Across the smouldering remains of the maze, Anteje’s outline flickered in the heat haze. She watched a team of Warrior Scholars search the burnt stumps of the yew hedges, helped by the Anthologist. If anyone was still in there they’d either be carbonised or very angry.

The Anthologist couldn’t hide his nerves when he approached Anteje. “Nothing, no one in there. No bones or anything that looks like a corpse.”

Anteje said nothing.

“If they escaped-“

“You don’t need to speculate.”

“They won’t let this go.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“Helene, Erinia. They’ll want revenge for this.”

“What makes you think I did this?”

She pushed past him to join her colleagues, her Scholars who looked more like Warriors with every passing hour. Later, in the library, the Anthologist lost in a book about cloud formations, Anteje strolled in, her mood darkened by the fiery events.

She sat next to him and read the page he was on. “You can leave at any time. Join your wife in the clouds.”

“I don’t want to join her in the clouds. My world is down here.”

“Don’t you love her?”

“More than anything in the world, but our lives are opposite ends of the spectrum.”

Anteje leaned on her elbow. “Why do you two never kiss?”

He sighed, took of his spectacles and closed the book. “We’re cursed.”

“Cursed?”

“On our wedding day, a jealous sorcerer who knew the art of timing, cursed us. He hated Lineus, jealous of her intelligence. We’d never be able to express our love. We’d never kiss. If she was so clever, he said, she’d find the solution, but she never did. He knew what he was doing. Strange, but we can do everything else. If you know what I mean. But a kiss.”

“Is that why you’re looking for the book?”

“We’ve tried everything else. Science, other sorcerers, puzzle breakers.”

“Puzzle breakers?”

“Yes. He gave us a clue. A riddle.” The Anthologist closed his eyes. “I have fins but cannot swim. I have wings but cannot fly. I have legs but cannot walk.” Raising his hands to the library ceiling he said, “We’ve spent years trying to figure it out. It’s obviously not an animal. It’s not a metaphor.”

The riddle left Anteje open mouthed before she shook her head. She struggled to respond. “Perhaps it’s blindingly obvious.”

“Go on.”

“I don’t know. Perhaps you’re over analysing it.”

“Over analysing, under analysing, sideways analysing. We’ve done them all.”

Anteje’s chair screeched when she stood to go. “I’m sorry. I’ll see if there’s any way I can help.” She walked away with that familiar marching stride as if the news somehow satisfied her. A day of destruction ending with a curse and a mystery.

But she must have said something. The day after, two Warrior Scholars found the Anthologist burning rubbish in a far corner of the castle grounds.

“Hello,” said the Scholar holding the bowed end of her long pony tail. “We might have a solution for the riddle.”

“The riddle?”

“Yes. We’re all trying to figure it out, but we think it’s a restaurant.”

He stepped away from the fire, conscious of its symbolism; where’s there’s fire there are Scholars. “Go on.”

“I have fins, but cannot swim. That could be a fish on a plate. I have wings but cannot fly. Chicken. I have legs but cannot walk. Lamb, rabbit.”

“The dining table,” said the second Scholar.

The Anthologist considered the suggestion and mined his memory to recall Lineus having a similar idea, but he couldn’t remember.

“No harm in finding out,” he said. The Scholars beamed. “Any idea what we might find in the restaurant? I’m presuming you know what all this about?”

“Yes,” said the second Scholar. “You and your wife,” she adopted a tone of discretion, “not being able to, um um.”

“We’re okay in that department. The curse is stopping us from kissing.”

“Told you,” said the Scholar with the ponytail. “Purl thought you couldn’t . . . you know.”

“No, I don’t know. Shall we go to the village. See what we can dig up? What’s your name by the way?”

“Brun. It’s short for Brunhilde, but that makes me sound like a witch and I’m not a witch so don’t even suggest it.”

“The thought never crossed my mind.” Aware he was holding a burning branch he threw it onto the fire. “You don’t even look like one.”

