A Cautionary Tale for Young Vampires

by G. D. Falksen

  “Thorndyke!” he shouted. “Damn you, Thorndyke, where are you?”

  He saw Thorndyke emerge from his office, adjusting his spectacles on the tip of his nose.

  “Baron…?” he asked. “What is the meaning of this?”

  Friedrich shoved Thorndyke into the office and slammed the door behind him.

  “I know what you’re doing,” he snapped.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Thorndyke protested. “Now look here Friedrich…that is to say Baron, what is all this nonsense?”

  “Nonsense?” Friedrich shouted. “Nonsense?”

  He stormed across the room and into the chamber that held the shelves of organs. Pointing at them, he said:

  “I know where these came from, Thorndyke. I know all about your gang.”

  “Gang?” Thorndyke asked. He seemed bewildered, but Friedrich suspected it was only an act.

  “Your gang,” Friedrich repeated, “the kidnappings, everything!”

  “Baron, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I assure you there is nothing untoward going on here,” Thorndyke insisted. “There is no gang; there have been no kidnappings, no murder, nothing of the sort.”

  “What about your men?” Friedrich asked. “The ones in the yard. The ones with weapons.”

  “I…they…” Thorndyke said. “It is a dangerous part of London. I need those men for protection. My patients need protection.”

  Friedrich was about to respond with more angry words when he saw a light in the back of the room. Curious, he began walking toward it.

  Thorndyke quickly moved into Friedrich’s path and said, “There’s nothing back this way. Let’s return to my office, and we’ll have some lemonade.”

  Friedrich pushed Thorndyke aside and continued on his way. At the back of the room he saw a door leading into a small but brightly lit surgery. At the very back, he saw a body laid out on a wooden table.

  Good God!

  He raced forward, ignoring Thorndyke, who tugged desperately on his arm. As he approached the table, he realized that the victim was alive, though she was pinned to the wood by metal spikes driven through her limbs. But there was something else.

  Mother? he screamed in his head as he recognized her. He struggled to find the words to say it aloud, but they would not come.

  On the table, his mother looked up at him and blinked her eyes slowly, as if not quite realizing that what she saw was real.

  “It’s not what you think, Baron!” Thorndyke cried, rushing to Friedrich’s side. “I know how this looks, but it isn’t so!”

  “Mutter,” Friedrich gasped, finally able to speak.

  He felt dizzy. His stomach was sick. His head swam.

  How was his mother there? What had they done to her? What in God’s name had happened last night? And how could Thorndyke be responsible?

  Thorndyke continued with his hurried, jumbled explanation, though Friedrich scarcely heard half the words. There was a buzzing in his ears that mingled with the pounding of blood.

  “You see,” Thorndyke said, “this creature looks like a woman, I…I know. But it is not a woman, Baron! It is not a woman! Do not be deceived. It is an agent of evil! A servant of the devil! I assure you! If you were to cut it, it would heal in an instant. Nothing of God’s Creation can do that! You know this, Baron…er, Doctor. Doctor von Fuchsburg. My fellow doctor…yes? Yes? I have cut this thing open, and each time it heals again and returns to life! No woman could do that, and so I cannot have committed any crime in doing this! You understand, don’t you?”

  Thorndyke had all but grabbed Friedrich by the lapels of his coat, almost pleading with him to agree, to accept what was being said, to dismiss the very notion that what was being done was an abomination.

  “And…and…” Thorndyke continued, “it is a Godsend as well, you see. For my work. That is to say, for our work!”

  Friedrich doubled over as his head swam, trying to keep his thoughts intact as he was bombarded by Thorndyke’s horrible words. He tried to shout, but all he managed were guttural snarls in German.

  “If you cut it open,” Thorndyke said, “and remove something, it will all grow back! I’ve done it! I’ll show you! So it’s not a person. This is not murder. This is God’s work!”

  “That is my mother!” Friedrich screamed at Thorndyke, finally finding his English again.

  Thorndyke went pale and stopped talking.

  “What have you done to my mother?” Friedrich demanded, picking up Thorndyke and throwing him across the room. He turned to Varanus and looked at her frantically, torn between pulling her free and the realization of just what that would do to her. Of course, the damage had mostly been done already. She might never walk again, never use her hands again, never.…

  He saw Varanus staring up at him, struggling to say something from behind her gag.

  “It’s all right, Mother,” he said. “I am going to get you out of here!”

  This only made Varanus struggle all the more, trying to speak even more frantically and failing to do it. Friedrich was bewildered for a moment.

  Suddenly there was a gunshot, and Friedrich felt pain in his back. He stumbled a little and turned in place. He saw that Thorndyke was on his feet again, holding a small pistol.

  “Thorndyke, what are you—” Friedrich began.

  Thorndyke fired again, hitting Friedrich in the chest. Friedrich stumbled and slipped on the bloody floor. He threw out his hand to catch himself, but it was not enough, and he struck his head painfully against the table.

  * * * *

  Varanus screamed into the gag as she saw the doctor draw a pistol from inside his coat. She tried desperately to convey the danger to Friedrich, to make him turn around, to do something. She screamed again as the doctor fired. She saw Friedrich fall and strike his head, and then he was gone from her sight. Varanus twisted her head to the side, but she could see nothing.

