“Think very carefully before you answer” snarled Skumbelbach “the lives of your friends depend upon how you reply to my proposition”. Vlad stared at him evenly for a few seconds; then he laughed, milking the last drops of contempt from his derisive, mocking gesture. Skumbelbach scowled with rage. Finally, Vlad spat out the words: “Did you really believe that I would submit to the will of a filthy scoundrel like yourself?”. The calculated insult was like a slap across the face to Skumbelbach; he clung to the edge of the rack for support. In all the years he had commanded the palace guard, no man had dared to call him ‘Scoundrel’. Struggling with near-uncontrollable agitation, he put his nose inches away from Vlad’s bruised and battered visage and slowly, one word at a time, his voice trembling with towering anger, Skumbelbach hissed: “For that you will die...slowly and by my own hand!”. If he had been hoping to see any weakening of Vlad’s resolve, he was disappointed. The prisoner returned his gaze with assured courage. Vlad’s steadfastness seemed to madden Skumbelbach. “Pigdog!” he yelled “tonight I will introduce Miss Brookes to the pleasures of my dungeon...you will see it for yourself...she will beg for death, but it will be a long time coming!”.

“You swine!” Vlad ejaculated “if only I could get my hands upon you!”. “Ha! Ha! Ha!” sneered Skumbelbach, reaching for the sharp-edged cleaver once again, “you will find that very difficult...when you have no hands!”.