“A witch?”

“No, a Brunhilde. Brun is better.”

When the villagers wanted to eat they ate at home or in the pubs and inns. The one restaurant struggled for business and the head chef’s eyes lit up when he saw three customers walk in. Brun and Purls’ swords clattered the chairs and instead of ordering a table for three came straight to the point.

“I have fins but cannot swim,” said Brun.

“I have wings but cannot fly,” said Purl.

They all waited for the Anthologist to complete the riddle. “I have legs but cannot walk.”

“Is this a trick?” The chef shook his head.

“No,” said Brun. “It’s a riddle and the answer is of great importance. We think it might be related to a restaurant.”

“Do you? Are you staying to eat?”

“No.”

The chef was big enough to be full of the meals he never sold and he pleaded with the Anthologist for an explanation.

“I know. They’re taught to be very direct.”

“No, we’re not,” said Purl.

“And to be very honest. We do have a problem here. The riddle is part of a curse and if anyone helps to solve it there’ll be a good reward.”

“You didn’t say that,” said Purl.

“You didn’t ask.”

Brun interrupted. She took out a small purse of coins and handed them to the chef. “Is the answer here?”

He counted the coins. “I don’t know. What was it again? I have legs but can’t swim-“

“I have fins but can’t swim, wings but can’t fly, legs but can’t walk.” Brun folded her arms and waited as if the chef made a habit of solving other people’s riddles.

“I’ve no idea, but I can see why you might think it’s a menu. If that’s what you think.”

“We weren’t thinking anything,” said Purl. “We’re stuck.”

“It’s obviously a reference to fish, poultry and meat, but that doesn’t exactly say much.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Purl folded her arms and together with her colleague formed a barrier to the chef trying to leave early.

“Perhaps it refers to something else,” he said. “The military?”

“The military?” The Anthologist pushed his way forward.

“Yes, fins on boats, wings on gliders, legs on, on soldiers?”

“Soldiers can walk,” said Brun.

“Soldiers don’t walk they march,” said the Anthologist. Relieved someone had already tipped the chef he led the Scholars outside. “Who is Anteje’s chief of Staff? Ludmilla?”

“No,” said Brun.

“No, no,” said Purl.

“Guinevere.” Brun whispered the name.

Guinevere had her own office at the castle. A room with the windows covered and lit by a crowd of candles that must have been a fire hazard with so much paper everywhere. She sat at a desk surrounded by volumes, hastily writing a list of names on a heavy sheet of paper. Without acknowledging her visitors she said,” Yes.”

“We have a riddle for you, ma’am?” said Purl.

Still without looking up Guinevere said, “I wondered when it would land at my door. You haven’t solved it then?”

“No, ma’am, but we think it might be a military reference.”

“How so?”

“I have fins but cannot a swim. A boat? I have wings but cannot fly. A glider? I have legs but cannot walk.” Brun still wasn’t sure about the last line. “Soldiers?”

“Why can’t soldiers walk?” Guinevere was engrossed with her list.

“Because they march,” said Purl.

“Everywhere? All the time?”

Brun wanted the Anthologist to explain his own reasoning, but he was too distracted by Guinevere’s lightless office. “Riddles can sometimes be cryptic.”

She stopped writing and stared at him. Her eyes were reddened around the edges, skin changing colour as the candlelight dimmed and flickered. “Perhaps it’s a coat of arms,” she said and returned to her writing. “If you don’t mind I have work to do.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Brun and Purl stood to attention and then left the room.

Guinevere glanced up at the Anthologist. “Anything else?”

“Will everything be okay after the fire in the maze?”

“Yes. Why shouldn’t it?” She waved her quill at him. “Go on. Worry about your riddle.”

The dark corridor was blinding compared to Guinevere’s gloomy office. The Anthologist couldn’t help looking back as Brun and Purl strode away muttering and mumbling. “Does she always work in the dark like that?” he said.

