I did end up walking half naked through the house to my room on the first floor. Before we left the room Jerrow cautioned me not to speak about vampires or thralls outside of his presence, and to avoid speaking about such matters entirely unless necessary. I wondered briefly if I would simply go mute if somebody else brought up the matter, but I supposed that was unlikely to be a problem.

It was still early in the morning, and the house did not have a large staff so we seemed to be the only two walking about. I heard Beth, or maybe Clara the cook making noise in the kitchen as we passed by, but otherwise the house was silent and still.

A sudden thought struck me, and I asked, "What about the other footmen, Jerrow? Was I the only one, ah... hurt?"

"Davis is dead. Karl might've lost an eye. No one else was hurt."

I remembered that the ambush had started when an arrow struck Davis in the throat. The memory didn't seem as shocking as it should be. "Davis, is he..." I found that I couldn't form the words to finish the question. 

Jerrow eyed me sidelong. "No." My questions seemed to be multiplying faster than answers could be provided. Why was I given this strange second life, but not Davis? Not life. Undead, he'd said. I don't feel dead. What is death supposed to feel like? I remembered that the cut to my hand had not hurt at all. Experimentally, I pinched myself. I heard Jerrow snort a laugh as he watched me.

"Feel no pain." he said philosophically. I wondered if that was an order. The pinch hadn't hurt either.

We reached my room, but before I went to my wardrobe I stopped to examine myself in the mirror at my wash stand. I certainly don't look dead. I felt the stubble on my chin, and reached for my straight razor.

"This will be your last shave," said Jerrow, "unless you miss a spot." I watched in the mirror as he begun tugging off his gloves. "And you'll need a pair of these soon. You never really realize how useful fingernails are until you no longer have them." He displayed the pitted flesh where his fingernails had been. "Your hair will fall out too, eventually, but we can fix that." He ran a hand through his own sparse white hair. "At least you're still young. I was an old man when I entered the lord Thrace's service and he didn't enthrall me until I had died of a heart seizure."

I studied the old steward in the mirror. Somehow it hadn't dawned on me that he too was a 'thrall'. Undead. Had he said so? I couldn't remember. I was having trouble keeping up with all I was learning.

"Her father was a vampire too?" I asked as I began my apparently final shave. Isn't this part of preparing a corpse for burial as well? Wash and shave the body. I wonder who washed and undressed me last night.

Jerrow snorted another laugh. "The entire Thrace family are, ah, were, vampires. The aristocracy is just lousy with blood drinkers." I paused my shaving to study him again, and asked, "The noble families are all vampires?"

"Not all. Not even most. But vampires live a damned long time." He huffed a laugh. "Damned and long. Naturally they can build a lot of wealth and power along the way. Most vampires end up with noble titles some way or another."

I resumed shaving. "They live though? They're not... dead? Undead?"

He waved a hand vaguely. "Vampires aren't alive, exactly. They don't age, they can't be killed in most of the ways a man might be, and they don't die at all unless killed. More alive than you or I, though. Their hair and nails grow, for one. And they have to eat and sleep, though blood is all they need."

"They need to sleep? Does that mean we don't?" I felt my now hairless cheeks for any missed whiskers. 

"We don't eat, we don't sleep, and we can't die. We're even harder to permanently kill than vampires. But that's not exactly a blessing. Rumor has it that there's a sealed box buried somewhere with the eyeless, tongueless, lipless head of a poor sot that really pissed off Lord Ferrust. Making thralls out of hated enemies is felt to be poetic justice among the vampire aristos."

Lord Ferrust. The Lord Governor of the province. "Ferrust is a vampire?" 

"Actually no. That's where it gets a bit more complicated. Ferrust is a vampire family, but the current Lord Ferrust is still mortal. He hasn't had any children yet, or none that survived. Vampires can't have children, so the elders of the family wait until their children have had children of their own before turning them. Some choose not to be turned until they near the end of their natural life."

"Old vampires? Who would choose to be old forever?" I looked at him guiltily. "Sorry..." 

"No need," he huffed and waved a hand, "As far as I'm concerned this is an unlooked for bonus. I expected my death to be the end of me. And I don't feel old. Neither will you, ever. I had such a pain in my hip and back before I died that I could hardly walk upright. I'm stronger now than I ever was in my youth. But to answer your question, vampires aren't old. Being turned also returns them to the full flush of youth, pretty as you please."

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I pulled clothing from my wardrobe and began to dress. "No eating or sleeping. No breathing?" I guessed. "No pissing or shitting either I imagine." 

"No, but you'll want to drink some water from time to time, or you'll start to dry up." He smiled sardonically. "Like old jerky. I hear it's very unpleasant."

"That does sound... unpleasant. So, Lilly is not as young as she looks, then? Does she have children?" To my eyes she looked still to be in her teens. I'd only been in her service for a few months, hired only a week after her father died. Died? if what Jerrow's telling me is right, he must have been killed. No wonder she wanted a bodyguard.

