'And so Oulio flopped about in his death agonies; his mouth yawned open and his neck grew fat, and his purple face swelled up as if to burst. Until at last... at last something came out of him!'

Heinar half started to his feet. 'Something? What sort of something? Was he sick? Did he throw up his guts?'

Turgo shook his head. 'His guts, no. He threw up nothing. I saw it and I remember. I remember what I thought: that this thing wanted to be out of him! Because while he was finished, there might be another chance for it. Don't ask me where the idea came from, but that's what I thought.'

'But what was it?'

Turgo shrugged, then shuddered, which was something Heinar had never seen him do before. 'A huge slug, a leech, a great fat blindworm - don't ask me, for I don't know. It was partly black, grey, leprous, ridged, writhing. Big as a boy's arm, I thought it would split his face! And it dragged itself out of him and wriggled for cover - because just like Oulio it felt the sunlight. Its head was flattened, like a snake's, but it was blind, eyeless. Yet somehow, it sensed the lad's machete still raised on high and reared back from it. But too late ... he was quick ... he struck off its head!

'A moment more and men unfroze, sprang forward, kicked the wriggling pieces into the fire. Then ... we all looked at each other - all of us, with faces white as chalk - and we looked at the lad, who used his great knife again. This time he took Oulio's head: two, three strokes ... it was done. And again we tossed both parts into the fire, then stood there till they'd burned to ashes ...'

Heinar stared hard at Turgo, who gazed back unblinkingly. And Heinar knew that every word of it had been the truth. For who could embellish a thing like that? Finally he said, This Shaitan's eyes were red. I thought it was only the firelight, reflected in them. Well, maybe it was - and maybe it wasn't.'

'We'll know for sure at sunup,' the other answered. 'But do you really want to wait that long? Right now, who or whatever that man is, he's with Maria Babeni, in her caravan. And maybe he's with her just like Oulio was with that girl. Also, Heinar, my story still isn't finished.'

There's more? But what else can there be?'

'A plague, I said,' Turgo reminded him, 'and a plague's what I meant. For in the dead of the next night - and after that poor lass's husband had buried her in the woods - who should come ghosting into camp but the girl herself! Oh, her flesh was pale and her nails broken from the digging, but her appetite was healthy enough, and good long teeth to match it!

'Well, the men around the fire had all taken strong drink; at first they didn't know her. She went among them like a whore, tempting, stroking, biting their necks. But suddenly her bites were real! Aye, and her eyes were red! Then, they knew her.

'Well, this time we knew better what we were doing. But we had to hold her poor raving husband down while we did it..."

Heinar shook his head in utter bewilderment. Until at last: 'A plague, aye,' he said. 'But Turgo, what are we talking about here? A creature that lives in a man - or a woman - making him or her crazy enough to live by the blood of other men?'

That's exactly what we're talking about,' said the other. 'A wampir which makes its host victim strong, lusty, devious, and very hard to kill. Old Oulio lonescu wasn't a rapist, and he certainly wasn't a murderer! And what about this girl, who came back from the grave?'

'Isn't it possible she was buried alive?'

'No,' Turgo shook his head in firm denial. 'She was dead for sure. And later - undead!'

Heinar could scarcely take it all in. 'What was that word you used? Wampir?'

Turgo nodded. 'In certain western regions, that's what men call the great bats that suck on goats. If they find a crippled goat under the moon, they'll suck him dry.'

Heinar's mouth was likewise dry. He looked nervously all about - at the tents, the carts and caravans, and not least the shadows - then licked his lips and finally nodded. 'Well, I know about such bats, of course: we Hagis call 'em "vexies". Catch them at our goats, we sneak up, club them, break their wings. But men with giant leeches in them?' He didn't try to hide a small shudder. 'No, I have to admit, you're the expert on this one, Turgo Zolte. So what next? How do we handle it?'

'What we don't do is act too hasty,' Turgo said. 'For we'd never live it down if this Shaitan's innocent - and a hero to boot.'

'Which he could well be,' Heinar let himself down from his branch. 'For after all, young Vidra Gogosita reckons he saved his life!'

Turgo's deep-etched frown showed his dilemma, his uncertainty. 'That's the hell of it,' he nodded. 'It's possible all this talk's for nothing - indeed I hope it is! - but can we risk it?'

'No,' Heinar gave a short, sharp shake of his head, convinced that he'd be far better safe than sorry. 'Vidra's had his head down for a while now. Perhaps we should go and have a word with him.'

They did. The widow Gogosita heard them coming, met them at the flap of her tent with a finger to her lips. 'Shhh/ The poor lad's asleep. And Heinar,' she grasped his arm, 'it's very good of you to show your concern this way. Ah, but it must have been terrible up there! Such nightmares! Vidra rambles as in a fever ... he speaks of blood, and murder!'

They went in, all three, to stand quietly beside the youth where he tossed and turned. The night had turned cold, and yet the sweat stood out on Vidra's brow. He was pale as a ghost, with grey hollows in his cheeks and under his eyes.

Turgo glanced at Heinar, went to shake the lad's shoulder. His mother got between. 'What's this?' she hissed. 'But can't you see he needs his sleep? Well, whatever, it will have to keep.'

'No, Elana. It can't keep.' Heinar was familiar with her, but firm. He put her to one side, and ...

... And Vidra came breathlessly, babblingly alive!

He was still asleep, but the cold sweat welled up that much faster, and the words jerked out of him in squalls, like sudden bursts of spattering rain. 'No, no ... keep off ... keep away!' He tugged at his blanket until it was a damp knot. 'Ah, great ghoul ... but do you murder men for their clothes? No, no, for I see it's more than their clothes you're after! ... Keep off! Go torment Dezmir ... not me, not me.' He flopped this way and that. 'Ah, but now I know you, fiend! ... Your eyes like lamps ... they let you find your way in the dark! But not me, not me! Go suck on Dezmir's neck and let me be!'

And with that last he turned on his side, and his neck was visible where his mother had washed it. Turgo and Heinar looked - and saw.

'Punctures,' Turgo growled. 'Tears in the flesh. And the flesh itself inflamed, poisoned!'

Heinar nodded his grim agreement.

The widow's hand had flown to her mouth. 'What did Vidra say? About murdering men for ... for their clothes? But now it comes to me. That stranger was wearing Vidra's long coat. Also Klaus Luncani's trousers! Much too short for him ... they have a patched right thigh. I'd know that patch anywhere, for I put it there. His poor wife is no good ... with needle and thread ... at all!' Her eyes opened like great mad windows.

And so did Vidra's as he came awake, sat bolt upright and snarled his terror, then reached out his trembling arms for his mother. 'Ma! - Mama! - Ma-aaaaa!' His cry was a gasp, a hiss, not loud, but it penetrated Turgo, Heinar and the widow like a long hot iron sliding into their flesh.

And for all that it was quiet, still its echoes reached out a great deal farther than the tent of the Gogositas ...

In Maria Babeni's caravan, Shaitan came awake!

What was that? A cry in the night? From which quarter?

The night seemed still, quiet, but Shaitan's vampire intelligence was not. It was unquiet. He sensed movement; men other than the watchkeepers were awake in the camp, stirring furtively.