"Come," he said, "let's be done with this pleasure and go for another. Let's hunt. I can feel your hunger. I have new clothes for you here. I have all you need. Or would you stay longer in this warm water?"
"No, I'm ready," said Thorne. It had been so long since he had fed that he was ashamed to admit it. Once again he rinsed his face and hair. He ducked down into the water, and came up, pushing his wet hair back from his forehead.
Marius had already climbed out of the tub, and held out for Thorne a large white towel.
It was thick and roughened and perfect for mopping the water off his blood drinker skin which never absorbs anything. The air of the room seemed chilled for one moment as he stood on the stone floor, but very soon he was warm again, rubbing fiercely at his hair to press the last droplets out of it.
Marius had finished with the task and now took a fresh towel from the stack and began to rub Thorne's back and shoulders. This familiarity sent the chills through Thorne's limbs. Marius rubbed hard at Thorne's head, and then he began to comb the wet hair free of tangles.
"Why is there no red beard, my friend?" asked Marius, as the two faced each other. "I remember the Norsemen with their beards. I remember them when they came to Byzantium. Does that name mean anything to you?"
"Oh, yes," said Thorne. "I was taken to see that wondrous city." He turned around and accepted the towel from Marius's hands. "My beard was thick and long, even when I was very young, let me assure you, but it was shaved the night that I became a blood drinker. I was groomed for the magical blood. It was the will of the creature who made me."
Marius nodded. But he was far too polite to say her name, though the other young one had brashly spoken it.
"You know it was Maharet," said Thorne. "You didn't need to hear it from your young friend.
You caught it from my thoughts, didn't you?" Thorne paused, then went on. "You know it was the vision of her that brought me out of the ice and snow. She stood against the Evil Queen. She bound the vampire, Lestat, in chains. But to speak of her just now takes the breath out of me. When will I ever be able to speak of her? I can't know now. Let's hunt, and then we can really talk to one another."
He was solemn, holding the towel against his chest. In his secret heart, he tried to feel love for the one who made him. He tried to draw from the centuries a wisdom that would quench anger. But he couldn't do it. All he could do was be silent, and hunt with Marius now.
4
IN A LARGE PAINTED WOODEN ROOM full of many painted cabinets and chests, Marius offered the clothes—fine leather jackets with small buttons of bone, many lined with silvery fur, and close-fitting pants of wool so soft Thorne couldn't see the weave of it.
Only the boots were a little too small, but Thorne felt he could endure this. How could such a thing matter? Not satisfied, Marius continued to search until he found a large pair, and these proved more than serviceable.
As for the costume of the times it wasn't so different from Thorne's old habit of dress—linen for the fine shirt next to the skin, wool and leather for the outer garments. The tiny buttons on the shirt intrigued Thorne, and though he knew that the stitching had been done by machines and was a common thing, nevertheless it delighted him.
He had a dawning sense of how much delight awaited him. Never mind his dark mission.
As Marius dressed, he chose red once more for his jacket and for his hooded cloak. It intrigued Thorne, though he had seen garments such as these on Marius in the vampire tavern. Nevertheless the colors seemed bright for hunting.
"It's my common way to wear red," Marius said to Thorne's unspoken interest. "You do as you like. Lestat, my sometime pupil, also loves it which annoys me mightily but I endure it. I think we appear to be Master and Apprentice when his shade of clear red comes so close to mine."
"And so you love him as well?" Thorne said.
Marius said nothing. He gestured to the clothes.
For Thorne, it was dark brown leather, more concealing, yet silken to the touch, and his feet went naked into the fur-lined boots on account of the size of them. He needed no cloak. He felt it would encumber him.
From a silver dish on a cabinet, Marius took ashes on his fingertips, and mingling these with blood from his mouth, he made the thin paste to cover his face entirely. It darkened him; it made the old lines of his face appear. It gave a graven character to his eyes. In fact, it rendered him entirely more visible to Thorne while no doubt disguising him for mortals.
Marius made a gesture that Thorne might do as well, but something prevented Thorne from accepting. Perhaps it was merely that he had never done this.
Marius offered him gloves, but these he refused as well. He did not like the feel of things through gloves. After so long in the ice, he wanted to touch everything.
"I like gloves," said Marius. "I'm never without them. Our hands frighten mortals when they take the time to look. And gloves feel warm which we never do."
Marius filled his pockets with paper money. He offered handfuls of this to Thorne, but Thorne refused, thinking it greedy to take this from his host.
Marius said, "It's all right. I'll take care of you. But if we become separated somehow, simply return here. Come round to the back of the house, and you'll find the door there open."
Separated? How might that happen? Thorne was dazed by all that was taking place. The smallest aspect of things gave him pleasure.
They were all but ready to take their leave when the young Daniel came in and stared at both of them.
"Do you want to join us?" Marius asked. He was pulling his gloves very tight so that they showed his very knuckles.
Daniel didn't answer. He appeared to be listening, but he said nothing. His youthful face was deceiving, but his violet eyes were truly wonderful.
" You know that you can come," said Marius.
Within minutes they were on their way in the falling snow, Marius 's arm around Thorne as though Thorne needed the reassurance. And I shall drink soon.
The younger one turned and went back, presumably to his small kingdom.
When they came at last to a large inn, it was into a cellar that they went where there were hundreds of mortals. Indeed the size of the room overwhelmed Thorne.
Not only did glittering noisy mortals eat and drink in this place, in dozens of little groups, they danced to the music of several diligent players. At big green tables with wheels they played at games of chance with loud raucous cries and easy laughter. The music was electric and loud; the flashing lights were horrid, the smell of food and blood was overpowering.
The two blood drinkers went utterly unnoticed, except for the tavern girl who accompanied them unquestioningly to a small table in the very midst of things. Here they could see the twisting dancers, who seemed one and all to be dancing alone rather than with anyone else, each moving to the music in a primitive way as though drunk on it.
The music hurt Thorne. He didn't think it beautiful. It was like so much confusion. And the flashing lights were ugly.
Marius leant over to whisper in Thorne's ear:
"Those lights are our friend, Thorne. They make it difficult to see what we are. Try to bear with them."
Marius gave an order for hot drinks. The little tavern girl turned her bright flirtatious eyes on Thorne. She made some quick remark as to his red hair and he smiled at her. He wouldn't drink from her, not if all the other mortals of the world were dried up and taken away from him.
He cast his eyes around the room, trying to ignore the din that pounded at his ears, and the overwhelming smells that almost sickened him.
"The women, see, near the far wall," said Marius. "They want to dance. That's why they're here. They're waiting to be asked. Can you do it as you dance?"