"That first night we came here, Hilda and I were scared silly by something which must have been artificial. What was it?"

"When you picked up the glass, I thought you had discovered us already. There was a subsonic generator in the room, putting out a fourteen-cycle note at about sixty decibels. This frequency causes an instinctive fear reaction. We had not allowed for the vibrations of the table, which almost gave us away when they began to move the glass across the table. Fortunately, I was able to distract you." He looked patiently at Napoleon. "Is there anything else?"

"Why did you have that empty coffin set up down in the family crypt? You couldn't have expected us there."

Peter's eyebrows drew together in a frown. "What coffin? We made use of no coffins...."

"I have a question," said Illya. "Why did you pretend to be driven off by the cross Hanevitch made of silver knives?"

The Thrush shrugged. "I was pretending to be a vampire. If you had realized I wasn't, you would have also realized why I was immune to your bullets, and aimed for a vulnerable spot. Besides, as I told your friend, we had no need to do more than frighten U.N.C.L.E. agents—not kill them."

Illya threw him a sardonic smile of disbelief. "Then why did you kill Carl Endros? For you should know that it was his death that brought us here in the first place."

The Thrush looked down at the floor, and seemed strangely reluctant to answer. At last he said, "Well, we...we didn't kill Carl Endros."

Napoleon looked at Illya, and then at Peter. "You didn't"

"No. In fact, we had every reason not to."

"Yes, but..." Napoleon was unwilling to go on. He and Illya looked at each other for several seconds.

Finally the Russian agent said, "He's lying, of course."

"Of course," echoed Napoleon, doubtfully.

"I wish I was," said Peter, a note of unhappiness creeping into his voice. "I wish I could believe I was lying. In fact, I almost wish we had killed him."

Napoleon looked at him, a slight crease between his eyebrows. "But if you didn't kill him, then who..."

"No, Napoleon," said Illya softly. "Don't even ask. There are things which man was never meant to..."

"Never mind," said Napoleon hastily. "Never mind. We won't even think about it."

"I'd rather not," said the Thrush. "But I can't help thinking about it." He smiled bitterly. "Look," he said, and pulled from the neck of his shirt a little silver crucifix on a chain. "I've worn this ever since I heard about Endros' body being found. My superiors would drop my rank if they ever found out about it. But I think we bothered someone when we started digging there—someone who had been asleep a long time. Someone who didn't like being awakened. Now maybe he'll go back to sleep."

Illya stared at the Thrush in amazement. "That is quite a performance," he said finally. "Don't worry, there won't be enough evidence to hang Carl's murder on you. A simple denial would be sufficient."

The Thrush nodded. "Then let it go at that, and live happily. I only wish I could."

Illya gestured to the guards, and Peter was taken away.

They pulled their coats on, and started out to the car. Hilda was on the porch, talking intimately with Zoltan, and they just caught her phrase, "... so happy you will be returning to the castle."

But Napoleon tapped her on the elbow, and said, "Come on, you two can drive us out to the field where the helicopters are—the rest of this can be handled by the local agents and Hanevitch. We're getting a plane back to New York."

* * *

Snow was still falling lightly in the cold evening air, and as they came around the corner of Satul Contru, the city hall, Hanevitch came hurrying out to meet them, his Tokarev in his hand.

"There was someone at your car just a moment ago," he said urgently. "I saw him from the window upstairs."

But the fresh snow all around the car for many feet was untouched and smooth. Only on the surface of the hood was there any mark—and that looked most deliberate.

Zoltan went forward and looked at it, then without a word he beckoned to Illya and Napoleon.

The thin layer of snow on the cold metal was marked with letters, a few words in Rumanian. "A joke of some sort," said Zoltan coldly. Illya and Napoleon nodded without saying anything.

"Thank you. I return to my rest."

There was no signature.

Hanevitch was muttering behind them, "But I did see someone—not clearly, but he was here. The snow could not have covered his tracks so soon...."

"Never mind," said Illya. "Whether you did or didn't, you should have nothing more to worry about."

The Colonel heaved his shoulders, and holstered his big automatic. Zoltan held the door open for Hilda, as Napoleon and Illya slung their bags in back and joined them, then went around to sit beside her. Doors slammed, the engine started, and Hanevitch stood back from the old black Poboda as Hilda put it in gear and it rolled away down the hill.

He waved after them as they went around the corner onto the main street, then turned up his collar and started back towards his warm office, where so much paperwork had to be done. It was a full-time job just protecting his village against the government and the rest of the world, without having to protect it from vampires too.

He glanced up at the white sky just before closing the door, and smiled. It was still snowing.

THE END

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posted 6.9.2002, transcribed by Connie