A Cautionary Tale for Young Vampires

by G. D. Falksen

  “If you are ever in the United States, you must visit my sanatorium in Vermont,” Thorndyke said. “We have served royalty there before.”

  “I shall…remember that,” Ekaterine said politely.

  Thorndyke suddenly seemed to remember himself, and he quickly clapped his hands together.

  “My apologies, Princess Shashavani,” he said, bowing again, just as stiffly as before. “I remember now why I came looking for Friedrich…uh…that is to say, the Baron von Fuchsburg. I fear that I must depart at once. A crisis of a medical nature has arisen, and I must attend to it.”

  Friedrich looked surprised and protested, “Nonsense, Thorndyke, you have only just arrived!”

  “Yes, yes,” Thorndyke said, bobbing his head. “But a message was sent for me. I have only just received it, and it is of the utmost importance. I fear that I must take my leave. A pleasure as always, Friedrich…that is to say, Baron. And an honor to meet you, Princess Shashavani.”

  As he spoke, he bowed again and backed away in his strange, shuffling walk.

  Ekaterine looked at Friedrich and said, “I have met some very eccentric people in my years, but that man is especially curious. Is he always so peculiar?”

  “Oh yes,” Friedrich said, giving her a knowing look. “I fear that the good Doctor Thorndyke is one of the most bizarre individuals you will ever encounter. If he’d stayed much longer, he would certainly have expounded at great length upon the manifold benefits of yoghurt. Nutritional, digestive, hygienic.”

  “Hygienic?” Ekaterine was almost afraid to ask.

  “Yes, apparently he bathes in it,” Friedrich said. “It’s one of the more exclusive treatments at his sanatorium. He tried to talk me into one, but I wouldn’t have it. I’m not particularly comfortable washing in something that isn’t water.”

  “How unadventurous of you,” Ekaterine said. “Tush, tush.” She smiled and added, “But I agree with you. Yoghurt is to be eaten.”

  “To be honest, I’m somewhat skeptical about that,” Friedrich said.

  “How ever did you come to be in association with that man?” Ekaterine asked.

  “Medicine,” Friedrich said. “Whatever else he may be, he is a brilliant doctor. And a very good surgeon as well. This ‘wellness’ thing of his may bit a bit mad, but I have seen incredible results. There’s something to it.”

  “Are you sure?” Ekaterine asked. “Or are you simply enamored of his beard?”

  Friedrich laughed aloud. “My God, it is somewhat terrifying isn’t it?”

  “You could hide a cat inside it,” Ekaterine said. She shook her head. “Now then, tell me all about Doctor Thorndyke and his principles of wellness.”

  “It’s all to do with clean living,” Friedrich said. “No alcohol or meat, that sort of thing.”

  “It sounds horrible.”

  “Yes,” Friedrich said. “Also something about cold baths. Believe me, you should never set foot in his sanatorium. All exercise and vegetarianism.”

  Ekaterine looked at him, head tilted to one side.

  “And yet, you spend time with this man?” she asked.

  “That’s the thing about it,” Friedrich said. “Some part of the regimen works. It really works. Prevention of illness, longevity, health, youth, the whole thing. In Vermont, he introduced me to a dozen or more of his patients who have lived well into their eighties, who are fit and active, in the prime of health, and all of whom have the appearance and vitality of people twenty years their juniors.” He waved his finger to illustrate the point. “Now that is of interest.”

  “How long has the sanatorium been in operation?” Ekaterine asked.

  “Ten years, I think.

  “Then one would assume that whatever regimen gave these patients their longevity, it was begun before they met Doctor Thorndyke,” Ekaterine said. “Logically.”

  “I…” Friedrich began. He paused, momentarily at a loss for words. “Even so,” he said, “Thorndyke has hit upon something. I have seen the results. Health, youth, longevity. I want to know what it is, and Doctor Thorndyke has agreed to let me work with him on perfecting it, distilling all possible techniques and treatments until we have determined the ultimate method for wellness.”

  “You’re searching for the elixir of life?” Ekaterine laughed, her tone amused. “How wonderfully absurd.”

