At Sword's Point Read Online Free

his eyes, laid his head back, and managed to think of nothing for fully ten minutes. The relaxation was complete. He could feel the knots unkinking in his muscles, and the grime gradually lifting from his body. But then, somewhere in the back of his mind, a gnawing worm of consciousness began to bite into the hedonistic pleasures of a hot bath and herbal extracts, and Drummond found himself thinking about his future.
    He had no idea what he was going to do. Sitting here in a hot bath in a modern bathroom that would be barely comprehensible to the men he had left behind in the castle in Luxembourg—other than Father Freise, of course—it was tempting to relegate his experiences of the past few weeks to a flight of fancy, to put it out of mind and pretend it never happened, to get on with his life.
    But it had been all too real—no mere vacation interlude to be filed away with other memories and only occasionally pulled out for fond reminiscences. Men had died; and Freise, de Beq, and the others expected him to return. In fact, they needed him to help set their world back on its normal axis.
    Axis… a funny word to use , thought Drummond. Like the Axis Powers during the Second World War. Like Kluge and his Nazis .
    Kluge. His trail encompassed at least two continents, and men died where he had passed. The implications of his very existence were almost too terrible to contemplate. And the blood banks, the murders… and vampires…
    Drummond shook his head to shake the mood and looked at his Rolex. No wonder the water was getting cold. He'd been in the tub for nearly twenty minutes. Grabbing a washcloth and a bar of oddly perfumed soap, he set about giving himself a brisk scrubbing. Then, pulling the plug with his toe, he stepped out of the tub and into the shower. No matter how relaxing a bath might feel, he never felt really clean unless he showered. Spinning the taps produced a stinging torrent of hot water out of the shower nozzle. Stepping back and adjusting the cold tap to near full power brought the spray to a comfortable temperature, and Drummond quickly shampooed his hair before rinsing off for the last time.
    Towelling off, he stared once again at his week-old beard and decided it could stay until he got back to L.A. In the bedroom, he unpacked his ubiquitous gray slacks and navy blazer, along with a pair of black Gucci loafers. His towel ended up over a convenient chair as he pulled on the light blue silk boxer shorts and yellow polo shirt. He had almost forgotten the sybaritic pleasure of being clean. Putting on his socks, he climbed into the slacks and then stepped into his shoes.
    For a moment he hesitated about packing the clothes he'd been wearing for the previous week, but in the end decided that an hour in the Maytag would probably rehabilitate them. Folding them into neat little bundles, he stuffed them into the bottom of his suit bag before zipping it closed and folding it in half. Consulting his watch once again, Drummond decided that he just had time for a fast steak before heading over to check-in at the airport.
    * * * *
    The young lady at the check-in counter hardly even batted an eye when Drummond checked in his bag and handed her his sword. Pressing a button next to her computer terminal produced, within seconds, a baggage technician with a plastic rifle case large enough to accommodate the sword. After placing the ancient weapon carefully in the foam-lined container, the lid was closed and the case locked. The baggage technician gave the key to Drummond, along with a separate luggage tag, before he trundled the case away through the crowded airport concourse.
    On the other side of the security barrier, Drummond paid a visit to the Duty-Free shop. He marveled at the incredible variety of useless items that embarking passengers were enticed to buy, ostensibly at prices far below those in stores.
    "Hello, sir. May I help you?" Drummond was surprised to find the young woman behind the counter was