WOLFWEIR Read online

  Alphonse glances around, looking for tinder.

  Light a fire, he thinks. Or the girl might die.

  Sure. Without matches, flint or steel?

  A barge glides past. A dog standing on a pile of coal begins woofing at the huddled wolf-girl and puppet boy.

  Even the faintest sounds are ice-clear in this glowing air. Alphonse ducks his head when the bargemen straights up to look around.

  The dog quiets at the bargemen's sharp word. Silence.

  **

  Finally, Lucia yawns and wakes with a jump.

  Looks up at Alphone's dirty pinewood face.

  Touches it. Strokes it with her fingertips.

  Alphonse shuts his pine eyelids with a click.

  Oh rapture.

  **

  She'd changed back from a wolf into a bony little girl while they were still in the sewer pipe and Paris was cold, dark and bleak.

  Then, she'd fainted from the stench.

  He'd carried her, lurching on his stick legs, to the stone parapet under the bridge-curve. Covered her with drifting newspapers.

  As the sun rose, he'd come close to utter despair.

  How to save his parents now?

  Those filthy Vampyres! If only he'd been able to blast them to Hell!

  **

  Lucia now parted her dry lips, licked them, then spoke, Alphonse lowering his head to listen.

  It was stilted French, with a comical Italian accent.

  "Ou est nous?" Where are we.

  Alphonse stood up and pointed to the river, to the sky. Then with his hands above his head he mimicked the Eiffel Tower.

  "Ah, Paris," said Lucia. "You have an apartment?"

  Alphonse nodded.

  "We must go there."

  Her mimed that it was not far. Just down that wide boulevard to the left uphill, then --

  Stopping, he looked at the shuddering girl clad only in newspapers. Barefoot. Filthy.

  No, they wouldn't make it.

  He mimicked a gendarme walking along jauntily, swinging a billy club in one hand, tipping his cap to the ladies. Then blowing a whistle and dashing in pursuit.

  Lucia said: "Let me dress in your clothing. Then I'll carry you while you whisper the directions in my ear. Si? Comme un buratino." Like a puppet.

  Alphonse stares at the girl, thunderstruck, his mouth hanging open. Of course! It's the only way.

  Politely, Lucia shuts her eyes and turns her beautiful face to one side.

  Alphonse strips off the linen shirt, sash, short pants, sabots, and finally that silly jaunty cap. He piles them in front of Lucia, claps to alert her to dress quickly.

  Then he lies face down on the stones, motionless, like a marionette with all its strings cut.

  The Werewolf in the Bath

  So the blonde-haired, Botticelli-curled girl child with the rapturous name Lucia di Fermonti carried the puppet Alphonse through those teeming dawn-bright streets of Paris as wagons and buses rumbled down the great avenues and over the Seine's postcard-picturesque arched stone bridges, and vegetable and fruit sellers wheeled their creaking carts up and down side streets shouting out their wares, and the zinc bars filled with grimy workmen tossing down a morning glass of white wine to fortify themselves for another day of suffering.

  Alphonse did his best to be limp as if nerveless, his naked wooden legs dangling and clicking together, and the dirty Lucia, clad in Alphonse's puppet garb, did her best to look like a working boy, maybe a magician's assistant, clacking along in her sabots already late for an important job. She carried the cane sword jauntily under her arm, like just another prop, and kept the twin dueling pistols hidden under the green velvet jacket.

  Then it was only a matter of slipping unnoted past the humming concierge in Alphonse's elegant apartment building on the Avenue Dupin. Lucia held her breath as she crawled under the loge where the old woman was knitting a sweater for her latest cat, Alphone's skinny pine arms wrapped about her neck (he couldn't risk clattering on the tiles even a mite -- the concierge had sharp ears).

  She carried Alphonse up the broad, turning stairs and stopped before a massive oak door when he yanked on her sleeve.

  "Do you have a key?" she asked softly.

  Alphonse shook his head and pointed to the transom.

  "Oh. I see. Put you through," Lucia said. Then, sadly: "But I do not have a ladder."

  Alphonse thought for an instant, and jerking his arms up and down motioned for the girl to toss him up. She set down the sword cane, braced herself, took careful aim, and tossed Alphonse high in the shadows; he caught the edge of the transom and hung swinging from it, then scuttled up and tested the mechanism. It was unlocked. He opened it in a flash and slipped through. Lucia heard him land with a clunk on the other side of the door. Then the door opened, and Lucia picked up the sword cane and entered the vast, tidy, book-lined apartment. Alphonse shut the door softly behind her, taking his sword cane and placing it by the door.

  "Oh, the pistols, too," she said, drawing them out and handing them to Alphonse. He sat the pistols carefully on the polished hall table.

  Suddenly ashamed of his puppet-nakedness -- though the puppet body was far from being anatomically correct in at least two major ways -- Alphonse excused himself with a wooden bow and trotted down the long hallway into his bedroom at the rear of the building to put on some fresh clothes.

  His puppet waist was so much smaller that he had to cut a new notch in his belt to keep his trousers up. He glanced at himself in the mirror and instantly wished he hadn't.