“What? Who? Guinevere?” Brun spoke over her shoulder. “Haven’t you been told about Guinevere? I thought you two worked together.” She shared a secret with Purl.

“I have my suspicions.”

“Really?” said Purl. “Inform us.”

“Is she a vampire?”

Shocked by the suggestion, two Warrior Scholars chortled, their cheeky giggling a dead give away. He hadn’t realised they were leading him back to the library and the shelves on heraldry. Purl kept her theory to herself until, having found the biggest book on coats of arms, turned to a page full of illustrations. She held the book open wide in front of the Anthologist’s face.

“A griffin,” he said.

“A heraldic figure, it’s got wings and legs. All we need to find is a coat of arms with fins and a griffin.”

Her logic lasted a minute before Brun pointed out that finding a griffin and a fish in the same coat of arms would take as long as finding any coat of arms with all three elements. Whilst they exchanged arguments for and against ransacking the library, the Anthologist went straight to another book and found a coat of arms he had seen recently.

“Could it be this one?” He placed a small book on a table. A book about local families and their heritage. The coat of arms contained a griffin surrounded by four salmon on a red and black chequerboard background.

“How did you know?” The end of Brun’s ponytail dropped onto the book.

Purl pulled it away. “Who’s coat of arms is it?”

As if some terrible confirmation was being dangled in front of him he linked his meeting with Guinevere to the owner of the coat of arms. “She’s a local woman. Last member of the family.” Her name was Schueller and even though he knew her first name the Anthologist always referred to her as the Vampire.

He kept hold of the book, asked Brun and Purl to return to Anteje and let her know the riddle might be solved. Reluctantly, they agreed, but on his way to the Vampire’s house he remained conscious of being followed. They were a curious couple, determined, but thanks to them he had got this far and he wouldn’t begrudge them appearing on the path ahead of him. He just didn’t want people knowing the identity of the Vampire.

As usual she was grateful for the concern and invited him into a dark conservatory at the back of the house, a moonlit haven looking out on a garden that hadn’t been touched for many years. The bushes and grasses surrounded the windows and watched the meeting.

“You know I only ever come here when I want something. Sorry.” He settled into a long settee. The Vampire settled next to him making him shiver uncontrollably.

“I don’t mind. It’s always a pleasure to meet an old friend.” Her arm stretched across the back of the settee and he became enclosed in the combined chill and dry scent of an exotic perfume. “What do you want this time?”

“I have a riddle.” His teeth chattered.

“Go on. Don’t be frightened.”

“I have fins but cannot swim. I have wings but cannot fly. I have legs but cannot walk. We’ve been to a restaurant to look at the menu. Spoke to Queen Anteje’s Chief of Staff for advice on the military, but we ended up with a coat of arms. Your coat of arms.” He fumbled with the book and took an age to find the page. The Vampire’s eyes never left him and she smiled softly. He found the coat of arms.

“I’ve never liked it,” she said. “A fictitious beast and four fillets of fish. What is it supposed to be?” Her face touched his. The cold was becoming unbearable.

“The question is what does it relate to?”

“Where does the riddle come from?” As if she wasn’t interested in the answer she curled up on the settee and studied other pages of the book.

“It’s a curse. A curse on my wife and me.”

“Really.”

“It was cast on our wedding day. We can’t kiss until the curse is broken.”

She closed the book. “But I thought your wife was intelligent.”

“She is. It doesn’t matter whether we solve the riddle we still have to interpret the meaning. If the answer is your coat of arms, then what? Do you have an answer for me?”

“Maybe not the answer.” She was so close he could feel her heartbeat increasing. “But I can offer comfort.” Her mouth moved to his neck and she bit, softly at first, but then with more force and the terrible potential she always presented finally released itself. She bit harder, he stiffened, but had no chance to resist when he went light headed and slumped in the settee, the Vampire’s weight on top of him, her mouth pushing and gripping his neck.

