Once more he faced Radcliffe. "To answer your question, we want nothing that will be harmful to you, believe it or not. Quite the opposite. I insist that you accept my protection until I have reached an accommodation with my brother."
"The one who wants to drink my blood."
Graves nodded.
"So where do we go from—Never mind, I know, you're going to tell me to watch the tape to find the answer. Everything I really need to know is there."
Graves, smiling faintly, continued nodding.
"Just tell me one thing first, okay?"
Graves raised an eyebrow, a gesture of unstudied elegance.
"How do you hope to reach this accommodation? Is your brother coming here?"
"That is one possibility, but I think a faint one. And if he does not come here—then I must seek him out." It was plain that Graves was not looking forward to the prospect.
"You'll seek him out. Then what? You'll talk to him?"
"I shall try to do so." The speaker paused, staring into the distance. Then he added, as if speaking more to himself than to Radcliffe: "And he will doubtless try to kill me."
"He will? Why will he do that?"
"I should have thought it obvious, to one who has now heard and seen the story on the tape."
"All right," said Philip vaguely. He didn't want to spell out his objection that a concocted story, a crazy lecture on a videotape, was one thing, and real life another. "And when this man, your brother, tries to kill you, then you in turn…?"
The other shook his head. "No, I shall not try to kill my brother. I am forbidden that."
June had been watching and listening to the men in silent fascination. Philip, shooting a glance at her, found what he saw disturbing.
"Really?" he asked Graves. "Forbidden how?"
"I have sworn an oath. Even though killing Radu now would be a relief, I think, for all concerned. My task is somewhat more difficult, though not impossible."
As soon as Graves had departed, Radcliffe turned to Constantia, who had just come in. "I don't understand this at all." That wasn't strictly true. He had come a long way, he thought, toward understanding. Believing was another matter altogether. "What did he mean, 'I am forbidden that'?"
The gypsy girl looked wistful. "It is a matter of oath-taking and honor with him, you see. He can fight his brother, and even inflict serious damage on him. But he cannot kill Radu."
"I still don't get it."
"Few in this age could possibly understand."
The furnishings of the small mobile home included a table-drawer stocked with paper and pencils, and a small collection of books, from popular novels to science, math, crossword puzzles, and chess problems.
Even with all the lights turned on, the little house could hardly be called well-lit at night. But in one or two places there was light enough for comfortable reading.
The windows were all neatly shaded or curtained, and the prisoners were encouraged to keep the shades drawn after dark. The small-unit air-conditioning purred on with reasonable effectiveness, though it was somewhat noisy. Here in the high desert, the temperature dropped sharply after sundown, and the cooler could be turned off and windows opened for a breeze.
One of the masked people, in what sounded like a kind of afterthought, warned both prisoners never to invite any strangers in.
June and Philip thought that a strange request. They looked at each other and shrugged; it would cost them nothing to agree.
"You've got the doors locked anyway, the windows barred."
"Even so."
"All right. No strangers get invited in. How long are we going to be here?"
That question received basically the same answer as before. "I hope that in a few days matters will be settled, one way or another."
On the kitchen wall there hung a 1996 calendar, the handout of some charitable organization. June had turned to the proper month, and started to check off the days since their arrival.
Radcliffe wondered who might have been living in this house yesterday, or last month. The place didn't appear to be brand new, just well cared for. But whoever it was seemed to have left no clues behind.
The previous tenants, whoever they might have been, had evidently done without a telephone. But once or twice Radcliffe saw his masked and breathing guardian, standing at a distance out of earshot, speaking calmly into a cellular. Some forethought had obviously gone into this plan.
The TV was connected to a satellite dish. On the evening of their second day in the mobile home, between intervals of exhausted sleep, Phil tuned in to the news, with some vague hope of discovering that the Radcliffes had been reported missing. Well, if they had, there was no way the TV news-people were going to let the world know about it. What scanty factual content there was had trouble finding space between political attack ads, and consisted almost entirely of political soundbites, alternating with the usual courtroom scenes, celebrity scandals, and a peculiarly outrageous murder in a remote part of the country. Sure, the news would be delighted to report a missing man and woman—as soon as someone provided them with a good videotape of his mutilated corpse, or at the very least a roomful of sobbing relatives.
Graves, choosing that moment to pay another brief call on his prisoners, happened to observe the broadcast as he came in. The chief kidnapper seemed to Radcliffe a little tired and a little more philosophical—also a little more human—than before. He commented that supposedly your neighbor's grief was almost as entertaining as your neighbor's blood… Radcliffe didn't want to pursue that line of thought.
"Have you now seriously considered the content of the tape—as it applies to you?"
"I still have trouble making that application. Maybe it's partly because I don't care for the special effects."
Graves looked his puzzlement.
"I mean the way your image flickers, comes and goes."
"Ah." The dark man's face cleared. "That was not calculated. It is because of mirrors, you see."
"Mirrors?"
"I am told that inside the type of video camera which we used—I am not really familiar with the technology—there are mirrors, or rather some analogous electronic device." He frowned lightly. "But I earnestly urge you to disregard the special effects, as you call them. What does concern you vitally is the content of the tape. Are there any questions you would like to ask?"
"When can we go home?" Phil demanded promptly.
Graves looked at him. "I meant, about the content of the tape."
"If you'd let us take the tape home," said June, "we'd watch it very carefully."
Graves stared at her flatly for a long moment. Then he said: "If I were to tell you that you may go now, and had you driven to your automobile and released—would you jump at the chance to simply go, and after reporting your adventure to the police, attempt to resume your normal lives?" Radcliffe tried to look as if the question deserved serious consideration. So did June.
"We wouldn't necessarily report anything to the police," Philip said at last. "We haven't been harmed so far, and…" He let his words trail off, because he could see it was the wrong answer.
Graves was looking at him with an increased contempt, though no real surprise. "I had hoped that by now you would have come to a better understanding regarding your situation. You must be made to realize that what you tell the authorities after your release, or do not tell them, may be of some importance, but it is not the main point."
"What is the main point?"
It seemed that Graves, confronted with such stupidity, was mentally forcing himself to count to ten before he answered. The reply when it came was mild enough: "Let us go into the house, and watch the tape together. Certain sections of it, at least."
"All right."
"The mirror in your bathroom is perfectly functional?"
"As far as we can tell," said Phil. For some reason he could feel his scalp beginning to creep.