  But she understood his purpose. No doubt he was still searching for answers that had not been given to him in France. Longevity? Youth? Inspired by his mother’s own lack of aging no doubt. Varanus was seventeen years his senior, but when they had been reunited at the funeral, she had looked no older than he—the gift of the Shashavani. Varanus had dismissed it as the result of good breeding, but such an answer would not placate the likes of Friedrich. And it would become harder and harder to explain away as the years passed.

  “Absurd maybe,” Friedrich said, “but it is a challenge, and as a man of science, I enjoy a challenge.”

  The way he looked into her eyes left little doubt as to just what he meant.

  “I’m certain you do,” Ekaterine said. “If you will excuse me, Baron von Fuchsburg, I think I ought to return to the ballroom and keep your mother company.”

  “A marvelous idea,” Friedrich said. He offered Ekaterine his arm. “Let us both go and keep her company together. I am certain she will be delighted to see me.”

  Ekaterine hesitated a moment and then took Friedrich’s arm.

  “Your mother will certainly be enthusiastic in her reaction,” she said.

  * * * *

  Ekaterine did not see Varanus when she entered the ballroom. That was odd. Varanus seldom left her seat at social engagements, and despite protocol, she was only rarely asked to dance. Ekaterine could not quite place why, but for some reason the tiny woman seemed to intimidate all comers. Not that this bothered the notables of society, who had sent invitation after invitation once the period of mourning had ended. The English were a peculiar people. Did they enjoy having her sit there like a queen overseeing court? Ekaterine had observed a few other members of Society doing the same at other functions—even the Earl of Twillingham and his wife on occasion. Perhaps in Varanus’s case it was no different.

  At the moment, however, Varanus was not at her seat, nor had she been in the refreshment room. That meant she was dancing. Ekaterine perused the dispersing crowd and saw Varanus in the company of Doctor Constantine, walking back towards her chair.

  “Come,” Ekaterine said, nodding toward Varanus and Constantine. “Your mother will be delighted to see you.”

  Varanus saw them as they approached. Her eyes widened at the sight of Friedrich, and her mouth tightened in anger. She said something to Constantine and led him in their direction. Ekaterine looked at her apologetically and nodded that she understood the reason for Varanus’s anger.

  “Doctor Constantine,” Varanus said, “you already know my sister-in-law, Ekaterine Shashavani.”

  “Yes, of course,” Constantine said, bowing to Ekaterine. “A pleasure as always, Princess Shashavani.”

  “A pleasure indeed, Doctor Constantine,” Ekaterine said, smiling sweetly. “And I trust you are well?”

  “Very well, thank you.”

  “May I introduce my son, the Baron von Fuchsburg?” Varanus motioned to Friedrich. “Alistair—”

  “Friedrich, Mother,” Friedrich said.

  “—this gentleman is Doctor Constantine of the London Hospital,” Varanus continued, ignoring the correction. “He is a very talented practitioner of medicine. I think that you and he shall have a great deal to discuss.”

  “Honored to meet you, sir,” Constantine said, bowing his head to Friedrich.

  Friedrich nodded and said, “Very nice to meet you, I’m sure. You know, I am a doctor myself.”

  “Oh yes?” Constantine asked. “But surely you do not practice.”

  “Of course not,” Friedrich replied, laughing. “If aristocrats began to work, it might start a revolution.”

  “O
h, quite the opposite, I think,” Ekaterine said.

  Indeed, she suspected that the surest means of preventing social upheaval was for the privileged classes to start making themselves useful. The aristocracy of Europe had ceased to provide any sort of reliable military function, which rather invalidated the foundation of their privileged position.

  “Yes, Doctor Constantine,” Friedrich said, “you and I must have a little chat sometime. We shall discuss medicine and such.”

  “Uh, oh, yes, of course,” Constantine said, a little awkwardly. It was not common for aristocrats to invite members of the public to visit them for the sake of having a chat about medicine. “Perhaps you would care to see the hospital. I could give you a tour.”

  “Fantastic!” Friedrich seemed delighted at the prospect. “Forefront of scientific progress and such. I’ll bring some brandy. It will be great fun.”

