A Cautionary Tale for Young Vampires

by G. D. Falksen

  Constantine removed his spectacles and tucked them into his pocket.

  “None at all,” he said. “Not since that unfortunate incident the other day. Those men you left to guard the clinic have performed their duties well.”

  “Good,” Luka said, nodding. “And is there anything else I may do to assist you before the girl and I take our leave?”

  Constantine thought for a moment, then smiled and said, “Well, no, I suppose not. Still, the company is welcome if you have time to spare.”

  “Alas, we do not,” Luka said. “I must be about my rounds. Should you require anything, Doctor, inform the men outside, and they shall attend to it.”

  “That is most generous of you, Luka,” Friedrich said, looking surprised and pleased. “But I fear I must depart soon—”

  “The other doctor,” Luka growled.

  “Oh, of course,” Friedrich said, seeming a little surprised.

  Constantine smiled, evidently more amused than offended by Friedrich’s presumption.

  “Thank you, Mister Luka,” he said, “but I am certain all will be well.”

  “Very good, Doctor,” Luka said. He motioned to Cat, who was making eyes at Friedrich. “Come along, we must be about our business.”

  “’Course, Mister Luka,” Cat said. “Canne keep Miss Sharpe waitin’ now can we?”

  She did not sound very convinced about it.

  “I do not believe in making people wait,” Luka said, reaching for the door, “especially when they do not know they are expecting me.”

  * * * *

  From the clinic, Luka followed Cat to Miss Sharpe’s bordello in Honey Lane. It sat at the edge of the rookery, still amid squalor but close enough to a proper thoroughfare that men of property thought it an agreeable place to patronize. As he approached, Luka saw lights in the curtained windows, with figures silhouetted against them. A pair of men in evening dress approached from down the street, and Luka let them pass, following at a short distance. The men, wealthy and no doubt drunk, gave little notice to either Luka or the girl, save to turn their noses away as if concerned about the possibility of a smell—a ludicrous thought, for it was the gentlemen, both drenched in Eau de Cologne, who gave off the most pungent odor in the area.

  Half way down the street Luka paused and lit his pipe, smoking in silence as he watched the brothel. As he suspected, as the minutes wore on, a few more men of means arrived to take part in the building’s commerce. It seemed that of all the businesses in the neighborhood, Miss Sharpe’s was by far the most successful. Indeed, he suspected it might well be the only healthy place of commerce in the area.

  “Mister Luka,” Cat finally said, hissing in his ear, “what are we doin’?”

  Luka took a draw on his pipe and exhaled a long plume of smoke.

  “We are watching,” he said.

  It was his instinct to be annoyed by the disturbance, but in truth it was not so. To her credit, Cat had waited a full five minutes before venturing the question. She had noticed of her own accord that they were to wait in silence, and she had done so to the best of her ability. Luka suspected that in her place, Bates would have lasted perhaps a minute before giving in to impatience and pestering him.

  “I know tha’,” Cat said, huffing slightly. A lock of her ginger hair fell across her face, and she brushed it away in irritation. “But why? Ye said ye wanted te speak te Miss Sharpe.”

  “I did,” Luka agreed.

  Cat put her hands on her hips and said, “Well she’s in there, no’ out here.”

  “There is a time for all things, my girl,” Luka said. “Haste is of no use if we rush ahead of ourselves.”

  Cat looked perturbed, but she put on a smile and nodded.

  “I’ll be sure te remember tha’,” she said.

  “Miss Sharpe seems to enjoy a respectable class of customer,” Luka said.

  “Oh, aye,” Cat replied. “Miss Sharpe, she had a way wi’ the gentlemen. Mind ye, there were also the odd tradesman who could afford it, tho’ they were’ne common.”

  “So I imagine,” Luka said. He took another puff and emptied his pipe out into the gutter. “Come along. I would see the inside.”

  With Cat following close behind, he went along to the front door of the brothel. Removing his hat, he tidied his hair and walked inside. The front room within was in a state of decaying opulence. The walls were papered in crimson and gold and the ceiling was richly painted, but it was all deception. Upon closer inspection, Luka saw that everything was worn and peeling. The brass fixtures were tarnished in places, the fabrics moth-eaten. Though it was hidden behind potted ferns and feathers and the smell of perfume, the place was as exhausted as the streets outside.

