A Curious Beginning

“I will do the act. For Christ’s sake, I taught Rizzolo.”


“Too true! Too true. Of course, I cannot permit you to include any of my regular performers in the act,” he added with an air of silky menace. “Far too dangerous.”

“Fine,” Stoker said, biting off the word sharply. His fingers flexed over mine.

The professor stroked his chin. “I expect your devoted bride would be only too happy to provide you with a partner.”

He flicked his inscrutable gaze to me, and I drew myself up to my full height. I did not grasp the full measure of his insinuations, but I knew my loyalties must lie with Stoker.

“Whatever my husband asks of me, I will be only too happy to do,” I said stoutly.

The professor’s expression shifted to one of delight. “I am pleased to hear you say so,” he told me. “As to accommodations, you and your bride may have Rizzolo’s old caravan for your private use.”

I opened my mouth to remonstrate, but Stoker tightened his grip on my hand, nearly crushing the bones, and I cursed myself for a fool. Of course we would share accommodations. That was what married people did, I reminded myself firmly.

“Thank you, Professor,” Stoker said.

The professor turned his charming smile upon me. “And now, I am certain you would like to retire with your bride. You have had a long journey.”

The words were gracious, but there was dismissal in the tone. It seemed to suit Stoker, for he gave a jerk of his head and nudged me out of the tent as I was still attempting to make my farewells.

“Pity we didn’t stay longer. I quite fancied one of those cream cakes,” I said wistfully. “We have not had a proper meal in quite some time.”

“There are only a few hours left until breakfast. You will have to make do until then,” he replied irritably.

“Stoker!” We whirled at the voice behind us. It was Colosso, following us on silent feet through the shadows of the camp. Beside me I felt Mr. Stoker tense, and with an instinct I am not certain he even realized, he took half a step forward, putting himself between me and the enormous fellow.

“Colosso,” he returned coldly.

The other man came forward, and it was like watching the progress of a mountain. He moved slowly and with inexorable purpose, stopping only when he was toe to toe with Stoker, forcing him to bend his head back to look him in the eye.

“Do you mark what I promised you the last time?” Colosso demanded.

Somehow, even with his neck crooked at that impossible angle, staring up at this force of nature, Mr. Stoker managed to sound bored. “Something about fileting out my spine to play like a fiddle.”

Colosso’s gaze narrowed. “You think I forgot?”

“Well, it is possible. I imagine the air is rather thin up there,” Mr. Stoker replied.

I stifled a laugh, for the expression on the giant’s face was purest venom. “It is no joke to be the enemy of Colosso,” he said. He leaned forward swiftly, forcing Mr. Stoker even further backward. “There will come a reckoning.”

“Unless you mean to suffocate me with your halitosis, kindly step back and let me on my way,” Mr. Stoker stated flatly.

Colosso smiled then, a gruesome thing, for the corners of his mouth turned down as he grinned, and several of his teeth were broken to the root. He put one stiff finger squarely into Mr. Stoker’s chest. “The reckoning is coming. And soon.”

He turned and moved away, slipping silently back into the shadows with a noiselessness that was frankly unnerving in so enormous a man.

“What the devil was that about?” I demanded.

Mr. Stoker slid a hand under my arm and propelled me forward. “Nothing. But let’s go before he changes his mind and decides to have my liver on toast for his breakfast, shall we?”

He said nothing more until we reached the empty caravan. It stood at the end of the encampment, a little forlorn, for it was dark and unwelcoming. But Mr. Stoker soon lit the lamps and gestured for me to precede him, up the narrow stairs and into the bow-topped little wagon. It was as comfortably fitted as any ship’s cabin, and I was quite pleased. The furnishings were rather meager, but it was clean and tidy. A table that could fold out had been latched to one wall, and a pair of small, cozy armchairs were pushed against a tiny stove whose hearth was cold to the touch. Against the back wall, a wide bed had been fitted, and to my relief, I saw it was spread with almost clean linen. And it was with enormous interest that I realized it did not have a twin.

I heard a groan from behind me. “Bloody hell,” he muttered.

I guessed he had just noticed the sleeping arrangements, and I turned to him with an artless air. “I suppose you could always take the chairs if you are feeling bashful.”

He eyed the upright armchairs.

“I haven’t slept in a proper bed in six months. A night on those chairs might cripple me entirely.”

“Then there is no alternative, I am afraid,” I said cheerfully. “We shall have to share the bed.”