Just as I put a foot to the Devil’s Staircase, I heard my name called, the voice carried upon the wind.

“Miss Theodora!” I saw Florian, scrambling quickly down the last steps of the staircase, relief writ in his features. I was happy to see him as well. Florian interested me deeply, both for his little kindnesses and his air of sadness. If Cosmina and I wanted to walk in the garden, Florian was quick to ensure that a bench was scrubbed and the path swept. If we wanted music, he obliged us, sometimes working late into the night upon his ledgers to compensate for these indulgences. He was a gifted musician, and whatever instrument he put his hand to, something quite astonishing issued forth. I had wondered how deeply he mourned the life he had not finished, but I had sensed in him no regret. He seemed to take a solid pride in his work as steward; more than once had we seen him buoyed in spirits because Count Andrei had waved a hand in assent when he had requested some trifle for the villagers that would ease their troubles. No, his sadness seemed to well up from within, as if his very core was fashioned of lamentation, and I had often wished for a chance to speak with him alone, the better to gauge his character.

He put out a hand to me. “We have not much long before the storm come down,” he explained in his quaint English. “We will hurry. You are welcome to my arm.”

I smiled in my relief and availed myself of his kindly offer. “I am very happy to see you,” I told him. “I enjoy a good brisk walk, but I think this will be quite strenuous indeed.”

He said nothing more, and neither did I, for the climb was indeed a strenuous one. Florian proved the perfect companion, stalwartly lending his strength when the pace proved too quick for me, and matching his steps to my own so that I should not be left behind. The sky had blackened alarmingly and the clouds were tinged with a strange, luteous light.

“It is raining hard soon, but we have been fast,” Florian advised me as we gained the last turning towards the top. He looked up and nodded. “We may here rest a moment.” He gestured towards a boulder set just off of the staircase path and gallantly placed his handkerchief upon it for me to sit.

“Thank you,” I said, resting myself gratefully. “I do not think I have yet made that climb so quickly. It was very kind of you to come for me.”

He shrugged. “Miss Cosmina worries. She says you are in village and I am to go.”

And he had seized the opportunity to come alone for me, I reflected, wondering uncomfortably if Florian had developed a tendresse for me. He was always attentive to our needs, Cosmina’s and mine, always within calling distance if we had need of him. That he might have formed an attachment to me was faintly troubling. He was a servant, albeit an upper one, and it would take dexterous handling to make certain he was neither embarrassed nor angered by my reaction to his attentions.

Deliberately, I diverted the conversation. “I spent the afternoon with Dr. Frankopan. He was talking of Teodor Popa.”

To my surprise Florian responded with a grave nod. “Yes. He has gone wolf,” he said soberly, as if commenting upon a spell of bad weather or the loss of a cow. It was nothing extraordinary to him, nothing beyond the pale of possibility.

“Madame Popa seems quite distressed.”

He shrugged again. “She have many children. They have no father now.”

“A difficult thing for a woman,” I agreed. “Still she is lucky to have employment with Dr. Frankopan. I cannot imagine he will let any evil befall Madame Popa or her children.”

Florian fell silent then, and I realised we had exhausted his conversation upon the subject of Teodor Popa. Were such things really so commonplace as to require no further discussion?

I chose my next words carefully. “And then we spoke of strigoi. He explained the difference to me. It was very unsettling. We do not have vampires in Scotland,” I finished with a little smile of invitation. But he did not wish to converse upon this matter either, for his expression became flinty.

“There are greater evils in these mountains than werewolves or strigoi,” he said flatly, and it did not escape my attention that the sentence had been rendered in perfectly composed English.

I longed to urge him to elaborate, but he put out his hand. “We will go now. The storm comes.”

I looked up just in time to see a jagged bolt of lightning shred the black veil of clouds shrouding the castle towers, and the rain began to fall. I put my hand in Florian’s and we set our steps for the castle.

When we arrived in the great hall, soaked and shivering, Cosmina was waiting.

“Theodora! You are wet through. Come at once and change into dry things,” she ordered. She led me out of the room and I looked back at Florian. He was even wetter than I, for he had tried to shield me from the worst of the storm, and I regretted stopping to rest upon the staircase. He stared after us, his face a study in misery. I called my thanks to him, and for a brief moment, a faint smile warmed his face before he turned away, sunk again into his sadness.

Cosmina hurried me on, pausing at the foot of the tower. She nodded towards the little wooden door I had passed so many times.

“We will hang your wet things here,” she instructed, leading the way.

I stepped inside, catching my breath at the sudden gust of cold air. The room was unfurnished, the cold stone walls and floors unrelieved by tapestry or carpets. The only light came from the arrow slits in the walls, for there were no proper windows. A curious stone bench was set into one wall.

“This was the castle garderobe in medieval times,” Cosmina explained.

She did not elaborate, but I knew that this room would have served two purposes when the castle was first built. A garderobe was a privy, but sometime in the mists of the past some enterprising soul had discovered that the resulting odours discouraged moth and the most valuable clothes would have been hung there as well. The iron hooks for the garments were still in place, albeit crumbling to rust. And the stone bench that ran along one wall was still partially open to the valley below, fashioned so that it would be easily sluiced clean from time to time, as could the floor itself through a wide square drain in the wall. I peered down the disgusting flue to see the same river view I enjoyed from my window. The garderobe was vastly colder than the rest of the castle, and I shivered as Cosmina pulled off my sodden shawls.

She draped them over the stoutest of the hooks and turned to me. “I will bring your dress to dry here as well. Your things would dry faster in your room, but here they will not spoil the carpet or be in your way. Your shoes we will stuff with paper and place upon the hearth.”

I agreed, too cold and woebegone to care. She guided me to my room and waited for my gown before she helped me into bed and drew the heavy coverlets over me. The fire had already been built up, and Cosmina promised to send Tereza with a fresh pot of tea to warm me.

“You needn’t come downstairs to dine if you feel too poorly,” she told me, putting an anxious hand to my brow. “You are not starting a fever, at least not yet.”

I smiled at her from my comfortable downy nest. “I have been caught in more rainstorms than I care to remember. Once I am warm again, I will be quite well.”

Her brow was still furrowed. “I hope so. I would feel very responsible if you were to fall ill.”

“Why? The fault would be my own for tarrying too long at Dr. Frankopan’s,” I said, feeling warmer and rather drowsy.

Her worry seemed to ease a little. “You enjoy his company, do you not? Such a kindly old man.”

“Very,” I agreed. “He was telling me of poor Madame Popa and her troubles with her husband and then we talked of strigoi.”