So much for the usurper!

D'Amato fell in a heap, mumbling.

'It's mine, all mine. I am Montoni, the true Montoni Udolpho'

Kloszowski drew Antonia to him, a strong arm around her heaving shoulders, and kissed the girl he would make mistress of Udolpho.

'I am Montoni,' he said.

He looked at everyone, waiting to be accepted.

'NO,' roared a familiar voice.

The word hung in the air, echoing like a thunderclap.

'NO.'.

Zschokke had spoken. He was no mute after all.

'I can stay silent no longer.'

The steward had the voice of a bull. Kloszowski had heard his voice earlier, before nightfall, before the storm. Zschokke had been the bandit chieftain who had robbed the cleric of Morr. He must have known all along that Kloszowski was in disguise.

'I am the true Montoni Udolpho,' he said.

The suits of armour ranged against the far wall came to life, their visors raised.

'And these are my loyal servants.'

They were swarthy banditti, many missing eyes and noses.

'This house and all in it rightfully belongs to me.'

Zschokke thumped his chest for emphasis. The point of the pike appeared between his neck and collarbone, and speared upwards. Zschokke looked at the thing sticking out of him, and opened his throat in a deafening sound of rage.

He was lifted off his feet like a toy, and slid down the pike. Gouts of blood spurted around his face. There was a giant in armour behind Zschokke, hoisting him on his own pike. With the giant had come Christabel, dressed as a bride in a moth-eaten white train and veil. Kloszowski was astonished.

XXV.

She finally reached the door, her head pushed first against it, and found it unlocked. For the first time in many years, Mathilda was out of her room. With an effort, cradling her head in her hands, she stood up. There was a window at the end of the corridor, and beyond that she saw the valley.

For an instant, she was her old selfSophia Gallardi of Lucciniand then she was at the window. Her head broke the gla.s.s and the cas.e.m.e.nt, and she fell with the rain towards the slope hundreds of feet below. She felt as if the fall would never end. But it did.

XXVI.

Antonia was lost. She no longer knew, nor cared, who everyone was.

Zschokke was twisting like a worm on a fishhook, and the giant was standing like a statue. The armoured banditti cl.u.s.tered around the giant, striking useless blows with maces and swords.

One of the windows blew in, a cloud of gla.s.s shards spreading through the hall with the wind and rain. It was more spectacular than the finale of Jacques Ville de Travailleur's Accursed of Khorne; or: Death of a Daemon Lord.

The table was knocked over, disclosing Father Ambrosio, his habits askew, entangled with two of the serving maids and a squealing piglet.

He appeared to be having some form of seizure, doubtless brought about by overexertion. He was trying to dislodge something unseen from around his neck. Antonia believed she saw the red imprint of invisible fingers in the white flab of his neck.

She took Kloszowski's arm, and held him close.

Genevieve, her chin b.l.o.o.d.y, took Kloszowski's other arm. She seemed to be the only other person in Udolpho who was awake.

'We've got to get out of here,' the vampire said.

'Yes,' Antonia said.

'Now.'

'Yes.'

Kloszowski didn't struggle.

The giant slowly threw his pike like a javelin. With Zschokke still spitted on it, it travelled the length of the gallery and its point sank into the wall about fifteen feet from the floor. The pike sagged, but the servant bandit was pinned fast, blood dribbling from his back.

Antonia wondered about d'Amato. She left Kloszowski to Genevieve, and bent over her former protector.

The double doors flew open, and Pintaldi burst into the great hall, bearing a blazing torch in either hand, shouting, 'Fire, fire!'

'Ysidro,' she said. 'Ysidro, wake up.'

'It's all mine, do you hear? I am Montoni! Montoni!'

'Ysidro?'

He pushed her away, and she stumbled against Flaminea.

'Harlot,' she said, scratching.

The giant was moving fast now, wringing the necks of the bandits one by one, and tossing them in a pile. Christabel was playing the harpsichord in ecstasy, her train flowing in the wind.

'Come on, girl,' said Genevieve, who was tugging at a blank-eyed Kloszowski.

Antonia allowed herself to be led out of the hall.

'Mine, mine'

'Fire, fire!'

XXVII.

Christabel couldn't remember who she really was. It didn't matter. Since she had come to Udolpho, she had been home.

Her new lover had killed Zschokke. Now, he would ravage the rest of her enemies. The last of the steward's bandit crew was down, dead inside his crushed armour.

She slammed the harpsichord lid shut, and held out her arms, feeling the cold caress of the wind on her body.

Ravaglioli was crawling out of the vaults into the hall. She nodded, and the giant stepped on her father's back.

Tanja, the lizard-maid, flicked out a long, forked tongue and caught a fly.

'Merciful Shallya,' said Flaminea as the strangling cord went around her neck. Christabel pulled tight.

'Fire, fire'

Pintaldi tossed a torch into the air, and it came down in burning pieces.

Christabel's train caught light, and the flames licked up around her in an instant, spreading to Flaminea.

'Harlot,' her mother croaked, spitting.

Christabel kept the noose tight, even as the fire grew around them. Pintaldi was right. The flames were cold, and cutting. Pintaldi was on fire himself, spreading his flames everywhere, embracing everyone.

They were all there. Schedoni, Ravaglioli, Vathek, Ambrosio, Dr. Valdemar, Flaminea, Zschokke, Pintaldi, Montoni, the maids. The fires spread throughout the great hall. Another wing would be ravaged before the storm extinguished it all. The giant stood unmoved by the blaze. There were others with him. Flamineo, the Phantom Huntsman. The Blue Face of Udolpho. The Strangling Steward. The Wailing Abbess. The Spectre Bride. The Bleeding Baronet. And many, many more.

Christabel felt her face melting and knew it would not be forever.

XXVIII.

The rain was dying out, and it was nearly dawn.

Kloszowski lay on the ground while Genevieve and Antonia watched the House of Udolpho burn.

'Will it be forever?'

'No,' Genevieve said. 'It'll remake itself. It's a strange spell. Something Old Melmoth whipped up.'

'Was anyone part of the original family?'

'I don't know. I think maybe Schedoni. And Dr. Valdemar is a real doctor.'

Kloszowski sat up, and the women turned to him.

'M-Montoni?' Antonia asked.

He shook his head.

'He thought he was a revolutionist,' Antonia explained to the vampire.

'I am a revolutionist,' he protested.

'It'll pa.s.s.'

'But I am.'

Another tower toppled into the ruin, gold gleaming for an instant in the first light before a belch of black smoke obscured it. As one section of the house crumbled, another grew like an accelerated plant, walls piling up, windows gla.s.sing over, roofbeams stretching creakily across the spine. The House of Udolpho was unbeatable.

'We can't stay here,' Genevieve said. 'We've got to skirt round the estate, keeping well clear of it. The spell is far reaching, and persistent. Then maybe we can make our way to Bretonnia.'

'Will they go on?'

Genevieve looked at him. 'I think so, Aleksandr. Until Old Melmoth finally dies. Then maybe they'll all wake up.'

'Fools.'

'We all believe in fairy tales,' the vampire said.