sun, his eyes opaque, his body limp. Sometimes he let one hand dangle in the cool water; but the appearance of ugly, triangular shark fins put a stop to that.
“They are like all of nature, the sharks,” Hofmanstahal said. “They rend and kill, and give nothing in return for the food they so brutally take. They can offer only their very bodies, which are in turn devoured by larger creatures. And on and on. The world is not a pretty place, my friend.”
“Are men so different?”
“Men are the worst of all.”
Seven notches, now. Craig was growing weaker. He was positive by now that Hofmanstahal was simply not eating.
There were nine notches on the gunwale when Craig found that Hofmanstahal was eating, after all.
It was night, and the sea was rougher than it had been. The slap-slap of waves against the hull wakened Craig from a deep, trancelike sleep. That, and the oppressive feeling of a nearby presence.
He stirred, felt the presence withdraw. Through half-shut eyes he saw Hofmanstahal, darkly silhouetted against a sky ablaze with stars.
“You were crying out in your sleep, my friend.” The big man’s voice was solicitous. “Nightmare?”
“My throat . . . stinging, burning. I . . .”
“The salt air. You will be all right in the morning.”
Craig’s face felt like a numb mask of clay. It was an effort to move his lips. “I think—I think I’m going—to die.”
“No. You are not going to die. You must not. If you die, I die.”
Craig thought about that. The rocking of the boat was gentle, soothing. A warmth stole over him, though the night was cool. He was weak, but comfortable; fearful, yet content. Head back, breathing easily, he let himself become aware of the glory of the heavens.
The constellation Perseus was slanting toward the western horizon, and Craig noted almost unconsciously, with the skill of long practice, that the variable star Algol was at its maximum brilliancy. Algol—the ghoul.
The thought lingered. It turned over and over in his mind, as his unconscious seemed to examine it for some hidden meaning.
Then, abruptly, the thought surged up into his conscious mind.
And he knew.
He lifted himself up to his elbows, supporting himself weakly.
“Hofmanstahal,” he said, “you’re a vampire. Aren’t you?”
The other’s chuckle was deep and melodious in the darkness.
“Answer me, Hofmanstahal. Are you a vampire?”
“Yes.”
