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by Angela Field.

In the darkness of gathering evening, the man dressed in simple black lowered the prayer book he had been reading from to watch his companion hammering the last wooden cross into the final mound. Here on the edge of Dark Fell, seven men - if you wished to call them men - had been entombed and now the nobleman was seeing to it that they stayed entombed, staked to the cold earth with his earnest desire that they should stay forever bound within it.

A rustling of dry leaves stirring in the chill of the wind make the man look up and shiver, drawing his cloak further around his body. The moon gazed down on them watchfully, the bones of her face stark and bare with the gathering frost of winter.  

“There, Sir Percy, all done,” panted the hammerer, stepping back to look round at his companion.

“Thank you, George.” Sir Percy nodded and stepped forward, touching the rough wood of the cross. An observer might well have wondered why each cross had been driven through the centre of each mound rather than at the head, but the nobleman and his servant knew only too well why. Caressing the leather bound prayer book he cradled against his chest, Sir Percy sighed.

“Do you think it’s enough, sir?” George asked.

“In these times, who knows?” Sir Percy responded wearily. As the moon slipped from beneath the scudding clouds and cast her pale light across the hills, his face was revealed with all its lines of time engraved upon. He was a man turned suddenly old, who had seen too much and lost too much to the bodies now lying in the chill earth beneath them. “Once I did not believe such evil things as these monsters could exist, but then I also believed in the power of kings. I did not think they would ever execute one. My poor, poor Charles...”

“Hush, sir,” George looked around him warily. “There are those that listen even now...”

Sir Percy smiled faintly. “I am long past caring, my friend,” he said quietly. “Perhaps it was for the best in the end. Charles became a martyr instead of their puppet...”

“And we are free,” George said with solemn relief.

“Are we?” the nobleman murmured sadly. “Even now they bicker and argue over who will do what, who will lead and who will follow. Tell me what has changed if you can.”

“They say that every man will have his own land...”

“Taken from the nobles and the nobles cast down. Leveller talk....”

“You know what they were like, sir. You know the nobles were rich and greedy. You know the King was weak and foolish and let them buy his favours....” The servant paused as Sir Percy gave him a chilly look. “I'm sorry, sir. I do not include you...”

Percy raised a hand to silence him and turned to walk away, picking his way over the rough earth. George grabbed up his horn lantern and followed him hastily, not wishing to be left behind.  “No, let it be. I too am sorry. You spoke only the truth. He could not see the greed and corruption and debauchery that surrounded him and that was his downfall. He was a foolish man who could not admit when he had lost. Perhaps if he had...” He paused, shaking his head. “Perhaps changes nothing. If he had lived, he would have extended his protection once more to these monsters and let them live. Instead, they were hanged and we are safe to walk the world at night again. I only hope a hanging was enough to prevent them....returning.”

George cast an uneasy glance at the mounds behind them. The small hill was ringed round by a narrow stream and a veritable wall of dark trees. Shadowed by crackling leaves that hissed in the frosted wind, the makeshift graveyard had a menacing air to it. It was not a place he would have coming to willingly even in daylight on his own, but for Sir Percy he would have crossed red hot coals barefoot. “The crosses will keep them down though, won’t they?” he said anxiously.

“The crosses? I hope so. That and faith if there is any faith left....”

George shuddered, pulling his good coat further around him. He feared what lay in the dark earth’s embrace as any sensible man surely would. He feared the evil of creatures that had the souls of devils and the faces of artistic perfection. If they had souls at all...

                                                            * * *

Dick Turpin paused in the doorway of the crowded inn, tugging absently at the laces of his long black cloak as he searched for a familiar face. An exasperated frown settled over his features as he spotted a glossy blond head amongst the more usual browns and blacks and he stalked towards his apprentice. As he pushed his way through the crowd, his frown turned into a scowl as he spotted the focus of Swiftnick’s attention.

Totally oblivious to the arrival of his mentor, Swiftnick’s bright blue eyes were fixed in fascination on the display of feminine curves on the opposite side of the inn. Turpin had denied him the chance to see the forbidden fruits of Madame Desiree and her Birds of Paradise the last time they had visited the area on the basis that he was far too young for such a display. But this time Turpin had gone off to sell their latest windfall and Swiftnick wasn’t one to pass up the opportunity, both of seeing the show and of putting one over on his partner.

Dick’s finger prodding him sharply in the shoulder to announce his arrival made Swiftnick look round and up in irritation. His frown turned into a quick flash of alarm followed by a widening of his eyes as an ingenuous expression of innocence settled over his face. “Uh, hello, Dick. I didn’t expect you back yet.”

“Obviously,” Turpin observed sarcastically as he turned a chair around and settled down astride it. “I might have known you’d be off as soon as my back was turned.”

“Uh, well, I uh stopped in for a quick one on my way home....” Swiftnick mumbled lamely, doing his very best to keep his eyes away from the makeshift stage. It was difficult; he was sure a veil had wafted to the floor...

“And how many quick ones have you had?” Dick asked dryly, putting a firm hand over the mouth of Swiftnick’s tankard as he raised it and pushing it back to the table. He could tell from Swiftnick’s flushed face and slightly unfocused eyes that he was probably pushing his limits of staying sober.

“Um....I er....Well, I couldn’t leave once the show started...”

“And why not?”

“Would’ve been rude....” Swiftnick leaned back as Turpin leaned closer.

Turpin snorted as he glanced towards the stage. “They wouldn’t have noticed,” he commented, raising an eyebrow at the amount of female skin on view. He could see why Swiftnick had wanted to stay and watch. They were all comely wenches and there were more curves on view than a lad of Swiftnick’s age could hope to see until he was a fair bit older. At least, not if Dick had his way. Turpin was well aware of the troubles a good looking lad like his accomplice could get himself into. If he’d still been a simple innkeeper’s lad, it wouldn't have mattered so much but a highwayman couldn’t afford to take the risk.