  The entry hall was narrow, floored with black and white tiles in a checkerboard pattern. To the right, a velvet curtain covered the doorway to the parlor, from whence came the sounds of music and laughter, while from upstairs—accessed by a curving staircase and a wide balcony—could be heard the faint sounds of girls and their customers engaged in business.

  A girl in a gaudy if more or less respectable dress waited at a table just inside the door. She rose quickly as Luka entered and gave him a smile.

  “Good evenin’, sir,” she said, hurrying to attend him. “Take your hat and coat?”

  “No,” Luka said. “Thank you.” He smiled in reply and took another look around. “I wish to see Miss Sharpe.”

  “She’s in the parlor, sir,” the girl said, “just through there. Is this your first visit?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” Luka said, taking a few moments to assess the area.

  “Have you anythin’ in mind,” the girl continued, “or would you prefer a drink while you decide?”

  Cat quickly edged her way forward and said, “He’s no’ here for tha’, Susan. He wants Miss Sharpe an’ Miss Sharpe alone.”

  The girl, Susan, gasped at the sight of Cat and covered her mouth with her hand. “My God! Caitlin!” she exclaimed. Then, in a hushed voice, she added, “What are you doin’ here? Mother turned y’ out! She’ll have you whipped if she finds you!”

  Mother. Luka noted the word. Unless it was some sort of slang, that meant the door girl was Miss Sharpe’s daughter. Interesting. Keeping family in the business but not in the trade, perhaps?

  “No’ te worry,” Cat said, puffing up proudly. “I’m here assistin’ Mister Luka.” She nodded at Luka. “Tha’s him. He’s the new Jones, ye see.”

  “Oh, my word!” Susan exclaimed. “I’d no idea!” She quickly turned back to Luka and put on a pretty smile. It was marred by the makeup and the rouge that caked her face. “I’m so sorry, sir. We’d not been told! We knew Jones were gone, but—”

  “That is fine,” Luka said, interrupting her. “Take me to Miss Sharpe, if you please. Cat, stay here and keep your friend company when she returns.”

  “’Course, Mister Luka,” Cat said.

  “Now then,” Luka said to Susan, “where is Miss Sharpe?”

  Susan went to the velvet curtain and pulled it to one side.

  “Just this way, sir,” she said.

  She led Luka into the parlor, which was as gaudy and decaying as the entry hall. The stench of perfume was overpowering, making Luka cough and grunt for a moment before he regained his composure. The furniture was richly upholstered but threadbare in places, though this seemed of little concern to the gentlemen who sat about the place, drinking and laughing and playing cards. Girls in a general state of undress waited on them, bringing them drinks, lighting their cigars, or hanging about them as if waiting for a customer to choose them for further business. A young boy with rouged cheeks and lips sat at a piano, playing a saucy ditty that was very nearly in key in places. Again, the customers did not seem to mind, and two of them in particular seemed more interested in the pianist than his piano playing.

  A woman with blond curls done up in a manner insinuating respectability stood near one of the sofas, fanning herself with an elaborate fan of brightly colo
red feathers. Her dress was similarly colorful, just shy of garish, with bright purple and crimson set against precious stones—or more likely glass. She was much older than the other girls, perhaps nearing forty, and as Luka studied her eyes and her smile, he fancied that he saw teeth hidden behind her ready charm.

  There was no doubt that this was Miss Sharpe.

  Susan led Luka to her, smiling at the customers who caught sight of her but deftly evading their attempts to grab at her. As Susan and Luka approached, Miss Sharpe turned toward them and put on a fresh smile for Luka’s benefit. Behind dark lashes, her eyes studied him carefully.

  “Good evening, sir,” she said, her voice almost free from the rough accent of the local streets—no doubt the work of time and practice. “Welcome, welcome. I am Miss Sharpe, this is my establishment, and I assure you that whatever you require, we can provide it.” She looked at Susan. “Susan dear, what does the gentleman wish for this evening?”