  The doctor stood in place for a few moments, breathing heavily. He looked at the pistol and quickly set it down on the desk. Then he hurried to the door and began shouting:

  “Mister Pim! Mister Pim!”

  He turned back and covered his mouth with his hand, shaking his head.

  Presently, the man called Pim rushed into the room.

  “What is it, Doctor?” he asked. “What’s the trouble?”

  The doctor pointed toward the floor and said, “I’m afraid the Baron has stumbled upon our little secret. He went mad. I was forced to shoot him.”

  “Is ’e alive?” Pim asked.

  The doctor walked across the room and knelt. He stood again and spoke to Pim:

  “Unconscious and bleeding to death. Breathing shallow. He should die presently.”

  Pim nodded.

  “We’ll chuck ’im in the river,” he said. “Make it look like robbery. If ’e don’t bleed to death, ’e’ll drown.”

  The doctor nodded a few times and said, “Good. Good. Good. Do it.”

  Varanus tried to shout and struggle against her bonds, but she was held fast. She watched helplessly as the two men lifted the body of her son and dragged him from the room. She continued to struggle until her strength was gone, but it was no use.

  She let her head fall back against the table and closed her eyes.

  What in God’s name was she going to do?

  * * * *

  From her vantage point atop a building across the street, Ekaterine watched as some men dragged Friedrich from the warehouse and across the yard to one of the wagons. His head was down and his eyes were closed. He was bleeding. But Ekaterine could not be certain that he was dead.

  Foolish boy, she though.

  She had tried to intercept him twice along the way—first before he got into a cab and second when he arrived—but both times he had been too quick. And upon reflection, it was probably just as well she hadn’t gone with him. It seemed he had gotten himself shot.

  Ekaterine shook her head. Whether he was alive or dead, she was not about to let these r
uffians carry him off to…wherever. They were probably going to dump his body somewhere. It was what she’d have done. The body goes into the wagon at the warehouse, the wagon goes someplace deserted—or maybe the riverside—and out goes the body.

  Well, Ekaterine was not about to let that happen. Varanus would be very cross if she learned that Ekaterine had allowed her son to be killed and dumped in the rubbish somewhere.

  She waited until the wagon had pulled out of the yard and begun its journey. It moved slowly, probably to avoid attracting attention. There were only two men—the driver and a passenger—which meant that she had little to fear in a fight. It worked perfectly for Ekaterine’s purposes. As it neared her position, she dropped from the rooftop onto the top of the wagon.

  She landed solidly and flattened herself out to keep from sliding off. She remained there for a little while, allowing the wagon to pull away from the warehouse. But if Friedrich still lived, time was short. As the wagon turned into a narrow alleyway, Ekaterine pulled herself up to the driver’s seat and, grabbing the driver and his passenger by their heads, she smashed them together and threw them aside. They each hit a wall and tumbled into the street.

  Ekaterine climbed into the seat and grabbed the reins, pulling the wagon to a stop. Swinging down into the street, she checked the two men. They were both alive, so she snapped their necks for good measure. No reason to let them to wake up and report what had happened.

  She pulled open the door of the wagon and saw Friedrich lying on his back, moaning a little and clutching his head.

  “Alistair!” Ekaterine exclaimed. She climbed in and sat by him. Patting his cheek to bring him round, she repeated, “Alistair! Look at me.”

  “My name is Friedrich!” Friedrich retorted.

  He blinked a few times as he tried to focus his eyes on her. After a moment, he got sight of her and smiled.

  “Auntie Ekaterine,” he said. “Why are you here? You look very pretty.”

  “Thank you, Alis…Friedrich,” Ekaterine replied.

  “I have been shot,” Friedrich said, feeling his chest.

  Ekaterine sighed and said, “I see that. Hold still.”

  With a little effort she pulled off one of her underskirts and wrapped it into a bundle.

  “No…no…” Friedrich protested weakly. “I would like to treat you to a nice dinner first.…”

  Ekaterine shook her head. The boy was delirious, probably from blood loss. She shoved the bundle of skirt against Friedrich’s chest to halt the bleeding. Placing Friedrich’s hand’s over the cloth, she said,

  “Hold this there and don’t let go.”

  “I should like to read to you,” Friedrich said, closing his eyes again, “by firelight.”

  “Yes, of course,” Ekaterine said, patting him on the cheek. “Just stay awake. I am going to bring you back to the clinic. God willing, Doctor Constantine will be there by now.”

  “But…” Friedrich protested. He began patting his chest. “Where did I put my book?”

  At least he was conscious.

  Ekaterine slid out of the wagon and shut the door. She climbed into the seat up front and lashed the horses to get them moving. There was no telling how much time she had to get Friedrich help. And she could not allow him to die. His death would make Varanus extremely cross. And besides, he could be charming at times. It would be a shame if he died.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Ekaterine drove the wagon back to Osborne Court with all possible haste, lashing the horses savagely until their mouths foamed. She could not say with any certainty how much longer Friedrich had to live, nor did she feel ready to take a chance on it by a slow and leisurely journey. Under her direction, the wagon barreled past more slowly moving carriages and cabs, around obstacles, and through crowds that parted frantically before her. She was careful not to run over any of the populace, but this was as much a matter of good fortune as anything else. Perhaps God’s providence was with her.

