A Cautionary Tale for Young Vampires

by G. D. Falksen

  The thought of Robert’s face upon seeing them arrive in the company of a rustic fellow like Silas delighted Varanus in a rather wicked manner.

  “No, no,” Silas said quickly. “My thanks for yer kind offer, but I’ve me business to be about. But I’ll walk ya to the manor if it pleases ya. The moor’s not safe at night.”

  “Of course,” Varanus said. “Your kindness and gallantry are appreciated.”

  With Silas in company, they continued toward the manor, Silas’s dog following behind them. They walked over the moor as the sun set. As they neared the old church, the dog began barking loudly. Silas, looking embarrassed, shouted at the dog to silence it. But it was no idle noise. Varanus could smell what troubled the dog as clearly as it did.

  Blood.

  Varanus pretended ignorance until they rounded the corner of the church and the source of the smell came into view. She saw a body lying a short distance from the door. It was covered in blood. The chest and abdomen had been torn almost to pieces, rent all the way to the bone. But the face remained whole, though stricken with a look of horror.

  It was Mary’s lover.

  “Good God!” Ekaterine exclaimed, raising a hand to her mouth.

  “Good God, indeed,” Varanus said, grimacing with disgust.

  Silas removed his cap and clutched it in his hands as he approached the body. He held a hand out behind him, motioning for them to stay back.

  “Cover yer eyes, ladies,” he said. “’Tis not a sight for womenfolk to see.”

  Varanus exchanged an eye-roll with Ekaterine when Silas was not looking, but she agreed to play along for his sake.

  “Of course, Mister Granger,” she said, drawing back. “Who is it? What has happened?”

  “’Tis Adam, the blacksmith’s boy,” Silas said, leaning over the body. “Been set upon by a wild animal, ’e ’as. A wolf, most likely. Or a wild dog.”

  Varanus took another look at the body. It was very fresh. It could not have lain there for more than an hour. She wished to examine it more closely, but not with Silas there.

  “The authorities must be told at once,” she said.

  “Aye,” Silas said, his face contorted in a mixture of shock and sorrow. “Aye, poor lad. Best we make for town, an’ quick.”

  “We cannot leave the boy’s body here unattended,” Varanus said. “Some other beast might come upon it.”

  “My sister is right,” Ekaterine added. “You hurry to town as quick as you are able and inform the constabulary. We shall wait here and see that the body is not disturbed.”

  “Now…no…” Silas said. “No, I don’t think ’twould be right, ladies bein’ left alone in the company o’ a corpse. Wouldn’t be right o’ me.”

  “Mister Granger,” Varanus said, “the boy is dead. He is hardly about to do something unseemly to us in your absence. Now hurry! It will already be dark before you return. And I do not wish to spend more time out here at night than is necessary.”

  “Aye, aye, o’ course,” Silas said. He hesitated a moment more, then turned and began walking swiftly across the moor toward the town. More than once he looked back at them, as if guilty at abandoning them in such a place.

  When he had gone far enough away, Varanus knelt by the body and studied it, taking in as many details as possible. The daylight was almost gone, and once twilight had faded, even her keen eyes might not be strong enough to see what needed to be seen.

  After a little while, she looked up at Ekaterine.

  “It’s Cousin Mary’s lover,” she said.

  “I know,” Ekaterine said. “I recognized him. Poor child.”

  “He was not killed by an animal,” Varanus said, slowly standing.

  “No?” Ekaterine looked surprised.

  Varanus shook her head and said, “No. Certainly not by a wolf or a dog. Look at the wounds. The ripping of the flesh. A big cat, I might have accepted, but not a wolf or a dog. They bite and tear with their teeth. This.…” She pointed to the frayed flesh that hung about the boy’s exposed bones. “This was done by cutting, as with a knife.”

  “You mean…” Ekaterine said.

  “The boy was killed by a person,” Varanus said. “He was murdered.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  In short order, the local constable came with some men from town to retrieve the body. They were all horrified by the sight, several men becoming sick, and one man fainting dead away. This did not surprise Varanus, for though she had become rather jaded toward death and violence over the years, she doubted that any of the Blackmoor folk had ever seen anything approaching such slaughter.