  Lucia was singing in an undertone as she wandered the apartment in the dirty puppet clothes, sabots, and silly cap. Alphonse gathered up some items from his drawers and brought them out to her in his arms.

  "Ah", she said. "Delightful. Thank you. May I now have a bath?"

  Puppet boy Alphonse jolted on his stick legs to his private bathroom (for he didn't want Lucia to have to see what was written on the mirror in his parents' bathroom ) and turned on the taps for the little wolf girl, hot water thundering into the deep tub.

  Steam floated in the sunlit air. Birds were singing in a treetop just outside. Alphonse remembered the smell of hot water and soap -- heavenly. He placed the folded clothing on a cane chair, beside the vase of fresh cut flowers his mother always left on a low walnut table.

  The flowers weren't quite so fresh this morning, but in this clear sunlight how could one care?

  He went into the kitchen and fixed Lucia some breakfast while listening to her sing like a lark in the bathtub. She had a beautiful voice and a fine sense of melody. He heard the water splashing as she washed herself. It gave him a strange feeling to think about a naked girl in his bathtub. Even if she was a werewolf.

  It occurred to him, in a stark queasy moment, that the Vampyres knew this apartment. They knew how to creep into it and how to escape undetected.

  But then he remembered that Lord and Lady Blackgore couldn't move except at night. Or in the dusk. Or early dawn, if they wore a lot of make-up. How in the world did he know that? He'd have to ask Lucia.

  Would a werewolf girl know any Vampyre lore? Was that a requirement for being magical?

  He buttered two thick slices of toast and covered them with scrambled eggs into which he had tossed fresh cut chives and some tarragon and rosemary. It wasn't as easy to cook with his puppet body but he didn't do too badly in the end. He set the platter of toast and eggs on the table and sliced and squeezed two fat oranges into a glass set the glass beside the plate.

  Should he call to her now? He didn't want her eggs to get cold. Did werewolves eat breakfast? Well, she was human right now, wasn't she?

  Just then Lucia came out of the bathroom in his shirt and trousers and a pair of red velvet slippers, still rubbing her hair with the towel. She looked thin and strained but dazzlingly beautiful. She smiled when she saw the breakfast.

  "Eh, Marveloso!" she cried, clapping her hands.

  The Evil of the Vampyres

  Alphonse was
hed Lucia's plate, cup, knife, fork and spoon in the kitchen basin. Then he went into his bedroom, found a chalk and slate he hadn't used since he was five, and came trotting back to sit at the dining table across from the pale wolf-girl.

  He chalked: Je suis Alphonse Didier-Stein.

  Lucia let out a husky giggle. She covered her mouth.

  He chalked: Vampyres? Kill? How?

  Lucia put her right hand on Alphone's puppet hand. Took the chalk from his fingers and set it aside. She leaned close to Alphonse and whispered into his wooden ear:

  "The Vampyres have put your mother and father into deep sleep. Vesuvio boasted of it while you were locked up with the puppet boys. Only by slaying Lord and Lady Edwarda Blackgore can we awaken your parents again to the world. But to kill them we must be intelligent. Vampyres can be killed with garlic, holy water, fire, or wood. To kill them with garlic is not practical. Holy water may be used to scare or to burn them a little but it also is not very practical unless we could plunge them into a lake of holy water. You understand? Though I heard once of a huntsman who killed a vampyre by shooting it with bullets that had been coated with garlic and holy water and oil. No. The best way is a wooden stake. Thrust right here."

  Lucia touched the shirt over her beating heart.

  She had flushed slightly as she spoke. She sat back and looked at Alphonse. Alphonse gazed at the beautiful pale girl with the shocking golden curls. For an instant he thought he would swoon. This girl was so beautiful it hurt his wooden heart to look at her. Then he remembered his parents, tucked under the stiff sheets in their hospital beds, their eyes taped shut. Keep your head straight, Alphonse, you wayward little marionette.

  He picked up his chalk and scratched quickly on the slate: What did the Vampyres want with you -- a wolf?

  He showed Lucia the slate. She answered calmly that they wanted to take some of her transforming powers, the magic coursing through her blood, which could be done only during a moonrise ceremony in the forest, on a stone altar left there by the Gauls.

  Druids, Alphonse thought. A stone dolmen. Pagan magic. His non-heart skipped.

  "They would have killed me, cut out my heart, and feasted upon it, and this would have given them my power. Then they could transform also into wolves during full moon nights, if they wanted."

  Alphonse wrote: But they are so powerful already --

  Lucia shook her head.

  "No. Vampyres are not fierce. They are cowardly, afraid. You know? They calculate, what do you say, the odds. They plot and they scheme. The Wolf is brave and has no fear. Vamypres envy this and so wish to destroy my kingdom. They want all the power and magic for themselves. This is typical of the Vampyre."

  Alphonse wrote: Your kingdom?

  “Wolfweir.”

  Lucia said it proudly, breathing out the name through her parted lips. Then she blushed again.