“I wasn’t doing any harm,” Swiftnick muttered sulkily. “Someone might have noticed if I had left and been suspicious...”

Dick sighed heavily, knowing he had a point. At least Madame Desiree seemed to be running a fairly respectable, if provocative, troupe of young ladies compared to some Turpin had seen.  “All right,” he muttered.

“What?” Swiftnick gave him a bewildered look.

“We can stay and watch the end of the performance. But no more drinking for you!” Dick grabbed Swiftnick’s tankard and helped himself to the contents.

“But....!” Swiftnick began an indignant protest, then paused as he realised what Dick was saying. “Stay?” he said cautiously.

“Aye. But you mind you don’t let your guard down.” Dick said, giving him a warning look. The sparkling grin Swiftnick gave him in response however told Dick that his warning had missed its target. If anyone was going to have to look out for trouble it would be Turpin as usual. Swiftnick turned eagerly back to watch the stage as Dick pushed to his feet and went to get himself another drink.

The innkeeper presiding over the barrels at the back was a dour sort, hardly the kind of cheerful man who made his patrons welcome. Still, Dick supposed there was only so many sob stories a man could listen to before he grew jaded. Dick ordered himself an ale once he had ascertained that there was no brandy to be had and turned back to survey the inn. Swiftnick was once more engrossed, cheering along with everyone else as the display changed from mermaids to wood nymphs with a quick bit of manoeuvring behind the screen at the back.

“Doomed,” muttered the man leaning on the counter beside Dick. “We’re all doomed.”

Turpin glanced at him in puzzlement, then looked at the innkeeper. “Is he talking to me?” he wondered. The last thing he needed was some nutter rabbiting on at him about sin and debauchery when he wanted nothing more than a quiet drink and a bit of good humoured lechery.

“To anyone who listens,” the innkeeper grunted. “Give over, Maurice,” he urged and then ostentatiously moved away.

“Doomed,” repeated the odd little man again, peering up at Turpin from blood shot eyes.

“Yes, well....” Dick said weakly and attempted to follow the innkeeper’s example and sidle away along the counter. The little man sidled after him.

“Doomed,” he repeated in a beer soaked breath. “They’re coming...”

“Who are?” Dick asked warily, wondering if this was some kind of oblique warning about dragoons.

“Them....” the man said grimly.

“Ah....” Dick nodded wisely. The man continued to stare at him, making Dick uncomfortable. “Hadn’t you better go then?” he suggested desperately.

“No point,” answered the man gloomily. “They’ll be here soon. Nowhere to run.”

“Ah...” said Turpin again.  “Hear voices a lot, do you?”

A weird little smile tugged at the man’s mouth at Turpin’s effort to humour him. “Only when people talk to me,” he said dryly. “I'm not mad....”

“Ah....” Dick murmured, wondering if he should slug him with the tankard, grab Swiftnick and make a run for it before the man got violent.

“Vampires,” the man went on quietly, watching Turpin like a cat at a mousehole. “You know, you can feel it too. You can feel them coming....”

Turpin blinked, the quick sarcastic reply that had leaped to his lips never voiced for no adequate reason that he could explain, except for that crawling sensation between his shoulder blades...

“Up on Dark Fell. That’s where Sir Percy Pickering put ‘em. But people get greedy for land. They dug ‘em up and now they’re coming back....” The man blinked as whatever lucidity had visited him faded again, leaving his bloodshot eyes once more vacant. “We’re all doomed,” he mumbled as he wandered away. “Doomed....”

 “You don’t want to listen to him, sir,” the innkeeper observed sourly as Turpin stared uneasily after the man. “Pickled as a herring he is. Never known him to dry out.”

“What was he saying about Dark Fell?” Dick asked slowly.

“Oh, some land that used to belong the last lord has been sold off and put to the plough. Disturbed him it did. A right one for all the old tales he is.”

“What tale would that be then?” Dick had no idea why he felt it was so important for him to know. There certainly couldn’t be anything valuable involved, but still the man’s warning had niggled at him on an instinctive level. He knew the name of Sir Percy....

The innkeeper studied him thoughtfully. “Care for another drink, sir?” he suggested.

Dick sighed, but dug out the coins and gloomily eyed the half empty tankard the innkeeper pulled for him.

“According to the story, they executed seven men who were followers of King Charles. The one what got his head chopped off,” the innkeeper told him. “Seems like these men were his advisors, but after he lost his head, they took to the road and to robbing and killing. When they got caught, turned out they’d been doing the same thing in the King’s name. Sir Percy wanted them executed as traitors, but the thought was that’d stir up more trouble what with the talk of the Martyr King and all so they hung ‘em up there on the edge of Dark Fell instead. Sir Percy had ‘em buried up there too. They say he went a bit weird after that, refused to let anyone go up there. Some said his heir was one of the Riders. That’s what they called them, the Riders. Story said they were part of the Wild Ride and they'd come back if their rest was ever disturbed...”

Turpin stared into his ale uneasily. He knew the tale and now he found himself wondering if Sir Percy had known more than he said. Execution as a traitor would have meant a beheading and one sure way to prevent a vampire coming back to life was to cut off its head....

“And the land that’s been put to the plough, that’s where they were buried?”

 “Aye. Another drink, sir?” the innkeeper asked.

Turpin gave him a dirty look. “Why don’t you finish filling this one first?” he suggested darkly, giving him a dangerous look.

The innkeeper opened his mouth to protest, saw the expression in Turpin’s eyes and meekly decided to obey.