He woke up on the floor with his head resting on a cushion. The Vampire sat in a nearby chair, her long boots next to his face. She peered down at him, blood still smeared around her lips, her crimson eyes bleeding.

She dabbed her bloated face with a cloth. “You’re alive.” She smiled, her reddened teeth full of glee as if she was ready for another feed. “I’m sorry for taking advantage of you, but I was hungry.” She knelt beside him and cradled his head. “I’ll make it up to you. Any help you need to solve your riddle, just ask.”

“Am I dead?”

“No.” She rocked him slowly. “A little drowsy. You’ll be fine now. All is well now.” And the rocking continued, lulled to sleep again and when he woke a second time she was gone and the sun was rising over the chaotic astonished garden.

Bleary eyed and ready for bed, the Anthologist dismissed thoughts of sleep as the sunlight increased. He took a detour to the forest near to Schwarzeskreuz. The momentum of riddle solving and suggestions forced him on to try another potential source. The Witch he had saved from the gibbet.

She thought he was drunk when she answered the door. “Well, hello. What have you brought me this time?”

“A conundrum,” he said leaning against the door frame.

She placed her fingers on his neck. “Are you . . . have you been attacked?”

“No, no. Someone getting a bit peckish.”

“A late night snack was it?”

“Something like that.”

“All dried up now. Come in.” She let him in. “I’ll make you a pick-me-up.”

Waiting for the water to boil, the Witch listened to the riddle, the aborted clues and the last visit to the darkest conservatory in the realm. She grinned and tried not to laugh and when the water was ready sprinkled some crushed leaves into the brew. “It’s nothing to worry about. Bit of energy for you.”

It blew his head off and within seconds he was wide awake, almost hysterical. He tried to control himself when he spoke, but he was off. “The book, that book, ignore most of it, the important point, the salient point is here,” he snatched the book and tore the pages open, “somewhere, somewhere,” the Witch grinned. “Here, no, that’s not it. Is it the same book, yes, it is. There, there it is. That one. Griffin and four trout, salmon. Trout, no salmon. Salmon.”

“What about it?”

“Fins but can’t swim, wings but can’t fly, legs but can’t walk.”

“Well it certainly matches the riddle, can’t dispute that. All these mythical animals, bits of this and that stuck together.” But her word were a blur. The potent brew leaving him as disorientated as the Vampire’s bite.

“Do you have anything to calm me down?” he said.

The house was full of things to calm him down and by the time his equilibrium had returned his thoughts lined themselves up in perfect formation. He described his wedding day. “We were watched by a swan,” he said. “A lone swan ringed with a gold tag around its leg identifying it with the royal household it belonged to. Lineus said she would never be owned and felt pity for the swan. She wanted to keep it. I tried to joke about having it stuffed, but she didn’t find that very funny.”

The Witch turned her head, a thought interrupting her sympathy. He had the same thought and jumped up. “She’s back tomorrow. Visiting the castle. Can you meet me at the lych gate to the church? After dark.”

“Yes. Do you have an idea?”

“I think so. I think so.” She offered him a small bag of the leaves she had sprinkled in his tea, but he suggested they might get misused. On his way back to the castle he stopped again at the Vampire’s house and left a note asking her to meet him at the same time, the same place; the lych gate. He was sure she’d agree. (Part of him hoped she’d agree.)

Like a suspicious wife Anteje waited for the Anthologist to stumble through the main doors of the castle. She said nothing, but gripped his jaw and inspected his neck. “So this is how you entertain yourself at night. Isn’t it a bit of a contradiction? Trying to solve a riddle to lift a curse that stops you kissing your wife and at the same time your consorting with a female vampire?”

“I asked her for help. She took me by surprise.” He tried to walk away, but Anteje stepped in front of him. “If you must know it’s the first time she’s ever bit me.”

Anteje raised her eyebrows, her mouth closed, but succumbing to her disbelieving grin. “Whatever turns you on.”