  Susan hesitated a moment and said softly, “He says it’s regardin’ Mister Jones. I thought it best to—”

  The corner of Miss Sharpe’s mouth tugged, either in distress or in anger. Luka checked the sentiment in her eyes: it was anger. But Miss Sharpe kept her smile and all but fawned over Luka as she replied:

  “Oh splendid, splendid. Susan, about your business, there’s a good girl. And as for you, sir, come with me, and we shall discuss your…particular requirements…in private.” She waved her fan at the customers. “Do excuse me, gentlemen. Anything you need, do not hesitate to ask Miss Susan. She will find precisely who you require.”

  She looked back at Luka and snapped her fan shut.

  “Now then, follow me.”

  * * * *

  Luka went with Miss Sharpe to a room at the back of the building. It was of moderate size, furnished with velvet and silks. It had the look and smell of a boudoir, but Luka noticed a desk placed next to the table of powder and cosmetics, a collection of ledgers and logbooks, and a sturdy iron safe hidden away in one corner next to the wardrobe. This was not simply Miss Sharpe’s dressing room: it was the head office and counting room of a shrewdly managed business.

  Miss Sharpe sat in an upholstered chair by the desk and reached for a bottle of wine and a pair of glasses.

  “May I offer you a drink, Mister—” she asked, her voice trailing off in anticipation of his response.

  “Luka. And no, thank you.”

  “As you wish,” Miss Sharpe said, pushing the bottle back against the wall.

  Luka found a wooden chair by the door and pulled it over to where he stood, sitting across from Miss Sharpe. The heavy perfume tickled his nose uncomfortably, and he cleared his throat.

  “Now then, Mister Luka,” Miss Sharpe said, “are you here representing Mister Jones, or have you come with an…independent offer?”

  Right to business. Luka chuckled a little.

  “Jones is no longer a consideration in this part of the city,” he replied. “He has left and he will not return.”

  “Are you so sure of that, Mister Luka?” Miss Sharpe asked coyly. “It will be difficult for me if I go into business with you and he suddenly returns. Not that I doubt your—”

  Luka’s tone was dull and matter-of-fact as he replied, “Jones will not return. If he does, I will kill him. He sent men to Osborne Court two days ago to menace the clinic there. I beat them soundly for their trouble. And no doubt you’ve heard of the three men killed that same night…though perhaps they were not found until the following morning.…”

  “You have been a busy boy, haven’t you Mister Luka,” Miss Sharpe said. She inhaled with a little gasp as if excited. Luka suspected it was an affectation for the sake of his ego, a respectable attempt at manipulation. At least it was neither clumsy nor overstated. “But then, anyone could claim.…”

  “A gentleman, Doctor Constantine, witnessed my actions at Osborne Court,” Luka said. “In the alley, I was observed by a girl named Cat Mackenzie. I believe you and she are acquainted.” He noticed as Miss Sharpe’s mouth twitched a little at the name. “And besides, there was a fourth man in the alley whom I allowed to live, that he might spread word of what I had done. And I suspect his news has already reached your ears one way or another.”

  “Perhaps,” Miss Sharpe said. She took a deep breath and exhaled, her bosom rising and falling in a manner that could not help but capture Luka’s attention. “Well, if you are the new Jones, do you know the terms that I had with him? Or do you have a new…arrangement in mind?”

  Luka caught himself staring, as Miss Sharpe had no doubt intended. She knew how to coerce men, Luka would grant her that. And she was subtle about it: a breath at the right moment, a soft insinuation in tone, a particular innocent movement, or the way she blinked her eyes. Nothing was overt and that was all the more tantalizing.

  But however talented a seductress Miss Sharpe might be, it would make no difference. A momentary distraction was one thing, but Luka had been alive far too long to be wholly beguiled by feathers and charm.

  “I have no interest in the details of Jones’s arrangement,” he said, almost scoffing. He had little taste for the petty dealings of a low criminal. “Though I suspect that it was designed more for his benefit than for yours.”

  Miss Sharpe made no comment on this, but the way her mouth twitched suggested that Luka was right. Hardly a surprise. All nations and eras were the same in that regard: wherever women were forced to sell their bodies, men of violence would be there to steal their money and control their trade.