Turpin took the tankard and headed back to Swiftnick. It was ridiculous of course.  The type of drunken ghost story always told in a pub. There were no such things as vampires.

So why did the back of his neck keep crawling with the urge to check behind him?

                                                                        * * *

An hour later, Dick made his way towards his accomplice with a combination of irritation and affectionate exasperation. Swiftnick’s youth and apparent innocence had an uncanny ability to attract predators no matter where he was. This evening was no exception. Turpin had been diverted by a particularly buxom nymph for all of five minutes and when he turned back, Swiftnick had his eyes firmly glued to the heaving bosom of his new red haired companion. The fact that he was doing no more than looking and considerably less flirting that Dick himself had been doing held no water with the highwayman and he bore down on his apprentice with eyes full of righteous wrath.

“Come out of there immediately, you!” he bellowed as he grabbed Swiftnick by one ear and heaved him away from his tentative examination of the redhead’s bosom.

“Leave him alone!” the redhead protested plaintively. “He wasn't doing any harm.”

Dick glared at her. “He’s too young,” he argued.

The redhead however grinned. “I likes ‘em young,” she reported. “Full of stamina, enthusiasm and eager to learn....”

Swiftnick blushed furiously and so to Dick’s interest did the redhead. He doubted if she was all that much older than his apprentice and eased up a fraction. “Even so,” he said gruffly. “He’s still too young and he hasn’t got any money.”

“So?” she retorted waspishly but she flounced out her chair under Turpin’s cool chestnut brown stare and stalked off to be quickly claimed by someone else.

“You’re mean, you are!” Swiftnick complained in a low mumble.

Dick gave him a sharp look and then groaned. “I thought I told you to lay off the drink.”

“I did,” Swiftnick assured him earnestly. His limpid gaze ruined by the quirk of a grin dancing around his mouth and the hint of mischief in the cerulean depths of his eyes.

“Come on you,” Turpin growled, yanking him out of his chair and hustling him towards the doors. “Time we got off home.”

“Couldn’t we stay for the second performance?”

“No. Do you think you can stay on your horse?”

“S’easy!”

“Aye, right,” Dick muttered, taking a firm grip on his young friend’s arm as Swiftnick started to swerve towards the redhead. She looked up with a giggle as they passed and blew Swiftnick a kiss.

“She wants me,” Swiftnick sighed wistfully.

“She wants your purse more like,” Turpin retorted cynically then scowled at the discovery of the red eyed man blocking his way. “Excuse us....”

“You don’t want to go out there,” the man warned. “They’re coming....”

“Aye, you said,” Dick brushed past him, more interested in getting Swiftnick on his horse and home before the drink got the better of him and he ended up carrying him.

The man followed him as he shoved open the door and hauled a tottering Swiftnick out onto the porch. “They can’t enter here,” he told Dick. “I've closed it to them. The spirits of the undead cannot enter here.”

“What’s he talking about?” Swiftnick asked, peering fuzzily around Turpin at the man.

“Nothing. He’s drunk,” Dick answered irritably, giving Swiftnick a push out into the yard. “Go get the horses.”

Swiftnick shrugged and wandered off, almost tripping over his own feet and giggling as he narrowly avoided a spill into the horse trough.

“Spare me,” Dick groaned and turned a dark look on the drunk. “If you’re so sure they’re coming, you should get back inside.”

The man bobbed his head and clung to the porch post. “Aye,” he agreed, still watching Turpin intently. “But you’re the one they’ll be looking for.”

“Me? Why me?” Turpin protested indignantly.

The man shook his head. “Don’t know,” he admitted. “But I can feel it. It’s like you’re....marked.”

Turpin’s lips twitched into a thin, cruel line as he looked out into the darkness. “Am I now,” he said sourly. “Well, if they think to come after me and mine, they’d better think again. I know how to deal with their bloody sort.”

“Exactly,” observed the drunk, patting Dick’s arm reassuringly.

Turpin scowled at him and stepped out into the yard, stalking through the soft evening darkness towards the stables. The fragrance of roses wafted past him as he walked and he stopped, sniffing at the delicious scent with a frown as he scanned the shadows. The yard was empty and yet the back of his neck prickled with the touch of unseen eyes.

“Swiftnick!” he barked aloud as he stepped out, lengthening his stride to reach the precarious safety of the stables.

“Coming,” Swiftnick chirped as Turpin stepped inside. “Almost ready!”

“Oh? And how far do you think you’ll get riding backwards?” Dick demanded sarcastically.

“Backwards?” Swiftnick gave him a blank look as Turpin tugged him back and pointed at Toby. The big bay gazed back with a patiently  long suffering look.

“You’re putting his saddle on back to front, dimwit!”

“Oh. I wondered why I couldn’t get the girth done up.”

“Give me strength!” Dick exclaimed as he heaved the saddle off the horse.

“I’ll saddle Black Bess then, shall I?” Swiftnick suggested helpfully.

“No. She’ll bite you,” Dick retorted as he righted the saddle and gave Toby a consoling pat before fastening the girth. The condition Swiftnick was in he didn't trust him to do it properly. “Take him outside and wait in the yard. Do not mount up. You’ll probably fall off! Got that?”

“I'm not an idiot,” Swiftnick pouted.

“No, only blond. Go on, scat!” Shooing him towards the door, Dick turned to his own mount and hurriedly tacked up the black mare. That strange feeling of being watched was increasing and it made his fingers clumsy. Black Bess fidgeted, unused to him fumbling. Dick soothed her hastily and led her towards the door, uneasy about leaving Swiftnick alone outside. As he led the mare out into the cool darkness, he was startled to hear voices.

“The ale’s good and the entertainment’s wonderful,” Swiftnick was saying brightly. “Madam Des, Desi, er the Birds of paradise....”

