Veronica had decided to wear one of her mother’s gowns to dinner to brighten up the celebration. The Count politely stood up as she entered the room. His eyes lingered on her. Veronica’s face reflected her appreciation of the courtesy. “I wish Ned would do this kind of thing occasionally.” The errant thought slipped through her mind.

The Count bowed as he held her chair. “You are absolutely stunning. A woman of many facets. You handle a knife, or a formal meal with equal grace.” He sat next to her and leaned in towards her with gratifying attention.

Ned watched the Count grimly, but was unwilling to talk to Veronica who was convinced his animosity towards Sándor was fired by jealousy.

Summerlee sensed the tension in the atmosphere. Even though he was unaware of the exact cause he suspected the Count’s attention to Veronica might be one reason. He sought Sándor’s advice on dinner to lighten the mood and provide a distraction. As the scientist-cum-chef poured a couple of teaspoons of sherry into each bird to reduce the gamey taste he glanced over to their guest.

“Count, I find I could use some advice on the preparation of this bountiful repast you and Roxton provided. Oh, you don’t have to get up,” Summerlee added this as Sándor hesitantly stood to join him, the bandage on his fingers replaced by a smaller less intrusive one. “Just call out your ideas.” The elderly professor smiled most genially.

Sándor Bocskai stared blankly at the array of herbs and spices. He looked around to see the others watching him. He bowed and said, “I am completely confident that whatever you choose will be fine, Professor.”

***

The after dinner conversation was subdued. Summerlee, Veronica and the Count handled most of the burden of the socializing as the daylight waned.

“These past days have been wonderful, Veronica.” The Count smiled as he fingered his glass of wine. “You have let me stay here with your friends. This has been so very… stimulating. You are so gracious.” The sweep of his hand encompassed her ensemble. “So very elegant a lady.” He raised his wine glass in a salute.

Veronica flushed from pleasure at the praise. The evening light was just about faded when they heard a shout from outside the treehouse. “Veronica!”

“It’s Jarl.” Veronica recognized the voice of Assai’s husband. “I’m going down to talk to him.”

A few minutes later, she was back up in the treehouse, somber. “They found Nall.”

“I take it the news isn’t good?” Marguerite asked gently after Veronica was silent.

Veronica shook her head. “He’s dead.”

“Hunters are killed all the time, Veronica. The jungle is a dangerous place.” Roxton spoke sympathetically, as only one who’d taken the risks many times could.

“There wasn’t a mark on him.” She looked at all her companions gathered together. “No one knows what killed him.”

As the group grew quiet, Veronica once again escorted Sándor to his sleeping quarters, ostensibly to see if he needed anything else.

While the jungle girl was occupied, Ned, Roxton and Marguerite each provided the details of Sándor’s behavior that they’d observed. Summerlee and Challenger listened carefully.

“So to summarize, we’ve seen this Count demonstrate skills that a number of us possess. He could throw a knife like Veronica, cook like Summerlee, and translate like Marguerite. And, Roxton, he seems to have taken the most from you, jungle skills, shooting.” Challenger paused as he considered the next words. “We know that a Zanga hunter is dead.”

“And the Zanga hunt with bow and arrows and,” Roxton added significantly, “spears.”

“The name of the tribe that he is avoiding is the Magyars,” Marguerite put in. Summerlee and Challenger both took in a sharp breath as Roxton nodded his confirmation of the that fact.

“Who are the Magyars?” Ned asked as he realized the name held significance for Marguerite, Roxton, Summerlee and Challenger.

“They are the major ethnic tribe that makes up Hungary,” Challenger stated, his mind adding in this fact into the total of what they knew. “Hungarians refer to their country as Magyarorszag.”

“Country of the Magyar,” Marguerite translated.

“Which is where Sándor is from,” Ned commented.

“It can’t be a coincidence,” Roxton stated firmly.

“But absorbing talents, skills? This is preposterous!” Summerlee shook his head in disbelief.

“It does seem rather farfetched,” Challenger remarked.

Marguerite looked daggers at the two scientists. “After all this time on the plateau, haven’t we learned that anything could happen?”

“And just about everything has happened,” Ned put in with a trace of dark humor.

“The question, people, is what do we do?” Roxton wanted a plan of action.

“If he has the powers you think he has, can he be hurt?” Summerlee’s voice was practical.

Roxton strode to the rack by the elevator and returned with one of his Webleys. “I’m willing to find out.”

“I don’t know how much good a gun will do, John,” Summerlee protested. “You say he was cut earlier?”

Ned and Roxton nodded. “We saw it bleeding,” the reporter assured him.

“I caught a glimpse of his hand earlier, when he was changing the bandage. There isn’t any sign of a cut on his hand. I think he put the bandage on for show.”

“Is he that dangerous?” Challenger asked. “The worst that has happened is that you’ve been sleepy. And that’s if he really has taken your talents.” His voice was full of skepticism.

“Challenger, anything else you might be able to explain away. Skill with spears, knives, guns, even the cooking. But he read those runes. Runes no one else ever heard of,” Ned spoke convincingly.

“And you’re forgetting Nall. He isn’t going to wake up, feeling fine again,” Marguerite pointed out. Her chin rested on her hand and she stared angrily out at the gathering night.

Challenger nodded his head slowly, unhappy about the seeming mystic nature of their guest. “There must be some underlying scientific principle that is the basis for his powers.”

Challenger’s determination to wring a rational explanation out of the situation pulled faint smiles from his fellow explorers.

“What we need to do is decide how we can stop him.” Summerlee’s words brought everyone back to their main problem.

“If he can heal from wounds that easily, our weapons won’t do us much good,” Roxton remarked disgustedly.

“He’s not afraid of raptors.” Ned thought back over the past couple of days. “He didn’t turn a hair when he saved Veronica and I.” Ned frowned as he remembered the encounter earlier that day. “The Magyars told Veronica a gun wouldn’t do any good.”

“If he can take our skills and weaken us, he has no reason to fear any of us,” Challenger pointed out.

“Why is he here? What is it that he wants?” Summerlee demanded.

“At first he used Veronica to avoid the Magyars. Now I think he wants Veronica for himself,” Ned speculated. “A companion.”

“He wants Roxton’s abilities,” Marguerite said it quietly. She was working at controlling the terror she felt at what this creature might do to him. The hunter put his hand over hers, warming the cold fingers in his grasp. The memory of the creature’s eyes as they followed Roxton across the room had her shivering despite the warmth of the evening.

“Are you sure, Marguerite?” Challenger looked thoughtful. “The Count didn’t go near Roxton that first night.”

“That’s because Roxton was taking care of you and I. You remember. Sándor avoided us like the …plague.” Her voice dropped off on the last word. The explorers looked at each other. The significance of the concept was clear to all of them.

“But there are many diseases on the plateau. Why hasn’t he just caught something before this?” Roxton asked the obvious question. “A mosquito could have bitten him, given him malaria.”

“And what we had apparently wasn’t infectious. No one else caught it. Even though we told him that, he still wouldn’t come near us,” Marguerite reflected.

“He apparently gains his abilities through touching people, maybe that’s the only way he can pick up an illness.” Challenger, his disdain for the supernatural forgotten, took the known facts about their guest to their logical conclusion.

“Then here’s what we’ll do.” Roxton laid out his plan.