The rest of the camp followed us here, making a half-circle around the vardo. They stood at a deferential distance, but looked on with concentrated interest as I approached the back of the conveyance. Bartolome knocked on the door there.

It opened and a woman emerged, the small wide figure who had appeared before to me, only this time the concealing shadows were gone. Bartolome and another man hastened forward to help her down the steps. She turned to face me, a no-nonsense expression stamped on her wrinkled features, the look in her dark eyes sharp enough to draw blood.

"Madam Eva, this is Lord Strahd von Zarovich," said Bartolome.

"I know who he is, child," she murmured with her blurred and raspy voice. Her face was round and wrinkled like a peeled apple left to dry by a fire. She treated me to a top-to-toe appraisal as she pulled her faded shawl about her shoulders. Her manner of dress was the same as the other women with its layers and varied hues of red and yellow, but overall it had more black to it.

Conscious that showing respect for the aged of the tribes, particularly for the women, would achieve more for me here than imperious demands, I chose to give her a deep, courtly bow.

"Welcome to Barovia, Madam Eva."

She laughed once. No one joined her. Fortunate, that, for I was not in a mood for levity. I wondered where this was going to lead. It was not as though she could invite me to sit down to tea.

A chuckle this time, which gave me to think that like others of her tribe she might possess a gift for hearing the thoughts of others. I would have to guard myself against this one.

"Come." She snapped out the command as only one of the sergeants in my army of old could do and made to climb the narrow steps back into the vardo. Again Bartolome and his friend helped, then stood out of the way as I followed her.

Within, the walls slanted out slightly from the floor, giving a bare illusion of space, but it was still very small and cramped to me. Madam Eva could comfortably stand up in it, but I could not and remained stooped over to keep from banging my head on the crossbeams. She indicated a low cushioned stool for me. I waited until she seated herself in a chair, all but lost in pillows and coverlets, then pulled the ends of my cloak close and perched on the cushion. My knees stuck out a bit, but it was unavoidable.

Two fat candles with broad holders to catch the wax were set in wall sconces on either side of her chair. Dangerous to have open flames here in this unsteady structure; it creaked and shifted with our every move, but she must have been used to taking care with them. The wavering light played over her ancient features, carving deeper shadows into her sagging skin. I could not guess how old she must be, but I had the feeling that were my true age to suddenly catch up with me, then I might have the same look about me and certainly the same sense of power. She fairly glowed with it, though she must have taken some effort to keep it restrained, else there would not have been room for the both of us in here.

The place smelled of magic, though I saw nothing overt, no obvious equipage such as I employed myself. Dangling from the crossbeams by different colored threads were bunches of drying herbs, some of the healing variety. I recognized many, observing one notable gap in the inventory.

"No garlic?" I asked, raising one eyebrow.

She bestowed an approving smile on me. "I wish my guests to be at ease."

She was a clever one, though she had underestimated me. While others who shared my nature might be weakened by the stench of garlic, I was immune to it. How good to know Eva could make an error.

"Tell me," she continued, "do they still call you 'the devil Strahd' hereabouts?"

"A man in my position is always the target of a certain amount of censure. I usually ignore it."

"It is what we called you those years ago before we left."

"Indeed."

"You know why we left, too."

"One of your men broke my laws."

"He was a foolish youth."

"Surely a redundancy of statement, madam. But it happened, as you said, years ago."

"Vistani have long memories, and to imprison one-"

"Rightfully imprisoned," I broke in, forgetting my manners. "The whelp was a spy and guilty of trespass and theft. I will not tolerate such in my land-then, now, or ever. It is my law."

That stopped conversation for a time as she digested this. Vistani, with their communal lives, have a decided difficulty in respecting the concept of private ownership of property. In their own minds they see themselves as only 'borrowing' any given item that catches the eye, something they practice on a daily basis within their tribes. They do not generally understand why other people make such a fuss when something of theirs goes missing.

"So if one of my people should again break this law…?"

"Then he or she will be punished for it. I strongly suggest that to avoid any unpleasantries you make this very clear to your people."

"I will speak to them of it, but I can promise nothing."

"Assure them that I take my duties very seriously. If Vistani memories are so long, then the whelp who escaped might have shared some recounting of his experiences in my dungeon."

"It is a song we sing around the fire after the children are asleep. The adults find it dark enough."

"If you think that dark, then let me remind you that the prisoner got away before his punishment had even begun."

"Aye, he got away." Her eyes glinted with amusement.

I fixed her with a look. "It will not happen again. I am not so careless as I once was."

She glowered, gave a snort, and nodded. "So the Vistani do not borrow in Barovia, in exchange for…?"

"Oh, I see-I am to pay you not to steal?" I let the sarcasm sink in for a few seconds. "Unacceptable, madam."

"All right. If we do not steal, we ask only to be able to wander free and unmolested while we are here. We have things to sell, amusements to offer your people they can get from no one else."

"And money to collect from it."

"That is the usual custom of things."

"My people do not have much in the way of coin, and you are inviting me to let you carry what there is of it away with you."

"Only a few coppers here and there-"

"Which add up. What you offer in the way of entertainment and goods is subject to taxation here."

"Taxation!" she nearly shouted.

"Only a few coppers here and there."

"We are a free people, we never pay taxes!"

"Until now. That is the price for using my roads and camping on my land. That is my law. In my land the law is obeyed. Those who break it must answer to my justice."

"You mean death?" she said wryly.

"Such is the penalty in my land."

"Except for Strahd von Zarovich."

"Indeed. I am the exception. Here I am the law. I am the land. Think on that before you make demands on my patience."

"We yet could leave as we came. You could not stop us."

"Probably not, but my guess is that you came here for a reason, a very strong one, that makes staying here a necessity. Else why come in the harsh winter?"

She settled back, the appraising expression back on her face. I had struck a resounding chord with her and we both knew it.

"From what do you run that makes Barovia seem such a haven?"

She lifted her hands and let them drop in her lap. "From what do we always run? The hatred of outsiders and their cruelties. Since hate and cruelty are everywhere, we must keep moving, ever moving."

"How?"

"In our vardos, as you see."

"I mean how do you travel the Mists?"

A slow smile crept over her features. "You would like to know that, would you not?"

"You would not find me ungrateful, either in the way of favors or money."

"Some things have no price. You must be born with the knowledge."