  "It is most ancient. Proud. Some may find it dark and melancholy but I have grown up there, daughter of a great king, the man-wolf Gar Firth in his glittering armor of steel mesh and silver. We hunt in the forests for our meat. We keep to ourselves and the old rites. But the Vampyre covens, they seek to harm the wolf people. Three times in the last century have attacked in force with dragoons and cannon and laid seige to Wolfweir and each time were beaten away by our superior strength and valor. The Vampyre wish to seize the Blood Amulet. This is a jewel containing the dried blood of the first Man Wolf. It is powerful. My father, because he is of the ancient line of kings, wears it always around his neck. He wears it even under his armor in battle. It makes him more quick, resolute, and fantastically strong. And the Vampyres think the jewel will give them the same power. This Lord and Lady Blackgore from Scotland wanted to take my blood and heart only to gain power and fearlessness so as to go to Wolfweir as wolves on a full moon night, to seize the Blood Amulet. A fortune telling Gypsy witch told them that the amulet magic can make a Vampyre truly immortal as the Vampyre that wears it cannot be hurt or killed by anything, not even by a stake through the heart, or fire, or beheading."

  Alphonse chalked: Or sunlight?

  Lucia smiled, nodded.

  "That's right. Or sunlight."

  A Vampyre that can strut about in the sunlight! Alphonse shivered at the thought.

  Alphonse chalked: How were you taken?

  Lucia turned a little paler as she remembered. Softly she said: "By the puppets. By Vesuvio and his magical puppets. He, like most Gypsy wonderworkers, is in the pay of the Vampyre. How do you say, a spy. A scout. A pimp, is that the word?"

  Alphonse laughed.

  Why do you laugh?

  He chalked: Nothing. Rien va plus. Go on.

  "Vesuvio sent many of these puppets into the forest to find a wolf-girl, any wolf-girl would do for this magic ritual, and so they found me sitting by the river, floating leaf boats downstream. They tied me and carried me back to the gypsy and he put me in the iron cage and brought me to Paris. "

  She shuddered. Her thin body actually shook with a spasm of disgust.

  "I escaped. But only with pained and savage effort. I wandered through the mist. A boatman found me by the Seine. Vesuvio had taken away my clothes. The boatman took me to the police, and, well, you know the rest. Lord and Lady Blackgore have hunted me since. At last they found out where I was being kept, and also who was keeping me locked away in that big building. Then after observing your parents and yourself in the Bois they schemed a way to have you, little Alphonse, release me from my cell. So that they could do the full moon ceremony."

  Why not free you themselves?

  "As I have said, Vampyres like not to take risks. They do not wish ever to be in danger. So, instead, they scheme to have others do the filthy work for them."

  Alphonse, almost choking on the rising bile of rage and horror, chalked:

  And so I brought you back to that rotten beast, Vesuvio.

  Lucia touched his wooden wrist softly with her fingertips.

  "Yes. But then, of course, you also rescued me with your sword. At the risk of your own life, you fought Vesuvio and Lord and Lady Blackgore, ah my brave and loving friend."

  Alphonse looked down, nearly faint with emotion. After a while, he chalked: Stop them. We. Must.

  "Oh yes," Lucia said. "Do not worry. But we must make our way to Wolfweir, first. My father the great king will help you to kill this Lord and Lady Vampyres and free your parents from the hideous spell. And then we will also find a way to free you and the other puppet boys enslaved by Vesuvio's magics."

  Yes, Alphonse thought. It was the only way. How could he, a little puppet, do it all by himself? They must go to Lucia's kingdom and seek the help of the Man Wolf King and this esoteric Blood Amulet. You can only fight strong dark ancient magic with stronger darker and even more ancient magic. Right? It stood to reason. But maybe his puppet head wasn't thinking too clearly. Never mind.

  He tucked the schoolboy slate into his vest, and put the chalk into a trouser pocket. He stood. He was ready.

  Exit

  Much as Alphonse wished to see his parents again, he knew it would be useless, senseless, and unconscionably dangerous to try to sneak into the hospital where they lay stunned and comatose, blood-sucked, with or without the wolf girl. You could assume the Vampyres had other people beside magical gypsies in their pay. Guards, orderlies, concierges, fruit-sellers, gendarmes. No. Better to get to Wolfweir and take it from there. But how?

  **

  Lucia, tossing her radiant hair back, asks: "Do you have some money?"

  Alphonse nods his puppet head.

  "Maybe even enough for the train?"

  Alphonse takes out his chalk and slate:

  Yes but which way?

  "Over the Alps is the quickest way to my kingdom. Through Germany to the north of Italy near the border with Switzerland. Then we must hike and climb. I will recognize the valley by its flowers."

  Alphonse went to his father's study and found a blue train schedule. He brought it back and unfolded it and placed i
t before Lucia. She bent over it, her lips pursed.

  "Ah," she said. "C'est la."

  Putting her index finger on a line in the schedule.

  Alphonse, standing on his puppet toes to peer over Lucia's shoulder, read: Milan Express, departing from the Gare du Nord, twelve o'clock. Overnight. Wagon lits.

  There were a number of stops scheduled. The train would cross the Alps and arrive in Milan late the following night. Yet they, puppet Alphonse and golden Lucia, wouldn't go as far as Milan. They'd jump the train someplace in the mountains, likely enough before sunrise.