“I’ve asked her to help me. And the Witch.”

“What witch?”

“The one I helped near Schwarzeskreuz. Two heads are better than one. Or three heads. I’ve asked them to meet me at the lych gate tonight. No, it’ll be four heads. Lineus will be here by then.”

“Well make it five. You two are not going anywhere with a witch and a vampire.”

“They’re friends. I can trust them.” The wounds in his neck contradicted him.

Anteje adjusted the belt carrying her sword. “You do what I say. I’m coming with you.”

“Anyone else?”

“No. Just me.”

She offered no further reason or explanation and whilst Anteje’s body language was difficult to read at the best of times, in the absence of reassurance the Anthologist had only doubts about her intentions. He was there when the maze caught fire and so was she.

With the sun low beyond the horizon the lych gate provide a blackened corner to gather, a suitable spot for the Vampire whose appearance was preceded by a colossal drop in temperature. As if her arrival was a signal, the Witch crept out of the vegetation lining the path to the gate.

“How long have you been there?” said the Anthologist.

“Not long. I have to take care in these parts.”

“Do you?” He looked to Anteje for confirmation, but she said nothing. “Okay. Well, anyway, there it is.” He pointed across the lane to a house in darkness, a tumbledown building thrown together out of bits of stone and timber, additions and extensions, chimney pots scattered across an uneven roof.

“Isn’t that where the taxidermist lives?” said Anteje.

Lineus made the connection. “Fins but can’t swim, wings but can’t fly, legs but can’t walk.”

“Please don’t say it’s obvious,” said the Anthologist. He tried to avoid the Vampire’s frosty presence, but she insisted on standing close to him every time he moved away. “I don’t know what we’ll find, but it fits the riddle.”

The taxidermist, a brittle old man called Pfleger, was awake, working at the back of the house, stuffing a wild boar shot by a local book keeper. “It’s a hobby of his,” Pfleger said. “Gets him out of the house at the weekends.” He spoke nervously to his audience, fully aware of Anteje standing behind him, her sword out of its hilt and held behind her back. “Business has been improving lately.” His small workshop was full of completed and half-completed animals, birds, a dog, a fish ready to displayed in a large glass case.

“I have fins but cannot swim,” said the Anthologist, “wings but cannot fly, legs but cannot walk. Does any of that mean anything to you?”

Mouth wide open he shook his head. His fingers became entangled.

“Are you sure?”

He started nodding, but couldn’t stop. Anteje grabbed the collar of his jacket. “I don’t believe you.” The sword appeared over his shoulder.

“I don’t know what any of this is about. I stuff animals for a living.” As he spoke his eyes darted towards a door at the back of the workshop. The Vampire was drawn to it and the chill seeping through the frame. “I don’t know anything.”

“Are you sure,” said Anteje. The sword pressed his throat.

“Perhaps, perhaps there’s a connection with something a client once said to me. Find me here and ease your pain, eat my heart and love again.”

The Anthologist lunged for him. “Who said that?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” Pfleger had a sword blade cutting his throat and a maddened librarian pulling him by the lapels. “I don’t know.”

“It’s enough,” said Anteje and with a pull of her arm sliced open Pfleger’s throat.

“What have you done?” the Anthologist said.

Anteje aimed the bloody sword at Lineus standing in front of a display of birds. Amongst the crows and ducks, woodpeckers and sparrows, a large white swan stood aloft inviting attention. “Look here.” Lineus pointed at the swan’s leg. It was ringed with a gold tag.

“The swan from your wedding day,” said the Witch. She squeezed its body, lifted it off the display bench and shook it. “It’s completely stuffed. Do you think its organs and entrails are here too?”

The question was ignored by the Anthologist who stood over Pfleger’s corpse and the blood gushing away to the cold door and the Vampire. Her hungry eyes followed the liquid feast as it ran past her boots. “What if he knew. . . .”

“Knew what?” said Anteje.