  The constable had only a few questions for them, which should not have surprised Varanus either. Even if the cause of death had not been so obvious—incorrect, Varanus noted, but “obvious” to the constable all the same—she was a relative of the Earl, and Blackmoor was a place steeped in the old ways of privilege and authority. Varanus suspected that even had she herself been found standing over the body and holding a bloody knife, the constable would have let her go without hesitation unless Robert himself commanded otherwise.

  What was more unnerving was the callous disregard for the whole matter that she encountered upon their return to Blackmoor. Maud, Elizabeth, and Richard all put on a proper display of sympathy and remorse, but Varanus suspected they were more irritated at the disturbance than at the boy’s death. Robert’s reaction was similar, but his expression was dark. He seemed angry and apprehensive more than anything else, which Varanus thought to be immediately suspicious.

  Mary seemed distressed at the news, which was to be expected. And for Varanus, the girl’s sullenness confirmed that she and the boy had been lovers. At least she had the good sense not to weep openly or make some sort of hysterical display. But she kept looking at her father nervously. Perhaps she was afraid he would deduce the affection she had held for the boy.

  Indeed, only poor Anne seemed possessed of reasonable emotion on the matter. She went pale at the news, fidgeted in distress, and immediately inquired after the boy’s family. She might have said more, but Richard quickly hushed her with a few sharp words.

  And then it was done: his duty complete, the constable left, content to do nothing further but inform the lord of the manor of the hideous event. It felt so archaic to Varanus, but there it was.

  But while the constable might be content to dismiss the death and leave it uninvestigated, Varanus had her own thoughts on the matter.

  * * * *

  The following day, Varanus sat in the library with Korbinian, reading and speaking quietly. As a rule they kept their conversations guarded, but this time it was of definite necessity. Korbinian could not be overheard, but what Varanus said to him was not for other ears.

  “Did you see Cousin Robert’s face when the constable told him of the murder?” Varanus asked.

  “Yes, liebchen,” Korbinian said, turning to the next page in his book—a volume of Schiller. “He was positively ashen. I took note of it. As did you.”

  Varanus leaned forward across the table and looked at him pointedly.

  “Would you say he looked…guilty?” she asked.

  “Guilty?” Korbinian mused. He looked away, deep in thought for a moment. “I believe that you believe he looked guilty. Does that satisfy you?”

  “Not particularly,” Varanus said. “I know full well what I believe. What do you believe? That is why I am asking you, isn’t it?”

  “Well, we usually believe the same thing,” Korbinian said. “And I think that this is no exception. But if the boy were killed by wild animals, what would Robert have to be guilty about?”

  Varanus shook her head and replied, “He was not killed by wild animals.”

  “You are certain?”

  “Beyond a doubt,” Varanus said. She folded her hands, thinking it over. “If he had been killed by dogs or wolves, the flesh would have been torn rather than cut. And it was cut. There is no question of that.”

  “It was dark,” Korbinian r
eminded her. “Can you be certain?”

  “Don’t pretend that you forget my eyes,” Varanus said, laughing. “No, I see better even in twilight than mortals do in broad daylight. The marks were there. That boy was cut and stabbed, not torn. By a knife, I suspect.”

  Korbinian tapped his chin with his fingertip, pondering something.

  “What?” Varanus asked.

  “Are you certain the boy was not eaten by something?” he asked.

  Varanus thought about this for a little while. It was a reasonable question, upon reflection. For all the cuts and slashes, there had been a fair amount of flesh that was…well, missing for lack of a better word. Like it had been cut off and disposed of. Except that the missing flesh was nowhere to be found. It was certainly not near the body, nor were there any blood trails leading off to some hiding place where it could have been concealed.

  “That’s just it,” she said. “I think he may have been eaten by something, in part at least. His body was cut and butchered. Crudely, but distinctly. And I think what was cut off was eaten by something.”