“Indeed,” the voice that answered was soft and cultured. It made Dick think of honey with its richness and it made his hackles rise. Towing Black Bess out into the yard, he looked round warily to see who Swiftnick had found to talk to. His partner was over by the mounting block. His first thought was that the figure with him was too young to possess such a sensuous voice.

Swiftnick’s companion was a young man scarcely older than he was, but dressed with refined elegance. The starkness of his white shirt with its full flowing sleeves and lace stood out in sharp contrast to the elegantly cut deep red coat and black breeches and boots. His hair was a dark waterfall of night, cascading in artless ripples of curls in an old fashioned style that framed his delicate features in a cloud of darkness. Where flickers of light from the inn window caught him, his hair shimmered with strands of darkest blue, while his eyes remained pools of shadow.  

That he was aware of Dick and had been before he emerged from the stables, Turpin had no doubt. There was not even a flicker of surprise in his expression even though Swiftnick had jumped a foot at his sudden appearance out of the shadows.

“Evening,” Dick said with grim politeness. “On your horse, lad, time we were away.”

“Going so soon?” murmured the young man, laying his hand on Swiftnick’s arm. “Surely you will invite me in for a drink?”

Swiftnick gave the pale fingers resting on his arm an odd look. “Do you know, you’ve got really cold hands?” he observed, frowning faintly.

The young man removed his hand hastily. “My apologies. I am frequently told that.” He smiled on Swiftnick, a smile of surprisingly sad sweetness. “It has been a long time since I spoke to someone of my own age...”

The frown faded from Swiftnick’s face and he smiled back.

“Nick...” Dick urged sharply then wished he hadn’t at the quick look of interest that crossed the young man’s face. He had a feeling he had made a mistake in naming Swiftnick at that moment. “Come on, we have to go.”

Swiftnick responded instinctively to the urgent note in his voice by stepping onto the mounting block and swinging himself onto Toby’s back.

“Nick,” the young man murmured, resting one hand lightly on Swiftnick’s booted ankle. “Do you ride this way often? Perhaps we will meet again.”

Not if I have my way, Dick thought. The stranger made his skin crawl even if he seemed to fascinate his accomplice. “We’re only passing through,” he said curtly.

The young man gave him an annoyed look, an edge of anger in the way his head turned sharp as a hawk’s towards him. “A pity,” he murmured. “Are you sure you will not drink with me? I invite you both....”

Swiftnick blinked down at him, starting to frown as some instinct for self preservation finally crept in around the edges of his drink fuddled senses. Something didn't seem quite right to him. He looked to Turpin for help, registering his mentor’s chilly expression uneasily. Something had made Turpin furious.

“We have to go now,” Turpin said firmly. 

“May I ask where?” the young man asked, an odd insistence in his voice.

“Over the hills and far away,” Dick responded ambiguously. Casually, he lifted back his coat, letting the hilt of his sword slide into view. “We’re not the sort of people you’d want to deal with, young sir.”

The young man tilted his head to one side as he gazed up at Turpin and delicately lifted his hand away from its perch on Swiftnick’s ankle. “Oddly enough, people used to say the same of me,” he said with a low rippling chuckle that mixed the brush of silk with the rough crush of velvet. Dick had heard people who practised that kind of laugh, but coming from this young man it seemed totally natural.

“Robyn....” the voice rolled out of the shadows, dark and powerful as a rising wave.

The young man looked round, a faint pout crossing his face as he studied the two men who stepped out of the darkness. Both were tall, broad shouldered men, wearing feathered hats pulled low and wrapped in long cloaks that concealed much of their appearance if not their build. They moved with liquid grace, flowing across the cobbles towards Robyn and the two highwaymen.

 Dick felt a chill run through him. Men weren’t supposed to move that way. “If you’ll excuse us, we have a long ride,” he snapped at Robyn and slapped his hand down on Toby’s rump. The bay flung up his head, startled to be so treated and broke into a brisk trot while Swiftnick was still struggling to take up the slack in his reins. Slamming his heels into Black Bess who disapproved with an indignant snort, Dick rode after him, keeping the mare on the bay’s heels to hustle him along. He looked back only once as they rode out of the yard to see the two strangers join Robyn. The shadows seemed to draw in around them and they seemed to almost fade from sight as Dick watched.

“That was rude,” Swiftnick muttered. “He was only being friendly.”

“Too friendly,” Dick retorted. “I know his sort.”

“What sort would that be then?” Swiftnick retorted acidly.  

“Trouble, that’s what.”

“Hah!”

“Hah?” Dick looked at his apprentice in astonishment.

“He only wanted someone to talk to. He was looking for someone...”

“And those two bruisers with him were-?” Dick mocked.

“His servants obviously.”

“Servants. Obviously,” Dick said sarcastically, then made a hasty grab for Toby’s reins as Swiftnick pulled him up. “Now what are you doing?”

“I'm going back to apologise.”

“Whatever for?”

“Because I, because....” Swiftnick paused, frowning hard in bewilderment. “I feel I should?” he said slowly.

Dick shivered and tightened his grip on the bay’s reins. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he too could feel a strange tugging sensation. An urge to go back to the inn.... “Swiftnick, my lad, do you trust me?” he asked carefully.

“Course I do, Dick.” Swiftnick assured him, nodding earnestly.

“Then the very worst thing you could do is go back there. It’ll be a trap.”

“A trap?” Swiftnick gave him a fuzzy blink. “You think he’s a thieftaker? He didn't look like a thieftaker....”

“They never do,” Dick muttered. “But the other two did, didn’t they?”

“I suppose....” Swiftnick said slowly.

“Then believe me when I say they were up to no good. You feel up to a gallop?”

“You want to race?” Swiftnick asked innocently.