  Ekaterine saw Varanus wince a little.

  “I suspect that brandy will not be appropriate for the hospital,” Varanus said. “But it is a very informative tour.”

  “You should join us, Mother,” Friedrich said. “You and Aunt Ekaterine.”

  Good Lord, Ekaterine thought. He was looking at her in that way again. Of course, the way he did it was rather nice, but still.…

  “Yes, perhaps,” Varanus said, sounding dubious. “Doctor Constantine, would you be so good as to excuse us?”

  “Ah, yes, yes, of course,” Constantine said. “A pleasure meeting you, Baron. Good evening.”

  Varanus waited until Constantine had departed before she turned to Friedrich and said, “Walk me to the refreshment room.”

  “We have just come from there, actually,” Friedrich said.

  “The refreshment room,” Varanus repeated, more forcefully.

  Friedrich bowed his head and offered her his arm.

  “Refreshment sounds lovely,” he said.

  As they walked from the ballroom, Varanus spoke to Friedrich softly but with anger.

  “Alistair,” she said.

  “Friedrich, Mother,” Friedrich said.

  “I named you Alistair when I gave birth to you,” Varanus said. “That is your name. It is no fault of mine that your Aunt Ilse decided to call you Friedrich when she brought you up.”

  Friedrich looked at Ekaterine for support. Ekaterine merely smiled and shrugged. What could she do? Varanus was being unreasonable—Friedrich’s name was what he, not they, decided it was—but it was no good trying to tell her that.

  “As you say,” Friedrich replied, avoiding both agreement and argument.

  “Good,” Varanus said. “Now tell me, why in God’s name are you in London?”

  “For…reasons,” Friedrich answered. “I could well ask you the same.”

  “What reasons?” Varanus demanded. “You were supposed to return home on the first train from Paris. Your life was in danger!”

  Friedrich cleared his throat and said, “Yes, Auntie Ekaterine has already told me. I had no idea she was my aunt.” He quickly added, “By marriage, I mean,” and smiled at Ekaterine.

  Ekaterine could have sworn that he winked as well.

  “Your life,” Varanus repeated. “In danger.”

  “And so was yours,” Friedrich said. “You are not the only person who is concerned about somebody, you know. You were supposed to go back home to Russia as soon as the estate was settled.”

  “Well, it hasn’t been settled yet,” Varanus said. “Nor is that any concern of yours. I am your mother. It is for me to manage such concerns. And it is for you to go back to Germany at once!”

  They entered the refreshment room, both mother and son looking very stubborn.

  “Nonsense,” Friedrich said. “I don’t have to return to Germany, and I won’t hear another word about it. Whereas you, Mother, must return to Russia.”

  “Georgia,” Varanus corrected.

  “Whichever of them,” Friedrich said, sighing. “I am a soldier, you are not. And,” he added, leaning down toward her and speaking quietly, “unless you want to explain to me how you killed a man twice your size with your bare hands, then I shall have to assume that it is not something you can repeat and that you will not be able to protect yourself if the des Louveteaux or any other of your enemies decide to try again.”

  Ekaterine saw Varanus’s entire face tighten, partly in anger and partly from frustration. The incident in question—when Varanus had faced the eldest son of the des Louveteaux family in a fight to the death and won—had saved Friedrich’s life. And here he was, being ungrateful. Never mind that Varanus shouldn’t have been able to overpower Alfonse—tall, burly, and an officer in the cuirassiers—or that she had refused to explain to Friedrich how such a thing had been possible. Ekaterine understood, and she gave Friedrich a look to silence him. It didn’t, but it was worth the attempt.

  “I am perfectly safe, Alistair,” Varanus said. “Whereas you—”

  “My name is Friedrich!” Friedrich snapped, still keeping his voice low for the sake of decorum. But the sentiment was clear in his tone.

  Ekaterine thought it best to intervene before the other guests took notice of what was rapidly becoming an argument.

  Smiling pleasantly, she gently pushed Varanus and Friedrich apart, interposed herself between them, and asked:

  “Would either of you care for a sandwich?”