  “By what?” Korbinian asked. “If not a wolf…?”

  “A dog, probably,” Varanus replied, after a moment’s consideration. “Perhaps the killer had one or two hounds with him. He murders the boy, then cuts pieces from him, and feeds the pieces to the dogs to give the appearance of devouring by wolves.”

  Korbinian spread his hands and shrugged, saying, “It is certainly possible, though very ghoulish if it is true. Who might have done such a thing?”

  Varanus thought about this for a short while. The boy might have had any number of enemies, but that was doubtful. Perhaps it had been the work of a rival for Mary’s affections. Still, what sort of country lad would murder and mutilate over a girl? Kill perhaps, but not butcher in such a manner.

  “Cousin Robert owns hounds,” she said.

  “Is your cousin capable of such a thing?” Korbinian asked. “To kill is one thing. To feed your victim to a dog is something quite different.”

  “I daresay any true Varanus is capable of it,” Varanus said, with little hesitation. “I would be, if necessary. Grandfather would have been. And I have little doubt that Robert is capable of it as well.”

  “To what purpose?”

  What purpose indeed? Capability was one thing, but motive.…

  “If he discovered Mary’s trysts with the boy, he would have had ample reason to kill him,” Varanus said. “A blacksmith’s son bedding the daughter of an earl? The scandal alone would have been the ruin of the house, even if no child came of it. And if Mary became pregnant by such an encounter, well.… Grandfather concealed the fruits of our love for over twenty years, and you and I were of equal standing and meant to be wed. This boy Adam was a peasant who had robbed Mary of her greatest virtue and presumed far above his station in doing it. I can think of worse reasons for a man like Robert to kill. Whether it was retribution or interruption, Robert, indeed the whole family, had much to gain from that boy’s death and nothing to gain from his life.”

  “And he has the hounds,” Korbinian said.

  “And he has the hounds,” Varanus agreed, echoing him.

  “Did you smell hounds at the church?” Korbinian asked.

  Varanus hesitated before answering:

  “I cannot recall.”

  “That is not true,” Korbinian said, his eyes twinkling. “You cannot lie to me, liebchen. You did not smell them, did you?”

  “I smelled little but the blood,” Varanus confessed. “Robert may have been there, hounds may have been there, wolves may even have been there. I did not notice either way.”

  Korbinian frowned to hear this, but he did not remark on it. Instead, he silently returned to his book. After a little while, he looked up again.

  “You seem very certain it was done by your cousin,” he said.

  “The more I think on it, the more certain I become,” Varanus replied. She sighed. “Though what to do with these suspicions, I do not know. Confront Robert, I suppose. There is little else I can do but leave it alone.”

  “And that is not in your nature, is it liebchen?” Korbinian asked.

  “No, it is not.”

  Varanus set her book aside and stood.

  “There is little point in musing about this,” she said. “I am going to confront Robert on the matter.”

  “Is that wise?” Korbinian asked. “You would do this for what purpose?”

  Varanus smiled at him and walked to the door. Turning back, she replied:

  “If Robert is innocent, that is well. Then I shall know the truth of it from his reply. But if he is guilty…if he killed that boy…then this may be the appropriate leverage I require to repulse the family’s claims upon my inheritance. God willing, he will fear the scandal enough to accept my will regarding my property.” She shrugged. “If not, I will try something else. But at least my suspicions will be settled.”

  * * * *

  Robert was in his study when Varanus found him, seated behind his desk and reading some papers of an indeterminate nature. He looked up as she entered and rose to greet her.

  “Cousin Babette,” he said, “how may I be of service?”

  “It is about the boy, Adam,” Varanus said.

  “Ah, yes,” Robert said. His expression became grave. “Poor boy, to have died so horribly. I have sent my condolences to the family. It is only right.”

  “I’m sure,” Varanus said.

  Robert turned and looked out a nearby window onto the moor.

  “We don’t often have trouble with wolves, but sometimes attacks do happen,” he said. “Against sheep, commonly, though a traveler alone would not be unthinkable.”

