“We drove at great speed through the town as the setting sun festered like a crimson wound in the Transylvanian sky. Igor thrashed the backs of the horses mercilessly with his whip and flung curses at the nags in the ancient Bohemian tongue of his ancestors. Peasants leaped aside and crossed themselves as we passed. We thundered down the cobbled streets, through the main square and on towards a hill overlooking the town upon which stood a gloomy castle. It looked like a collection of organ pipes... carved from the bones of a giant upon which had been placed in a variety of sizes some witches’ hats made of red tile. From time to time ravens swooped down off the battlements and rose again in lazy arcs to stain the face of the setting sun. A wind picked up and Calamity drew herself against me for warmth. The road twisted up the face of the crag and along the way we passed groups of peasants carrying torches who waved their fists at us in a strange greeting. Igor cast anxious looks at the progress of the torch-carriers and cracked the whip even more, hurling ever fiercer imprecations at the horses.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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