Dark Shadows. Edmund Glasby
with a thick, high-bridged nose and eyes set a little too close to it, giving him a mean, crafty look.
Myers nodded. “Yes. I had an accident on the road.” He was becoming increasingly uncomfortable under the disturbing scrutiny he was being subjected to.
The stranger stomped over and grinned, revealing a largely toothless mouth. With what was supposed to be a friendly gesture, he patted Myers painfully hard on the shoulder and steered him towards an empty table. “You need a room? Food and a good drink, yes?” He gestured towards a stool. “You sit here.”
Myers sat down, positioning himself so that he had his back to a wall. Gazing around, he found it hard not to stare back at the gathered misfits. With some level of revulsion, he noted a badly scarred hydrocephalic giggling as he shared his supper with a large rat that squatted at the end of his plate.
“You like soup? I make great soup.” Without waiting for an answer, the innkeeper slouched off behind the bar and went through a door into what was presumably the kitchen.
With some level of relief, Myers noted that he was no longer the main focus of attention. What he needed right now was an opportunity to get out of these wet clothes, take a warm shower and have a good night’s sleep. He was considering the wisdom of asking whether or not there was a room available and thus risk spending the night here when, out of the corner of his eye, he detected someone coming towards him.
It was the gaunt man he had seen with the double bass.
The musician pulled up a stool and sat down. He had a long, drooping moustache, which seemed to dominate his face, although it could not quite detract from the cross-eyed stare that, in its own, strange way, regarded Myers suspiciously. “Nikolai.” He pointed to himself.
“Hello.” Myers tried to smile, to at least present a veneer of friendliness. However, he could not help but feel uncomfortable about all of this. He watched as Nikolai scratched at his moustache. There was a bad stink coming from the other and when the man grinned he revealed a set of front teeth which were sharp and crooked.
Several uneasy minutes passed, neither of the two initiating any conversation. Eventually the innkeeper returned carrying a tray on which rested a mug of beer and a bowl of steaming soup.
Nodding thankfully, Myers started on the soup, pleased to be doing something to break the awkward silence. He spat out the first mouthful. It was truly horrendous, but whereas his displeasure ought to have earned a comment or an apology, it got no reaction whatsoever from the innkeeper. It was almost as though he had expected this.
Flicking a large beetle off the table, the grin on Nikolai’s face widened.
The soup had left a foul aftertaste in his mouth, prompting Myers to take a hearty glug of beer. It was surprisingly nice. Cool and refreshing. He had now made up his mind that as soon as it was finished he would get away from here and its unusual clientele. To hell with staying here the night. He would much rather take his chances out in the wilderness. He took another drink, aware that the innkeeper was watching him speculatively.
And then, over the innkeeper’s shoulder, Myers saw the front door open. Two men in dark black coats stood for a moment, menacingly framed in the doorway. He could tell just from their appearance that they were some of the thugs who were after him. Lowering his head, he tried to look inconspicuous, to melt in with the weirdos.
The enemy agents got the same kind of reception that he had received only minutes before. All eyes turned to stare at them. One of the men in the doorway said something in an authoritative voice.
For one dreadful moment Myers was certain that someone was going to give him away. His fingers tightened on the gun in his pocket, ready to draw it out and start shooting but after a few more words the door was slammed shut and the men were gone.
The innkeeper walked over. “Those men…after you? They say they will be on the lookout for you. Maybe best to stay here tonight.”
“Thanks for not telling them that I was here.” It appeared that Myers had misjudged these people. Clearly looks could be deceptive. Maybe these outcasts felt some kindred spirit for someone on the run from the authorities. “So I take it you have a spare room?” he asked.
* * * *
Myers came awake swiftly and sharply, that part of his mind which had learned never to fully sleep dragging him back to consciousness at the faintest flicker of sound. For a long moment, he lay there on the low wooden bed, searching the darkness with eyes and ears, straining to pick up the sound that had woken him, to identify it and pinpoint its location.
Then it came again—the faint sound of someone moving just outside the door to his room. As always, before going to bed in a strange place, he had left his holstered gun propped by the bedstead, where it could be reached readily. His right hand grasped the butt. Wearing only a rather ragged nightshirt and a pair of breeches which had been loaned by the innkeeper, he rose to his feet, his eyes staring fixedly, almost cat-like, at the door. Hurriedly he put his shoes on.
Myers had locked the door before settling down for the night; a precaution he always took when staying indoors in foreign parts, but from the sounds of it, someone else had a spare key. It turned in the lock and he heard the handle twist. A moment passed before the door slowly creaked open. Through narrowed eyes, he caught a glimpse of the faint light from the corridor outside, shining around the edge of the door. Stealthily, he sidestepped to his right, clinging to the shadows of the room, making for the space behind where the door would open.
The door opened wider and a figure edged inside. He could see it was Nikolai. Cautiously, the man crept in further, his footsteps barely audible. A faint gleam of lamplight on the knife he carried announced his intention—leaving Myers in no doubt that this was something other than a social call. Swiftly, he moved forward and crashed the butt of the automatic down on the skull of his early morning intruder.
Uttering a curse, the man staggered back, falling to his knees under the force of the blow. He lunged forward, arms flailing, head down, pummelling into Myers as he pushed himself upright, catching him before he could crack down a second time. Together they fell back, colliding with a chair and falling to the floor, both the automatic and the knife spiralling out of the melee.
Scrambling to his feet, Myers grabbed the other by the shirt collar and was just about to smash his right fist into the moustachioed face when Nikolai jabbed him in the stomach. There was a dull roaring in his ears and all the wind seemed to rush out of his lungs. An uppercut from Nikolai sent Myers staggering back, his head temporarily swimming.
Nikolai pulled back into the dingy corridor. Hate swelled in his piggish eyes.
Myers had been trained to fight and kill if need be. Both were things he was good at. Springing forward, he caught hold of one of Nikolai’s arms and hauled him close. With his other hand, he reached out and grabbed a handful of unwashed hair. He slammed the head down to meet his rising knee.
Howling in pain, Nikolai tried to break free, smacking two quick-fire jabs into Myers’ ribs, savagely breaking the hold. Then, even as Myers was about to chop down with the palm of his right hand, Nikolai pulled back, spotting the shadowy outline of his knife on the floor. Clambering swiftly over the bed he whisked it up. Myers was on him before he could take a swing, barging him into the wall, crushing the air from him and knocking the blade from his hand. Viciously, he then hauled his attacker to his feet and spun him around, driving his head into the wall before throwing the badly battered man to the floor. For a moment, he considered standing on the other’s throat, but changed his mind and bent down to retrieve his gun. It was that moment’s indecision that allowed Nikolai to act. With a twist of his boot, he tripped Myers up, sending him falling against the bed.
Before Myers could get to his feet, his attacker was on him, punching and scratching. Fighting savagely, the two tore at each other, each seeking to get in the one blow that would assure victory—whether a kick in the groin or a gouge in the eye. Blood streamed from a gash on Nikolai’s forehead and dripped down onto Myers’ face.
Bloodlust lent Nikolai strength. His hands clasped around Myers’ throat, the nails