The Adventure of the Double Image

planned to hike out to and explore a nearby Bronze Age settlement before heading into the village of Grimpon the next day to take the train back to London, where Aelfraed would meet them and return her to Norfolk as Margaret proceeded on to York.

  She glanced to her left as she made ready to cremate another marshmallow. Vlad lay beside the fire in his black hound form, his chin on his paws. She smiled as she considered the irony of how appropriate that seemed considering their location. Behind him and to one side sat two tents, with one currently occupied by their two adult chaperones. Despite the fact that it was virtually the first time her senior staff had let her go off on her own, being as she and Margaret were only fourteen they were required to have some form of supervision other than her Vampire servant. One was Margaret's nanny, a Miss Newtown, who had been her nursery maid before her mother had died. She hadn't been happy to be dragged along, but she hadn't been offered a choice. Differel got the impression she would have preferred to stay at a hotel. The other was a random female Caerleon Order agent from one of the Devon substations by the name of Sophia Brunt. She at least had been more enthusiastic, and being a native she knew Dartmoor rather well.

  She shivered slightly as a breeze blew up. Despite being July it was a chilly night.

  "It turns out I have a brother," Margaret said.

  That took her by surprise, but she covered it with practiced ease. Margaret always dropped bombs like that whenever they got together.

  "When did you find this out?"

  "A week before this trip. Father told me. It seems that in his late teens he had an affair with a barmaid and got her pregnant. He arranged through an uncle to give her an annual allowance and set her up in a more legitimate line of work, and created a trust fund for the boy. Apparently he has just graduated from Eaton and has been accepted to Oxford. Father told me about him because he wants to officially recognize and adopt him as his son so that he can inherit the dukedom when he dies."

  Margaret's matter-of-fact discourse made her nervous. She almost seemed too calm. "I'm sorry."

  Margaret flashed an irritated look. "What are you sorry about?"

  "That you won't become Duchess."

  She smirked. "The Duchy of Anglin can only be inherited by male heirs, so I wouldn't have received the title in any event. The worst that would've happened is that it would have gone into abeyance until one surfaced, either a son of my own or some distant cousin. Besides, I never wanted it in the first place; too much responsibility goes with it, and I'd prefer to live the life of a playgirl."

  She smiled. Margaret was more worldly than she, but Differel doubted that even she knew what a 'playgirl' really was. She probably had one of her celebutante heroines in mind. "That can get expensive."

  "Father also set up a trust fund for me at birth. It's currently worth some 400 million pounds sterling, more than enough to live on, especially if I invest it."

  "Okay. So, what's bothering you?"

  Margaret threw her a dirty look. "Who says I'm bothered by anything?"

  She shrugged and gobbled another completed s'more. Sometimes it was saner and less traumatic to let Maggot raise her personal problems in her own way.

  She scowled. "Oh, bugger. All right, what bothers me, other than being concerned about how this 'brother' might try to usurp my fortune, is that, for the first time, I've been forced to acknowledge that Father is a human being. In fact, a man like any other, who can be rather manky when he wants to be."

  "Hmph. That would gobsmack me, too."

  Margaret didn't reply; she just chewed on a s'more with a consternated expression. "Can you..." She frowned, but her downturned eyebrows suggested she felt embarrassed. "Can you imagine your parents...doing it?"

  Differel jerked with surprise. That was positively the last thing she ever expected Maggot to ask. "Can you?" She didn't mean to be evasive, but she felt so surprised that it just blurted out.

  Margaret stared daggers at her. "I asked you first, Dribble."

  She smirked at the childish retort, but hers had not been more mature. "Bollocks. Okay, logically, they must have at least once, otherwise I wouldn't be here, but no, I can't." She constructed a new s'more. "Sometimes, I overhear the servants talking about their lovers. When I was younger, it meant nothing to me and I dismissed it as inconsequential, but now I understand what they're saying, if only on a rudimentary level, and I find it shocking. The idea that Father and Mother did those kinds of things together turns my stomach, quite frankly."

  "Me, too. I've also overheard talk like that, but I expect servants to be slags, especially the maids, so it's never bothered me."

  She felt her temper flare. "Shut it, you bloody git."

  Margaret glared at her. "What's got your knickers in a twist all of a sudden?"