“The answer to the riddle.”

“The answer is here.” She poked the swan’s body with her sword. A hesitant blade of straw stuck to the bloodstained blade.

One step ahead of them all, the Vampire pulled open the cold door and entered the freezing storage room. Ice lay everywhere in piles and pyramids, great blocks and barrels of nuggets. The walls were slippery, the floor slimy and the Vampire was the only one present able to endure the chill.

Carcasses of all sorts of animals lay in wait to be prepared and stuffed. The room was both zoo and farm with a fox, an otter, a flamboyant cockerel, a mouse, a sheepdog, a lamb and a ram. “Well, well,” the Vampire said amazed, “what a treasure trove of death. I have jaws that cannot bite, claws that cannot fight. The room is a riddle in its own right.” Pfleger’s blood trickled around oak barrels and crates and craggy lumps of ice, quickly turning white as it frosted over.

She opened one of the crates and found the body of another dead swan and a solid block of frozen organs. She held up the block and rotated it until she found the heart.

“Thaw it out,” said Lineus.

The Witch collected a large pot, firewood, water and herbs. Soon, a blazing brew bubbled in the hearth. “These will make it a bit more edible,” she said adding leaves and salt, a chopped onion and a jug of beer. She dropped the heart into the water and waited. Anteje tapped the sword tip against the pot and when the Witch gave the signal, speared the heart and sliced it up ready for eating.

“Do we eat all of it?” said Lineus.

“Probably best if you do,” said the Witch. “I normally recommend the full dose.”

The Anthologist’s appetite had followed Pfleger’s blood out of the room, but for the love of his wife he ate, forced down the tasteless offal with only the beer offering any pleasant taste. The Vampire couldn’t help a crafty fingertip of blood from the floor and put her hands behind her back when she saw Anteje’s disapproving look.

When the heart was gone the Anthologist held Lineus and both of them paused, worried the ritual might fail, hopeful they had solved the riddle. The closer their lips came the more he expected to feel the familiar resistance that had so often deflected his face away from hers. But the momentum continued, he felt her lips touch his and they kissed, kissed and grinned, kissed and laughed, squeezed the breath out of each other and kissed until the tears came between them. Years of frustration, years of miserable acceptance and fate were finally exorcised and their passion was free again.

The following morning Anteje met the Anthologist in the library and recognised the reasons for his drowsiness. She approached him with a book, a small slender unbound volume. “Vampire?”

“Vampire? No, not the Vampire. She was very magnanimous about it all. Always has been.” He didn’t want to talk about Pfleger. He knew she wouldn’t acknowledge his rhetorical questions anyway.

“I take it you won’t be looking for the book anymore.” She sat down, placed the volume on the table and left it unopened. The cover’s title was Quarter Moon Anomaly Report: All Resolutions Final Draft.

“You had it all the time?”

“Yes.” She let him read it, but the pages were full of incomprehensible mathematical equations, proofs, quantum hypotheses and conclusions. An executive summary declared the quarter moon events preventable, but variations causing future anomalies could not be ruled out.

“What is it?”

“Some kind of scientific report. Lineus might understand it, but I don’t. There’s nothing in it about kissing or riddles.”

“Do you want to keep it? I’m inferring you don’t think it’s much use to anyone.”

“No, I didn’t say that.” She took it back.

“Truth be told, I wasn’t looking for the book to solve the riddle or break the curse. It looks like we keep secrets from each other. I understand that. So long as we recognise you have your secrets and I have mine. Will you let me continue working here?”

“I don’t see why not. On one condition.”

“Which is?”

“Now that you know it’s here you tell no one and you make no attempt to steal it.”

Remembering the fate of Pfleger he agreed and watched her march out of the library taking the book of All Resolutions with her. When she was gone Guinevere entered, sat on the chair by the door, took a bite out of her apple and winked. “All turned out well in the end then?” she said.

“So it would seem,” he said knowing he now had a new riddle to solve.