“Something like that,” Dick answered dryly, glancing uneasily over his shoulder into the darkness. It was rare that he felt nervous about being out at night, but tonight he could feel something in the shadows creeping stealthily towards them. He let go of Toby’s reins.

“Weren’t we going over to the old road tonight?” Swiftnick yawned.

“Not after you sidetracked to the inn,” Dick retorted, nudging Black Bess into a walk and glad to see that Swiftnick followed obediently.

“You said there might be rich pickings.”

“It’s too late.”

“Not that late.”

“And you’re drunk.”

“Am not!” Swiftnick pouted indignantly and yawned again.

“It’s too risky. I think there are....” Dick paused, reluctant to say the word lying bitter on his tongue. Swiftnick would either laugh at the idea of vampires or be terrified. Or quite possibly both...

“What?” Swiftnick blinked at him.

“Dragoons,” Dick decided. “I have a feeling there are dragoons about.”

“Oh....” Swiftnick looked around him with wide eyes. “Is that why I feel like I'm being watched?”

No, that’d be the vampires, Dick was tempted to say, but he held his tongue. Quite when he had started to believe the drunk he didn’t know, but believe him he did. “Let’s go then, shall we?” he said casually, urging Black Bess to extend herself into a trot. Swiftnick urged Toby up alongside him and after a glance to make sure his apprentice was secure in the saddle, Dick gave Black Bess her head and let her launch into a gallop.

                                                            * * *

For the next few miles, Turpin followed a well established routine; gallop then walk and rest the horses then gallop again. That way they covered good ground without exhausting their mounts. Both Black Bess and Toby were fit, well fed animals. Like most highwaymen Dick knew and had taught Swiftnick that their lives depended on the quality of their horses. Originally, Turpin had thought to exchange Toby for a faster fierier mount, but his accomplice had been stubborn about keeping his horse and Dick had soon learned that the bay was an excellent highwayman’s horse. Black Bess might be faster but Toby had stamina and a loyalty to his rider that matched the mare’s devotion to Dick. Toby was inclined to either kick or bite anyone who threatened Swiftnick and, although Dick had occasionally come close to being on the receiving end, it had come in handy at times.

There had been no sign of any pursuit, but still Turpin had been sure it was there. Something had been following them across the moors that edged Dark Fell, something....hungry....

Whatever it was they seemed to have lost it though and they had been walking the horses for some time and were in sight of the cottage they were using as a hideout when Dick felt a prickling sensation running down the back of his neck like the icy touch of a draught. Whatever was out there in the darkness was once more coming closer.

“Race you, lad!” he called sharply to Swiftnick and smacked the bay on the rump again. Toby flattened his ears but jolted into a gallop, pounding down the slope into the sheltered dell where the cottage lay. Black Bess raced after him, eager to overtake and annoyed when Turpin held her back.

The ground was dry underfoot and dust puffed up, making little ghostly swirls in the moonlight around the horses’ hooves as they trotted up to the outbuilding where the horses were stables. Dick slid to the ground, grabbed his pistols and urged Swiftnick to take the mare inside with Toby. “Brush ‘em down quick, lad,” he urged.

“You put the kettle on then,” Swiftnick bargained.

“Whatever.” Dick answered absently as he planted himself across the doorway and stared out into the night. With one hand on his sword and the other holding a pistol, he waited and watched, half an ear cocked to listen to Swiftnick unsaddling the horses and giving them a brisk rub down before he fed them.

They had outdistanced whatever pursued them with that final gallop, surprised it perhaps. For now though, Dick had a feeling it was out there and holding back, watching until it was sure of its prey.

The sight of the weapons might have made it cautious, which told Dick it was no animal; not that he had ever really thought it was. Turpin’s own wariness might have alerted it that this prey was aware of it. Out in the open, there was a chance they might escape it, but once they were inside...it would think them cornered if they didn’t know how to protect themselves.

Dick smiled mirthlessly. Four walls and a roof did not necessarily a trap make...

“I thought you were going to put the kettle on?” Swiftnick complained, making Turpin jump as he emerged from the shadows of the stables. “Woo, jumpy...”

“Shut up and get inside.”

“What’s got your drawers in a twist?” Swiftnick wondered as he Dick grabbed his arm and hustled him towards the cottage. “Hey, you’re hurting me....”

Turpin ignored him and broke into a run, dragging Swiftnick with him.

He could feel it coming, feel it skimming over the ground in a headlong rush, feel its hunger....

The latch was stiff, creaking as it gave reluctantly to his fingers.....

It was close, too close.... A flash of movement in the darkness, a blur across the ground, a shadow crossing the slope....

No time....

Dick fired at the fleeting half glimpsed shape and kicked the door open, hurling Swiftnick headlong inside and spinning to slam the door shut, flinging his full weight against it.  Except for the faint gleam of moonlight, it was pitch dark in the cottage and he could hardly see a thing.

 Something crashed into the other side, slamming into it like a sledgehammer, rattling the wood as the solid door started to bend....

Suddenly frightened, Swiftnick slipped in beside Turpin, adding his own weight to holding it shut. “What’s happening?” he yelped in alarm.

“I deny you!” Dick yelled.

“Why?” Swiftnick pouted, hurt.

“Not you, Swiftnick!” Dick snapped in exasperation and lifted his voice again, “No undead spirits shall enter here! You shall not pass the threshold! Be gone!” Straining to hold the door firm, he shot a glare at his partner. “Lock the bloody thing!”

Bewildered but obedient, Swiftnick grabbed the locking beam, pulling it across as the door suddenly stopped shaking.

The latch lifted slightly, then there came a horrible ear splitting blood curdling scream full of rage and pain as a blaze of blue white fire erupted around the edges of the door that painfully dazzled their eyes.

