least sufficiently acquainted with. I could see why she had left the strict routines of Madrid, and why even the university of London proved too narrow a scope for her wide vision. What Kelantha sought could not be found in the acceptable theories of science�hers was the disposition to defy convention. It was immortality she believed could be found, despite the mocking professors and disapproving priests I knew all too well she must have encountered. It pleased me, this useful curiosity of hers. I observed her proceedings with calm delight, knowing that as each day passed she drew nearer the inevitable end to her ignorance. Her movements were graceful and comfortable, moving about the castle with ease and making use of its resources without being asked needlessly. No longer did she start when I entered the room, or turn quickly at the sound of my voice. She was accustomed to my presence, and seemed as much at ease adapting to nocturnal habits.
Three brief raps on the door preceded my entrance, causing Kelantha to look up from the leather-bound volume in her hands. She smiled faintly, rising from her place on the divan and bidding me good evening in low tones. Her dark eyes flashed, and even by the comfortably dim glow of a single lamp, there was color in her cheeks and importance in her step that hinted of an accomplishment. Returning her greeting, I took in the fair vision before me but could not dismiss the strong sense of agitation that had descended swiftly.
�You seem very refreshed, Miss Cabrera,� I observed warmly. �Our singular climate complements your lovely complexion.�
�I thank you,� she answered, her color rising slightly. �I suppose I may attribute it to the walk I took this afternoon. I discovered the path through the forest with much enjoyment�your lands are truly enchanting, Count.�
�Yes,� I agreed, drawing nearer and viewing her more closely. �It would appear you belong here. The enchantment suits you.�
Had Kelantha intended to respond, she would not have had the opportunity. Something near the bureau caught my attention�a vile sight! Clusters of wild roses were arranged in a delicate vase, blooming and audacious. My breath caught suddenly, and turning from my guest I gazed at the abominable flowers furiously. But one purpose filled my mind: to remove the offensive object, quickly. Crossing the room, I snatched the vase off the bureau. Two long strides succeeded in gaining the window, and within an instant, I threw the entire vase at the mercy of gravity. Kelantha hurried to the window when she saw�or rather guessed at�my intent, arriving in time to see the pottery smash into a nice collection of shards at the stony base. She looked at me in horror, as if it had been a vase of jewels rather than mere, vulgar roses.
Drawing breath sharply, I asked hastily, �Where did those roses come from? Did you bring them here?�
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