  Chapter Five

  The next day brimmed with excitement. Though Varanus was confined to the house until dusk, she dispatched Luka to make discreet inquiries in the East End while she and Ekaterine made plans for the journey to Blackmoor. Though by all accounts the Village of Blackmoor was a small country affair, it had a railway line connecting it with York. Varanus found it peculiar but useful for their purposes. She and Ekaterine would be able to travel there directly from London.

  Luka returned a little before evening and reported on his investigation. There was indeed a pub called the “Old Jago” on Parrott Street, a particularly low establishment from Luka’s description. He was unable to confirm the presence of a Mister Jones, but the clientele did suggest the possibility of a gang lurking on the premises. Of course, so did the entire neighborhood.

  As the shadows lengthened, Varanus and Ekaterine changed into simpler clothes, dresses that were respectable but would attract slightly less attention in the slums. Again, Ekaterine refused to wear a corset, much to Varanus’s chagrin. Varanus made a comment about it, and Ekaterine replied by bending at the waist and touching her toes. Varanus had little to say on the matter after that.

  They made their way to the East End in silence, having little else to discuss. They exited the cab a few streets away from their destination and walked the remainder of the distance in the growing darkness. Parrott Street was like the remainder of Spitalfields: grimy, worn, and hopeless. Men in the street pushed past them with no concern for civility. But the beggars largely ignored them. What a difference a simple change of clothes could make.

  The Old Jago was exactly as Luka had described it. The paint around the door was peeling, the boards were splintering from wear and lack of care, and cracks in the windows had been stuffed with bits of rag or newspaper to keep out the cold. The taproom was dark and cramped, a little smoky, and smelled distinctly of cheap beer. A dozen or so men in shabby suits sat around the room drinking from half-cleaned glasses and speaking in low tones. A few women were there as well: prostitutes looking for customers or readying themselves with drink before venturing outside in search of them. A man with dull brown hair and a greasy beard tended bar. He looked toward them as they entered.

  Varanus walked directly to the bar, Ekaterine at her side. Luka hung back, leaning against a wooden pillar and keeping an eye on the room.

  “What can I do for you ladies?” the barman asked, studying them skeptically. Doubtless they looked little like his normal patrons, even in disguise.

  “We are a looking for a man,” Ekaterine said.

  The barman shrugged and motioned to the room with the flick o
f his hand.

  “Take your pick, love,” he said. “Plenty’a customers. Mind you, the regular ladies might not like it.”

  Varanus looked at him disdainfully and cleared her throat.

  “A specific man,” she said. “Mister Jones.”

  “Can’t ’elp, miss,” the barman said. “We probably ’ave three or four Joneses in ’ere.

  “You know who I mean,” Varanus said. She stared into the barman’s eyes until he was forced to look away and added, “You may tell him that we have information regarding the four men that went missing the night before last.”

  “I don’t know—” the barman began, his tone evasive.

  “Tell him,” Varanus snapped. “Now.”

  The barman looked at her and his face went pale. He slowly set down the rag he was using to clean the glasses and edged away before dashing into the back room. He was back only a minute or two later, looking even paler than before.

  “This way,” he said, jerking his head toward the back room.

  Varanus turned to Luka and said, “Stay here. Keep an eye on things for me.”

  “What?” Luka asked. “Out of the—” He stopped and shook his head. “Very well. Kindly remain alive.”

  “Don’t be dull, Luka,” Ekaterine said. She took Varanus by the arm and began walking toward the back. “Come along,” she said. “Let’s go meet nice Mister Jones.”

  “Sounds delightful,” Varanus said, her tone flat. “I’m simply brimming with excitement.”

  Ekaterine laughed and said, “Perhaps he will give us some ice cream.”

  * * * *

  Luka watched them depart, still uncertain about letting them go off alone. Varanus was Shashavani—living Shashavani—and Ekaterine had decades of training. But it was Luka’s job to worry about people under his charge. They were scholars like Lord Iosef. Luka was a soldier. It felt wrong to let them go off into uncertain danger alone.

  When the barman had returned, Luka went to the bar and rapped his knuckles against the wood to get his attention. The barman, distracted, looked at him quickly. The man’s face was pale. Varanus had frightened him.