 The door bent inwards but held firm and abruptly straightened as if it had repelled whatever dread weight sought to force its way through...

Dick stepped away from the door instinctively, aware of Swiftnick retreating beside him as the door rattled and shook violently as something sought to tear it from its hinges in fury. 

The blue white light grew brighter and brighter....

Suddenly aware that the window shutter was open, Turpin banged it shut then backed over to the bed where Swiftnick was now sitting.

The shutters at the window rattled abruptly and lit with the blue white fire....

The scream echoed again, full of frustration and evil rage then came the silence, flowing inward in a smothering wave....

“Stay here,” Dick ordered softly and headed for the other room, sensing where their hunter was headed. He slammed the window shutters tight, dropping the latch across as they started to glow. “No way in,” he called out. “You are not welcome here! You shall not pass the threshold.”

There was a snarling sound outside and the shutters rattled as something clawed at them in frustration, then recoiled as they started to burn with light....

Turpin backed away, feeling a cold sweat running down his back as he retreated into the main room.

Swiftnick was huddled on the bed, too frightened to move. Sinking onto the mattress beside him, Dick wordlessly put his arm around the trembling youth and the two of them watched the door, watching the fading glow around it once more blaze bright.

Outside in the darkness, the shrill nerve ripping scream echoed once more and then there came a crushing silence.

Holding Swiftnick tight against his side, Dick slowly became aware that he could hear him breathing as the horrible weight of dread that had dogged him since they entered the cottage lifted abruptly. Swiftnick gasped, feeling the pressure of terror ease.

“I think it’s gone....” Dick breathed.

“Dick?” Swiftnick stammered in a whisper. “W’what was that?”

Turpin hesitated, searching for a trite reassuring answer. Finding none, he shrugged and hugged his partner tighter, glad to feel his warmth and noting that Swiftnick made no move to escape his hold. “That, Swiftnick,” he said grimly. “Was a vampire....”

                                                            * * *

How long they sat on the bed together, Dick didn’t know. He was as loath to move as his young partner, but the practical cynical half of him slowly roused itself to point out that they could hardly huddle in the corner all night. Taking a deep breath, Dick lowered his arm from Swiftnick’s shoulders and stretched himself.

“Right then,” he said vaguely.

“Right then what?” Swiftnick asked, keeping his own arms folded tight around him.

“Can’t sit here like a couple of lemons,” Dick told him briskly as he stood up. “You stir the fire up and put the kettle on. I'm going to have a look round.”

“You’re not going outside?!”

Turpin opened his mouth to make a tart retort and then stopped himself. Despite the panic in the youth's voice, it was actually a sensible protest. Going outside might well be dangerous. He might feel that the vampire was gone, but that didn't mean it had. For all he knew, it might have found some way of disguising its presence. “No, I want to check the shutters.”

“Oh....” Swiftnick gazed at him wide eyed as he started towards the smaller room. “You want me to come with you?”

Dick laughed. “I’ll only be in the next room! Start the fire and see what we’ve got to eat.”

“I'm not hungry.”

“Well, I am and you need something to soak up all that ale you were drinking.”

Swiftnick pouted at him but he slid a nervous look at the door. “I didn’t bring the saddlebags in.”

“Won’t hurt them to spend the night in the stables.”

“What if that....thing went after the horses?” Swiftnick argued reluctantly.

“It won’t have. They would have kicked up a fuss if it had but it’s as quiet as er...custard out there. Now, stop arguing and put the kettle on!” Turpin swung around and stamped briskly into the other room, deliberately making as much noise as possible as much for his own reassurance as Swiftnick’s. After a moment, he heard the muffled sounds of the banked fire being stirred awake and relaxed a fraction. Despite a vivid imagination, Swiftnick was a practical lad when it came down to it.

Dick checked the shutters on the one small window and searched the room carefully even though he knew there was nothing hiding in the half empty room. It would have taken someone half Swiftnick’s size to get through the window. Retrieving his spare powder flask and strolling casually back into the other room, he found Swiftnick had put the kettle on and was cutting up the last of the cheese wheel with some bacon and bread. “We won’t have any water in the morning,” he warned.

“It’ll be safe to go out when in daylight,” Dick assured him as sat down across the table from him with his powder flask to reload his fired pistol.

Swiftnick nodded slowly, concentrating on cutting the bread and layering it with bacon and cheese. Dick kept one eye on him, waiting for the dam to break and the questions to come pouring out. His accomplice had taken the idea of a vampire being outside far too calmly.

When the kettle started to shriek, Swiftnick jumped a foot, clutching the knife like he was expecting to have to stab something. Chuckling quietly, Dick got up to fill their silver tea pot.

“Easy, lad,” he said lightly. “Nothing can get in here. We’re snug as a bug in a rug.”

Swiftnick slumped down in a chair, setting the knife down and staring at his trembling fingers. “There aren’t any such things as vampires,” he said firmly. “You always say there aren’t! No ghosts, nor lichs, nor, nor.....”

Dick sighed as he replaced the teapot lid and sat down. “Slow down, Swiftnick,” he advised soothingly.

“But you said!”

“I know I did.”

“I don’t believe you. You’re teasing me again.”

Dick shook his head wistfully. “Wish I was, lad.”

“But...a vampire?”

“It followed us from the pub.”

Swiftnick blinked and absently started to put the tops on the sandwiches he had made. “No...” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Yes,” Dick said firmly.  “Some idiot disturbed them.”

“Them?” Swiftnick’s blue eyes were so big Dick was surprised they didn’t fall off his face.

Turpin nodded reluctantly. “Seven of them, I think. Off the old Pickering manor. The land’s been sold off and put to the plough.” He scowled as he reached for the tea cups. “Damn it, I suppose I’ll have to go up there and look now.”

