Count Damascus: Rise of the King

The Shadows at Noon

The midday sun beat down on Kilkenny Castle, its warm rays, a stark contrast to the chill that seemed to emanate from within the ancient stones. In the bustling kitchen, Mrs. O'Brien wiped her brow with a flour-dusted hand, glancing at the ornate clock on the wall.

"Mairead, love!" she called out. "Would you be a dear and fetch some herbs from the garden? The roast won't season itself."

Mairead Blackwood looked up from the vegetables she'd been chopping, her dark brown hair falling in loose waves around her face. "Of course, Mrs. O'Brien. I could use a bit of fresh air, to be honest."

As she made her way to the herb garden, Mairead's hand unconsciously reached for the silver crucifix that hung around her neck. The English woman had only been at Kilkenny Castle for a few weeks, but already she felt a strange connection to the place - and an unsettling sense that something wasn't quite right.

Outside, she found Seamus Byrne tending to the rose bushes, his weathered hands carefully pruning the delicate flowers. "Afternoon, Miss Blackwood," he greeted her with a nod. "Beautiful day, isn't it? Though I daresay it's a bit too bright for some folks' liking."

Mairead tilted her head, curiosity piqued. "Whatever do you mean, Mr. Byrne?"

Seamus glanced around as if checking for eavesdroppers before leaning in closer. "Well, now, I'm not one for ghost stories and such, but there's been talk in town. Old legends coming back to life, you might say."

"You mean about Count Damascus?" Mairead asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

The old groundskeeper's eyes widened slightly. "Aye, that's the one. Though I'm surprised you've heard of him, being new to these parts."

Mairead shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "Oh, I've only caught bits and pieces. Something about a nobleman who lived here centuries ago?"

Seamus nodded slowly. "That's right. The story goes that he came from foreign lands, somewhere in Eastern Europe. Arrived at the castle one stormy night in the 16th century, if the tales were to be believed."

"What happened to him?" Mairead pressed, forgetting all about the herbs she was meant to be gathering.

"Nobody knows for certain," Seamus replied, his voice low. "Some say he vanished without a trace. Others claim he still haunts the castle to this day. But here's the queer thing, Miss Blackwood - the old stories say he wasn't like other men. That he could walk in the sunlight when others of his... kind... couldn't."

Mairead's hand tightened around her crucifix. "His kind? What do you mean?"

Before Seamus could answer, a sharp voice cut through the air. "Mr. Byrne! Miss Blackwood! I hope I'm not interrupting anything important?"

They turned to see Father Michael O'Connor striding towards them, his black cassock a stark contrast to the colourful garden. The young priest's usually cheerful face bore a hint of concern as he approached.

"Father O'Connor," Seamus greeted him, straightening up. "What brings you to the castle on such a fine day?"

The priest's eyes darted between Seamus and Mairead before he spoke. "I was hoping to speak with Mr. Byrne, actually. There's been some... unusual activity in town lately. I thought he might want to know, given his position as castle curator."

"Unusual activity?" Mairead couldn't help but ask. "What sort of activity?"

Father O'Connor hesitated, seeming to weigh his words carefully. "Nothing to be alarmed about, I'm sure. Just some strange sightings, unexplained noises. Probably just tourists getting carried away with the local legends."

"Like the legend of Count Damascus?" Mairead ventured.

The priest's eyes narrowed slightly. "You've heard of that old tale, have you? Well, Miss Blackwood, I'd advise you not to put too much stock in ghost stories. They can lead to... unnecessary fears."

As if on cue, a chill wind swept through the garden, causing the roses to shudder on their stems. Mairead felt a shiver run down her spine, and she could have sworn she saw a shadow move across the castle walls - a shadow that didn't seem to match any of the people or objects in the sunlit garden.

"Well," Father O'Connor said briskly, breaking the tense silence, "I'd best find Mrs. O'Brien. Good day to you both."

As the priest walked away, Mairead turned back to Seamus. "Mr. Byrne, what were you saying about Count Damascus being different? About walking in the sunlight?"

But Seamus had already turned back to his roses, his earlier openness replaced by a guarded expression. "Oh, just old stories, Miss Blackwood. Nothing to concern yourself with. Best get those herbs back to Mrs. O'Brien before she sends out a search party."

Mairead nodded reluctantly and began gathering the herbs she'd come for. But as she worked, her mind raced with questions. What was the true story of Count Damascus? Why did everyone seem so reluctant to speak of him? And what did it mean that he could walk in the sunlight when others of "his kind" couldn't?

As she headed back to the kitchen, Mairead couldn't shake the feeling that the answers to these questions were lurking somewhere within the ancient walls of Kilkenny Castle. And perhaps, though she dared not admit it even to herself, the legend of Count Damascus was more than just a story after all.