  Well, in this part of London, that would soon end.

  “Perhaps I should explain my purpose here,” Luka said. “I am not the new Jones. I have no intention of setting myself up as the ‘Grand Pimp’ or anything of that nature.” Pausing, he took out his pipe and asked, “May I smoke?”

  “By all means,” Miss Sharpe said, tilting her head ever so slightly as she spoke, so that the lamplight caught the glimmer in her eyes and cast a golden aura about her hair.

  Luka caught his breath for a moment and then smiled slightly. There it was again. The subtlety. A gentle movement that meant nothing, signified nothing, and yet a man could not help but notice it. So simple yet so calculated. It was a privilege to see.

  “Much obliged,” Luka said. As he began preparing his pipe, he continued, “I work for a third party who wishes to remain anonymous. My employer has a particular interest in this part of the East End and wishes that the criminal element be removed from this neighborhood, by force if necessary. As you know, I have already begun the work. I will not rest until this neighborhood is free from the gangs and the pimps and the thieves that treat it as their private hunting park. In due time they will be gone, and if they return, they will die.”

  He lit his pipe with a match. “So you see, Miss Sharpe, there will be no more ‘arrangements’ between you and men like Jones. For there will be no more men like Jones. Only me.”

  Miss Sharpe was silent for a little while. Luka took the time to smoke a little, watching her.

  “Much as I appreciate being rid of the pimps and gangs, Mister Luka,” Miss Sharpe said, “they do provide certain benefits for the…unfortunates in the street. Sometimes customers can become rough, and then it is useful to have a man about.” She added, smiling, “Of course, my customers are of a much better sort. My girls have no such troubles. But I do fear for the women who are forced to haunt the alleyways.”

  “Of course,” Luka said. “Though I suspect the protection those men provided was of a questionable sort, I understand the need for it. I shall be taking on the protection of the local prostitutes, just as I have taken on the protection of the local population. My men are already patrolling the streets. They will protect the women working there. And if you require any protection here, I will be happy to provide it as well.”

  “How generous,” Miss Sharpe said. She gently fluttered her eyelashes in a manner so sincere, so innocent that it had to be contrived. “And what must I pay for all this pro
tection?”

  Luka exhaled a ring of smoke and said, “My apologies, Miss Sharpe, I should have clarified that. My employer has gifted me with sufficient means to carry out my task. My service to these people…and to you…will cost nothing.” He smiled on the word ‘you’ and let it linger. Then he added, “And if the time should come that my protection costs more than my employer can or wishes to give, you will find that the fee I charge is quite reasonable. I am here to protect these people, not to exploit them.”

  “And what if I must refuse your offer?” Miss Sharpe asked. “What if I make arrangements with another Jones?”

  Luka knew the insinuation in her words. She would be innocent of the offense, of course. It would be the work of the next Jones that forced her disloyalty, surely. But she did not say it in so many words. Rather, she left the hint lurking within a simple question and left him to draw the intended conclusion.

  Luka almost smiled to hear it. But he kept his expression hard when he answered:

  “That is your choice to make. But I tell you, Miss Sharpe, if I find that there are criminals entering your establishment, I will kill them. Have no doubt about that. And if I find that you are paying such men money, for whatever reason, I will confiscate it. By force if necessary.”

  He exhaled a long plume of smoke, letting this thought linger, before he continued, “You are free to do as you please, Miss Sharpe, and I shall defend that privilege as if it were my own. But I cannot be held responsible if your clients or associates are in violation of my laws. And if they are, they will be punished.”

  Miss Sharpe’s eyes flashed with anger. Clearly she did not like being told her business, an opinion that Luka well understood and could respect; nor did she like that he had refused her invitation to be quickly and easily beguiled by her.

  But Miss Sharpe did not speak with anger. She neither lost her poise nor gave indication of any sentiment but a deep admiration for him, the powerful gang leader who must surely transfix all women by his mere presence.

  A hundred years ago, Luka might even have believed it. He suspected that Jones had taken the flattering lie for granted, as men so often did.