“Up there? Up where?” Swiftnick quavered.

“The graveyard....”

“The what?”

“The Riders’ graveyard up on the edge of Dark Fell.  It’s a damp dismal place but safe enough in daylight. You don’t have to come with me. You can stay at the pub.”

Pushing a sandwich across the table at him, Swiftnick shook his head, clearly torn. “Are they the Riders’ of the Wild Ride?”

“So they say.” Dick agreed comfortably, taking a bite from the sandwich before he picked up the teapot and poured two mugs full.

“I've heard of them,” Swiftnick whispered, wild eyed. “They’re supposed to be looking for men to join them...”

Dick gave him a critical look. “Maybe,” he said slowly. “They were Royalists who rode on after the King got the chop as...highwaymen of a kind I suppose you could say. They hung ‘em as such anyway. They were supposed to be tall, handsome men of compelling seductive ways. The King was seduced by them.”

“Seduced?” Swiftnick whispered, stunned. “You mean like....?”

Turpin grimaced and shrugged. It was highly likely in his opinion if some of the tales of vampires were to be believed, but Swiftnick didn't need to know that. “Say persuaded then. They were supposed to be among his advisors, all young up coming men at the palace guaranteed to attract his attention. A French man was supposed to have sired them.”

“Sired?”

“It means create them when you’re talking about vampires,” Dick explained.

Swiftnick nodded slowly. “Why? I mean, why send them to the King?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because even French vampires are loyal. Imagine what would have happened if they had managed to control the King and the Roundheads hadn’t got in their way. We’d be talking French now.”

“I wouldn’t. I don’t know any French.” Swiftnick said brightly, sipping his well sugared tea.

Turpin gave him an exasperated look. “I hope that’s the ale talking,” he retorted.  “Point is, the Roundheads weren’t ones to believe in vampires. Such things were the superstitious nonsense of the Papists.”

“The Riders are Papists?”

“If they’re vampires, then they’re not anything,” Dick pointed out.

Swiftnick shrugged. “S’all nonsense anyway,” he decided. “S’only a story to frighten people off manor land.... Pickled Pickering used to threaten to birch anyone he caught poaching up there....”

“Swiftnick, there was a vampire outside,” Turpin warned sharply.

Swiftnick cast an involuntary glance at the door and then lifted his chin stubbornly. “It’s s’only a story....”

“Do you want to go out there and look at what it did to the door?”

Swiftnick flinched, then set his jaw and nodded, pushing unsteadily to his feet. “All righty, I’ll do it!”

“No!” The genuine alarm in Dick’s voice as his mentor lunged around the table and grabbed his arm stopped Swiftnick in his tracks.

“N’no?” he echoed uncertainly, peering up at Turpin with a surge of fright.

“You are not to go outside after dark. Got that?” Dick growled, giving him a shake to add emphasis to his point.

“What? Never?”

“Not until I say otherwise and certainly not tonight,” Turpin qualified. “Now sit down and finish your sandwich. Then go to bed.”

“But....” Swiftnick sank slowly into his chair, watching the older man uncertainly.

Dick sat down again and rested his head in his hands. “Look, whether you believe in the Seven Riders or not, we were chased by something unnatural tonight. It would have killed the pair of us if it caught us.” He lifted his head to give his young partner a serious look. “This is Dark Fell we’re talking about, remember? Strange things happen around here.”

Swiftnick swallowed and reached for his tea. “Seriously?” he asked nervously. “You mean it was a real vampire?”

“Yes. At least as real as they get...”

“But you didn't see it.”

“I didn’t have to. I could feel it. I've encountered the bastards before. I’ll bet that’s what that drunk felt back at the pub.” Dick hesitated, giving Swiftnick an uncomfortable look as he realised his experience might be endangering the youth. “I’ve killed one...Maybe the others can sense that somehow. Maybe they know that I know they’re real.”

“How?”

“How should I know?”

Swiftnick shook his head. “No. How’d you kill it? When? I don’t remember that.”

“That’s probably because it was in Gibraltar and you weren’t there! It stalked and attacked me and Glenrae one night. During the fight we broke a barrel over it and it fell on one of the staves. Poof....”

“Poof?”

“Dust and ash everywhere. You know you’ve killed it when you get that. Otherwise they’re likely to get up again, at least that’s what Glenrae says. And I am not going to ask how he knows. The Scots are a strange lot at times.”

Swiftnick slid a slow look at the fireplace and the gathering of ash in the hearth.

Dick chuckled. “Relax, lad. They can’t do it on purpose. We washed the one in Gibraltar down the gutter.” His grin faded and he shuddered, recalling the all pervading fear he had felt knowing that something unnatural was pursuing them through the darkness that night. It was the same feeling he had had tonight; a knowing...

“So, w’what are we going to do?”

“Well, first thing, we’re going to go to the pub. If one followed us, you can be sure it’ll tell the others. It’s not safe here.”

“You said they can’t get in!” Swiftnick protested in alarm.

“But they know where we are and I won't stay here to be caught like a rat in a trap. Then I'm going up to have a look round the manor.”

“I'm going with you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You might need me.”

“I might need to make a fast get away too,” Dick retorted, suppressing a groan as Swiftnick gave him a stubborn look. “I’ll be fine, Swiftnick! And a lot safer if I don’t have to worry about you!”

                                                            * * *

An hour later, Dick sat up and shoved one hand irritably through his dark hair. He couldn’t sleep and from the way Swiftnick lifted his head to look at him, neither could his apprentice.  Rolling off the bed they were sharing by silent mutual consent, Dick padded over to the hearth and pulled out the stone concealing the hiding place behind it. Fishing about for a minute, he pulled out a leather pouch and sorted through the contents until he found what he wanted. Stuffing pouch and stone back into place, he came back to the bed and dangled what he had retrieved over Swiftnick’s head. The heavy gold cross glittered in the light of the candle they had left burning, the inset rubies sparkling powerfully as it turned on its chain. Nodding in satisfaction, Dick looped the chain over the rough frame of the bed head, using it to bind the cross securely in place before he once more flopped down on the too thin mattress beside his accomplice.