  A traveler alone? Varanus thought. She almost laughed at the absurd characterization. The boy had been a young, fit man in the prime of life. He was hardly the sort of prey that a lone wolf would have attacked.

  “I shall be organizing a hunt for the beast come next week,” Robert continued. “You and Cousin Ekaterine are welcome to join. You ride, of course.”

  “Of course,” Varanus said. “But I wonder about the likelihood of finding the creature responsible. Even if you do find any wolves, there can be little assurance that one of them was responsible.” She looked at Robert and saw that his expression was neither surprised nor concerned. “But that doesn’t matter to you, does it?”

  “No, it does not,” Robert said, turning back to look at her.

  “Any victim will do, so long as it dies, is that it?” Varanus asked.

  “The idea of a scapegoat is nothing new, cousin,” Robert replied. “The townsfolk are terrified. Some refuse even to go out of doors, and no one will leave the town. I have it on good report that some of the shepherds did not go out to their flocks this morning.”

  “I find that quite unlikely,” Varanus said. “For one thing, how should the news have reached them by morning?”

  Robert frowned at her and said, “Cousin Babette, I am the earl here. It may mean little to the wife of a prince, but to my people I am the pillar of strength that protects and guides them in troubled times. And these being troubled times, I intend to show them that they have nothing to fear from the wild. It doesn’t matter if we kill one wolf or a hundred or if any of those we kill were responsible for Adam’s death. What matters is that the common people of Blackmoor will know that they are safe under my care, because I, their lord, will wreak vengeance upon that which they fear. And that is why the hunt is important.”

  “Of course,” Varanus said.

  She turned and walked to the window and looked out. From her vantage point, she could see clearly along the path to the country church where the body had been found.

  “What a pity,” she added, “that the boy was not killed by a wolf.”

  There was a lengthy pause, during which Varanus did not look at Robert. But she felt a pall of unease fall across him. After a few moments, he asked:

  “What do you mean?”

  “The boy w
as not killed by a wolf,” Varanus repeated. She half turned in place to look at him. “During the time that Mister Granger was fetching the constable, I had occasion to examine the boy’s body. You are aware that I am a qualified surgeon.”

  “Yes,” Robert said cautiously.

  “The boy was not bitten, Robert,” Varanus said. “He was cut, as with a knife.”

  She watched Robert’s face for his reaction. Her cousin kept his composure admirably—how very English of him, Varanus thought—but there was a sudden glimmer of confusion in his eyes. Confusion, but not fear, Varanus realized.

  “What do you mean ‘cut’?” Robert asked.

  “I mean just that, cousin,” Varanus said. “Cut. Slashed. Sliced. Stabbed. As with a knife.” This last statement she made slowly, emphasizing each word in turn. “He was killed by a person.”

  “Impossible!” Robert exclaimed. “Simply impossible. The constable said the boy had been…gnawed upon.”

  Varanus had little patience for euphemisms.

  “I think you mean ‘eaten’, cousin,” she said. “And yes, he was. But the meat was cut off him first and then devoured. Perhaps by a dog of some sort.”

  “A dog?” Robert demanded, his face clouded in shock and anger.

  “A hound, if you prefer,” Varanus said. “I believe the boy was killed, then cut apart and fed to an animal to give the appearance of a wolf attack.”

  Robert looked away, the color slowing draining from his face as he murmured, “Good God.…” He turned back to her and asked, “Why did you not tell the constable of your suspicions last night?”

  “Because, cousin,” Varanus said, smiling a little, “I wished to protect the family.”

  “The family?” Robert seemed bewildered.

  “Yes, the family,” Varanus said. “Upon whom suspicion would have immediately fallen. After all, you have hounds here, do you not?”

  Robert stared at her, his jaw clenched in anger. Varanus’s eyes drifted to the throbbing pulse in his throat, for the moment distracted.

  “What difference does that make?” Robert demanded. “What are you implying? We, none of us, had any reason to do the boy harm. And there are dogs aplenty upon the moor!”