The steward had been speaking almost lightly of these strange new revelations, but suddenly he was grim again.

"No. The lady was turned before her time, out of practical necessity. She is now the last surviving member of house Thrace, and it seems her house's enemies are not content with what they've already taken. I'm afraid we'll be facing more daggers in the dark soon enough, and you're going to have to learn how to fight again."  I bristled at first, my pride stung, then reconsidered and wiggled the fingers that held up an unfamiliar grey vest. Oh, this is my blue vest.

"Has this... change, affected my reflexes?" I asked. His reply was a gravelly grumble "No, and that's just the problem. You learned to fight as a man, not the undead monster that you are now. You died, because the man that faced you wasn't a man, he was a thrall. He fought without regard for his own life, because he had none to lose. He was willing to take any wound you could give him, because he knew it did not really threaten him. You're a well trained fighting man, and most of what you know is self-defense.  Hard habits to break. A sword in the heart won't stop you now, hell it won't even slow you down. But it'll take a while for you to really believe that."

"Couldn't you just order me to believe it?" I asked, then frowned at a sudden thought. I tried to remember all that had been said do far. "Jerrow... did you give me permission to speak about these matters?"

The old man grimaced. "No, I don't believe I did. But it's good you brought that up. The geas that binds a thrall is absolute, but, it is subject to your understanding of what you've been told and what you know to be true."

He considered for a moment, then continued, "If I told you to enter a room and kill the man you find there, you'd do it. But what if you found a woman there, or nobody at all? Well what happens next would depend entirely on what you believed my real intentions were, regardless of whether you agreed with them. If you thought I meant you should kill any person you found, you'd have no choice but to kill her. But if she was a known ally, standing over the dead body of a known enemy, you might believe I had meant for you to kill that particular man, but was simply unaware that one of our friends had already done the deed, and so do nothing."

When I said nothing, he went on. "You can't try to find loopholes, you will have to act according to what you really believe. It should go without saying but you also can't be ordered to do something that is actually impossible, like flap your arms and fly. If you thought it might work you'd have to try though." He chuckled softly. "So, clearly you understood that I would not want you to remain mute when I brought the subject up."

"But, Lady Lilly told me to believe what you said... That seemed to work. Frighteningly well, in fact." All of this really should be completely unbelievable. 

"Yes, but that's because I was telling you something that made sense. As crazy as it sounded, it did explain otherwise unexplainable things. But that's not really the point. You may believe you are dead, intellectually, but your instinctual mind will still try to preserve your life. You'll have to re-train your reactions."

I returned to my mirror. Looking back from the silvered glass was a dusky skinned, dark-haired and dark-eyed young man of medium height and powerful build, dressed in (apparently) dark grey slacks, white shirt, grey vest and dark grey jacket. Behind him stood a very old man, rail-thin but unbent by his apparent great age.

"The enemy is at the gates," I quoted from somewhere or other, but I forgot the rest and so I just asked, "So what happens next?"

He grimaced. "There's still a lot more you need to know. I wish we had the time to educate you properly, ease you into this. I knew the family secret before I died, though I never expected to be enthralled. You should have known, too."

I frowned at him. "Why wouldn't they have raised you? There doesn't seem to be much downside." Except for the slavery, I let go unsaid.

The old man crossed to my window and looked out at the front garden. He spoke slowly. "It...costs something, to make a thrall. I don't know what, exactly. It costs more to make another vampire. Some essence, or ineffable life force. Lilly is going to be very unwell for a while. She tried to make you a vampire, first. I saw her cut her wrist and fill your mouth with her blood. But you were already dead. Then she and I killed the attackers. Two thralls and a novice vampire. And after all that and the trip back here, she made you a thrall." He fell silent. I sat on the edge of my bed while I thought.

So that's why only one of us got to live. To be 'enthralled'. Why me and not Davis? Unsure that I wanted that answer I said instead, "I thought I saw you gut a man, before I was stabbed."

He nodded to me. "I did. Just a man, though. They had five mercenaries, I think. I don't think any got away. Karl did for two of them, and Marten and Gavin another. I killed the rest, except for the vampire. Lilly ripped his head off."

I shivered. Lilly ripped his head off. Just like that. That sweet little girl. Ripped someone's head off.

"That is... disturbing to contemplate." I admitted. He smiled dryly at me. I asked, "Does that mean they all know the 'family secret'?”

"Oh yes. All of the footmen know. Beth and cookie Clara as well. None of the other house staff, here or in town though. Well, except the gardener. We'll... talk about Genly later." 

"Jerrow," I asked suddenly, "What was all that fuss with my hand and the sunlight?"

"Ahh," he said slowly, "Now you need to learn about the Lady Lillian and her enemies. The strengths and weaknesses of vampires."