“Night, Swiftnick,” he said briskly, noting the relieved expression on the youth’s face.

“Night, Dick.” Swiftnick responded in a small voice.

Turpin grunted and rolled over on to his side, putting his back to him and giving his pillow a quick pounding before he settled down again and closed his eyes. He wasn't sure how long he lay still, feigning sleep in the vague hopes of tricking it into becoming real, but after a while, he heard the low rustle of Swiftnick’s movement and was about to look round to find out what he was up to, when he felt the youth move gingerly up against his back and his breath brush his neck. Swiftnick settled down with a faint sigh, nestling down in the security of Turpin’s shadow.

Despite himself, Dick smiled into the darkness and lay quiet, making no move to embarrass him into moving away again. Swiftnick was less than half his age; young enough to need comfort, too old to ask for it out loud. Besides, it made Dick feel better knowing the lad was there....

                                                            * * *

Dick was the first to unlock the door and ease outside into the cool air of a bright morning. Swiftnick was awake, sort of, and complaining that something seemed to have slept in his mouth.

“Too much ale, my lad,” Dick called cheerfully over his shoulder, ignoring the fact that it was a condition he had found himself in many a time. “And you’d be worse off if I hadn’t slowed you down....” Turpin stopped, staring at the door in shock. It looked as if it had been clawed by some giant animal; great long gouges had been ripped through the soft weather worn wood.

“Bloody hell....” Swiftnick moaned as he tottered out of the cottage, but it was the sight of blazing sunshine rather than savaged door that made him groan. He held one hand up over his eyes and retreated with a pained whimper.

“Ah! No, you don’t.” Turpin caught his arm and towed him back out. “Go check on the horses.”

Swiftnick gave him a pitiful look, “Must I?”

“You want me to shout?” Dick asked with callous mischief. He had experienced Swiftnick’s jovial good humour during a hangover and had every intention of returning the favour.

Swiftnick flinched and moved off towards the stables, practically tiptoeing. Dick moved to stand deliberately in front of the door so he wouldn't see the claw marks.

“You want to stick your head in the trough!” he bellowed helpfully after him. “Wake you up a bit!”

“Sadist,” Swiftnick moaned as he reached the stable and stopped, clinging to the wall for support.

“Bit of fatty bacon for breakfast, that’s what you need.”

Swiftnick’s stomach heaved in response and he started to shuffle round to the door, then paused. “Dick?”

“What?”

“What if your vampire’s in there?”

“Doing what? Napping?”

“Maybe. It’s awful dark  in there. You swore when you fell over that old lantern when we got here. You didn't see it, you said...”

“Sod it,” muttered Dick. “Stay there....”

Swiftnick had no intention of moving; hangover or no. He watched patiently as Turpin disappeared into the cottage, then emerged with a sword in one hand, a pistol in his belt and a thin stake from their firewood. “You look like a pirate,” Swiftnick commented as Dick stalked up to him.

“Better safe than sorry. And it’s not my vampire! Here, hang on to this....” Dick shoved the pistol into his hand and then briskly flung open the stable door, letting the sunshine cascade inside like a golden waterfall. Swiftnick crept after him as he stalked inside and started to poke and prod about in the shadows with his sword. The horses watched them curiously, munching on the remains of last night’s supper.

“What if it’s in here?”

“Then shoot it.”

Swiftnick frowned. “You said you have to stake it to kill it.”

“I’ll do that once it’s down and grovelling about,” Dick retorted. “No need to play fair with these bastards.” He stopped, looking about him with a frown. “It’s not here anyway.” He held out his hand for the pistol, but Swiftnick held on to it, giving him a meaningful look. After a second, Dick shrugged. “See to the horses then. I'm going to see if there’s anything left for breakfast....”

                                                            * * *

It was strange, Turpin reflected as he studied the decrepit remains of Pickering Place, no matter how many times he said no, Swiftnick always seemed to get his own way in the end. The youth was sitting astride Toby in the shade of the trees behind him, watching the old house with even more suspicion than Dick himself.  They’d gone to the pub, taken a room and then Dick had set off to the mansion on his own. Swiftnick had caught up with him within about fifteen minutes, looking disgustingly bright eyed considering the state he had been in when he got up and all set to argue for accompanying Turpin. Dick had given up the argument the second he hove into view. He knew perfectly well by now that Swiftnick was quite capable of following him all the way to the mansion and back. At least this way, he could keep an eye on him.

“It looks quiet.....” Swiftnick observed, patting Toby as the bay peacefully scrunched at the grass.

“Place is deserted and falling down according to the innkeeper. The land’s worth more than the house,” Dick answered.

“Make a good hiding place for us then,” Swiftnick suggested.

“Make a better one for vampires,” he responded sourly.

“Oh....” Swiftnick hauled Toby’s head up to urge him up alongside Black Bess. “We’re not going to go in there, are we?”

“Well, I thought we’d wait until after dark and then go have a prowl round. See what we can disturb...” Dick replied, feeling a twitch of satisfaction at the look on horror on Swiftnick’s face. “Of course, we’re not, you idiot! What do you take me for?”

Swiftnick glared at him and didn't answer.

“We’re going to go and look and see what got ploughed up,” Turpin told him.

“Then what?”

“Back to the pub for dinner. Innkeeper said it was baked lamb....”

“Yes, but, if there are vampires, what are we going to do then?”