  "You know how much I hate it when you disparage the help, Maggot."

  "Who the hell do you think you are, Dribble, Michael Bloody Foot?"

  "Oh, you really know how to hit below the belt."

  "And I suppose you'd rather be compared to Margaret Thatcher?"

  "Now you're just kicking a girl when she's down."

  Vlad raised his head, tilted his ears forward, and gazed around. She and Margaret froze. Other people sometimes forgot he was human when he was in that form, but Differel knew he hadn't detected a deer or a rabbit. He focused on a stretch of trees just in front of and past the tents, laid his ears back, and growled.

  Five shapes stumbled out of the woods with a shambling gate, emitting a low, monotonous moan. Vlad rose to his feet, his fur bristling, as his growls became snarls. When they entered the firelight, she noticed their pale gray skin, thousand-yard stare, and frightful gapping wounds and injuries. They didn't seem to see them, yet they shifted direction, quickened their pace, and began a loud, piercing keening.

  "Jesus Christ!" Margaret screeched. "Are those zombies?!"

  Differel leapt up and summoned Caliburn as Vlad launched himself at the nearest ghoul, knocking it down and tearing off its head with his jaws. The two closest converged on him as the remaining pair made for the fire.

  "Go wake the others!" She raised the greatsword and rushed to intercept them. Behind them she saw Vlad dispatch one of those attacking him, but its companion savagely bit and clawed at his flank.

  As Differel reached the other pair she realized that, despite Caliburn's size, she was too short to try for head strikes. Without breaking stride she swung the blade down and to the left, cutting one walker off at the knees. She dodged right as it toppled forward, and swung up and back, decapitating it before it hit the ground. She spun around to face the second, which already loomed over her. She raised the sword to chop down, but before she could strike a shot rang out and one side of the ghoul's head splattered as the bullet slammed into it. It pitched sideways, dropped, and lay still. Surprised, she turned and saw Ms. Brunt standing in front of the tents, holding her Walther PPK, while behind her Miss Newtown clutched at Margaret with a terrified look on her face.

  Turning back to locate Vlad, she watched him destroy the last walker. As quiet descended over the camp, she could hear the far off collective moan of many more living dead slowly approaching.

  "Oh, bloody hell! They're zeroing in on our position. We need to evacuate, immediately."

  Brunt pointed her pistol at Vlad as he approached. "He's been bitten!"

  Differel glanced down at him and spotted the wound on his hip before he morphed into shadow. Turning her attention back to the others she said, "His resident population of parasites gives him immunity to whichever disease they had, and he can use his knowledge of the Dark Arts to heal himself."

  The shadowy cloud grew larger, morphed into a human shape, and dissipated to reveal his normal form. "It is the fungal strain, My Master."

  She nodded then focused on the two women. "Get dressed, and collect anything you can carry."

  Brunt nodded and she pulled Newtown inside with her, despite the fact the nanny seemed petrified.

  She looked at Margar
et. "We need to figure out what we can take with us."

  She nodded, but she wore an expression that mixed confusion with anxiety. "What are those things?"

  "You guessed right, though the proper term is Wiederganger."

  "What does that mean?"

  "'Those which walk again'. 'Zombie' is actually a misnomer in this case, because these things are nothing like the creatures of Voodoo legend. These are in fact victims of a disease that destroys their brains, turning them into automatons that act out of basic instinct, such as feeding. In this case, the disease is a yeast-like organism that consumes much of the brain and replaces it with a fungal mass, which in turn controls the more primitive parts that are still intact."

  Margaret flashed her trademark infuriating arrogant smile. "Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene II."

  She frowned in confusion. "What?" Then the shilling dropped. She referred to the 'what's in a name' line from Juliet's balcony monologue.

  She scowled. "Fine; whatever; have it your way."

  "As it should be, Dribble."

  "Shut it, Maggot."

  Ms. Brunt and Miss Newtown came out of their tent, fully dressed and carrying a few personal items each.

  "All right, we need to decide what to take with us--"

  Seven more zombies emerged from the woods and made a beeline for the camp. Brunt aimed and fired without hesitation, and one walker went down.

  "No! Save you ammunition. Vlad, the fire!"

  The Master Vampire exploded into a cloud of shadow, and engulfed the campfire,