The Keep

"Whatman?"

Cuza thought he saw Molasar flinch, thought the pallid face had grown a shade paler. "I don't know much about him. His name is Gle

Cuza suddenly felt himself jerked forward and upward. In a blur of motion, Molasar's hands had shot out, grasped the fabric of his coat, and lifted him clear off the floor.

"What does he look like?" The words were harsh, forced through clenched teeth.

"He—he's tall!" Cuza blurted, terrified by the enormous strength in the cold hands just inches from his throat, and the long yellow teeth so near. "Almost as tall as you, and—"

"His hair! What about his hair?"

"Red!"

Molasar hurled him away through the air, sending him tumbling across the room, rolling and skidding helplessly, bruisingly along the floor. And as he did, a guttural sound escaped Molasar's throat, distorted by rage but recognizable to Cuza as—

"Glaeken!"

Cuza thudded against the far wall of the room and lay dazed for a moment. As his vision slowly cleared, he saw something he had never expected to see in Molasar's face: fear.

Glaeken? Cuza thought, crouching, afraid to speak. Wasn't that the name of the secret sect Molasar had mentioned two nights ago? The fanatics who used to pursue him? The ones he had built the keep to hide from? He watched Molasar go to the window and stare out toward the village, his expression unreadable. Finally, he turned again toward Cuza. His mouth was set in a tight, thin line.

"How long has he been here?"

"Three days—since Wednesday evening." Cuza felt compelled to add: "Why? What's wrong?"

Molasar did not answer immediately. He paced back and forth in the growing darkness beyond the candlelight—three steps this way, three steps that way, deep in thought. And then he stopped.

"The Glaeken sect must still exist," he said in a hushed voice. "I should have known! They were always too tenacious, their zeal for world domination too fanatical for them to die out! These Nazis you speak of ... this Hitler... it all makes sense now. Of course!"

Cuza felt it might be safe to rise. "What makes sense?"

"The Glaeken always chose to work behind the scenes, using popular movements to hide their identity and their true aims." Molasar stood there, a towering shadow, and raised his fists. "I see it now. Lord Hitler and his followers are just another facade for the Glaeken. I've been a fool! I should have recognized their methods when you first told me about the death camps. And then that twisted cross these Nazis have painted on everything—how obvious! The Glaeken were once an arm of the Church!"

"But Gle

"He is one of them! Not one of their puppets like the Nazis, but one of the i

Cuza felt his throat constrict. "But how can you be sure?"

"The Glaeken breed their assassins true to a certain form: always blue eyes, always faintly olive skin, always red hair. They are trained in every method of killing, including ways of killing the undead. This one who calls himself Gle

Cuza leaned against the wall, reeling at the thought of Magda in the arms of a man who was part of the real power behind Hitler. It was too fantastic to believe! And yet it all seemed to fit. That was the real horror of it—it all fit. No wonder Gle

He steadied himself and looked at Molasar. Cuza could not allow himself to panic now. He needed answers before deciding what to do. "How can he possibly stop you?"

"He knows ways ... ways perfected by his sect over centuries of conflict with my kind. He alone would be able to use my talisman against me. If he gains possession of it he will destroy me!"

"Destroy you..." Cuza stood in a daze. Gle

"He must be eliminated," Molasar said. "I ca

"Then do it!" Cuza said. "Kill him like you killed the others!"

Molasar shook his head. "I am not yet strong enough to face one such as he—at least not outside these walls. I'm stronger in the keep. If there were some way to bring him here, I could deal with him. I could then see that he would never interfere with me—ever!"

"I have it!" The solution was suddenly clear in Cuza's brain, crystallizing even as he spoke. It was so simple. "We'll have him brought here."

Molasar's expression was dubious but interested. "By whom?"

"Major Kaempffer will be more than happy to do it!" Cuza heard himself laugh and was startled at the sound. But why not laugh? He could not suppress his glee at the idea of using an SS major to help rid the world of Nazism.

"Why should he want to do that?"

"Leave it to me!"

Cuza seated himself in the wheelchair and began rolling toward the door. His mind was working furiously. He would have to find the right way to bend the major to his way of thinking, to let Kaempffer reach the decision to bring Gle

"Guard! Guard!" he shouted. Sergeant Oster hurried over immediately, two other soldiers behind him. "Get the major!" he called, puffing with feigned exertion. "I must speak to him immediately!"

"I'll relay the message," the sergeant said, "but don't expect him to come ru

"Tell him I've learned something important about the keep, something that must be acted upon tonight. Tomorrow may be too late!"

The sergeant looked at one of the privates and jerked his head toward the rear of the keep. "Move!" To the other, he gestured toward the wheelchair. "Let's see to it that Major Kaempffer doesn't have to walk too far to see what the professor has to say."

Cuza was wheeled as far across the courtyard as the rubble would allow, then left to wait. He sat quietly, composing what he would say. After many long minutes, Kaempffer appeared at the opening in the rear wall, his head bare. He was obviously a

"What do you have to tell me, Jew?" he called.

"It's of utmost importance, Major," Cuza replied, weakening his voice so Kaempffer would have to strain to hear. "And not for shouting."

As Major Kaempffer picked his way through the maze of fallen stone, his lips were moving, indubitably forming silent curses.

Cuza had not realized how much he would enjoy this little charade.

Kaempffer finally arrived at the wheelchair's side and waved the others away. "This had better be good, Jew. If you've brought me out here for nothing—"

"I believe I've discovered a new source of information about the keep," Cuza told him in a low, conspiratorial tone. "There's a stranger over at the i

"Why should that interest me?"

"Well, he made a few statements which struck me as odd. So odd that I looked into the forbidden books when I returned and found references there which backed up his statements."

"What statements?"

"They are unimportant in themselves. What is important is that they indicate that he knows more about the keep than he's telling. I think he may be co