  Or perhaps she was underestimating her own skill, and she ought to take up racing.

  It was very difficult driving through the narrow streets of the warren around the clinic, and Ekaterine was wholly barred from entering the court itself, for the passage connecting it to the road was far too narrow.

  She swung down from the driver’s seat and ran to the back of the wagon. Friedrich was on his feet when she arrived, and he nearly fell onto her in his haste to get out when she opened the door.

  “Take care, Alistair!” Ekaterine snapped as she helped him down. “Kindly don’t injure yourself further before I get you to Doctor Constantine.”

  “My name is Friedrich!” Friedrich protested, swaying on his feet. “And I must help Mother!”

  “You must get to Doctor Constantine, you damned fool!”

  Ekaterine threw Friedrich’s arm over her shoulder and helped him down the passage into Osborne Court. Friedrich struggled against her at first, but he was weakened by blood loss and the blow to his head, and Ekaterine had little difficulty pulling him along with her.

  Inside the clinic, she saw Doctor Constantine in the front room, attending to a patient with an injury on his arm. He looked up at her in surprise and went slightly pale at the sight of Friedrich.

  “I…say!” he stammered, almost dropping the poultice he was tying to the patient’s arm. He quickly hurried to Ekaterine and took Friedrich’s other arm. “On the table, quickly!”

  With Constantine’s aid, Ekaterine carried Friedrich over to the table and forcibly laid him down on it.

  “Remain still, Friedrich! For God’s sake!” Constantine cried, as Friedrich continued to struggle. “Or if not for His, then for your own!”

  Ekaterine took note of Constantine’s poor patient, who stood to one side looking about in confusion and no small amount of shock at the sudden intrusion of the bleeding Friedrich. Ekaterine quickly finished tying the poultice around the man’s arm and ushered him to the door.

  As she returned, she asked, “How bad is he, Doctor?”

  “Not well,” Constantine said. “He has bled tremendously. I count it a miracle that he is still—”

  He was interrupted as Friedrich attempted to rise by force again, and pushed the larger man back down with a little effort and a great deal of care.

  “Mother!” Friedrich cried.

  “—still conscious,” Constantine continued. “Help me get him out of his shirt.”

  Together, Ekaterine and Constantine pulled off Friedrich’s coat, vest, and shirt, cutting away buttons and tearing fabric in their haste.

  “I see one…no two wounds,” Constantine said. “He’s been shot?”

  “Ja!” Friedrich cried in German, shaking his head in an effort to stay awake. He carried on in his native tongue, slurring his words:

  “I was shot…that bastard…bastard…Th-Thorndyke!”

  “Thorndyke?” Constantine exclaimed. “Well, I did say the fellow was no good, though I’d never have expected him to shoot someone.” He looked at Ekaterine and said, “Fetch some brandy please, Your Grace. I must get these bullets out of him at once! And he’ll need more blood by the time I have finished!”

  Ekaterine rifled through Friedrich’s coat and found his bottle of brandy in an inside pocket, just where she had seen him place it earlier. Looking up again, she was shocked to see Lord Iosef emerge from the back room of the clinic, his expression curious and his nose gently sniffing the air at the smell of fresh blood. Behind him stood Luka, freshly bandaged and hunched over slightly from the strain of his injuries. Luka held his newspaper in one hand and looked greatly annoyed at the disturbance.

  “Lord Io—” Ekaterine began. She caught herself, remembering that he was supposed to be her brother. “Brother, dear,” she quickly amended, as she helped Friedrich take a long drink from the flask, “what are you doing here?”

  “I am gathering an account of things from my manservant,” Iosef replied. “But I see that my stepson has suffered grave injury.…” He frowned and approac
hed. “What has happened to young Friedrich?”

  “My name is Fri—” Friedrich began, pushing the flask of brandy away as he made ready to protest. He blinked a few times and said, “Oh, you got it right.”

  “’Young?’” Constantine asked, which was only to be expected. Iosef looked several years Friedrich’s junior, despite the claim of being married to the boy’s mother.

  “Yes,” Iosef said to Constantine. “Young Friedrich. And I will ask you to save his life, whatever the cost. If he were to die, his mother would become very angry.”

  “What? Cost?” Constantine exclaimed, selecting a probe. He seemed rather offended at the prospect of compensation. “Nothing of the sort! Doctor von Fuchsburg is a dear friend and colleague. Of course I shall save his life, but I must remove these damned bullets, so please cease all these distractions.”

  Iosef raised a hand and bowed his head in silence.

  Constantine began testing the wound in Friedrich’s chest with his probe. His face took on a confused expression, and Ekaterine heard him murmur:

  “The wound is shallower than I’d have thought.… Good.… Did the bullet…turn against the rib?” He shook his head, still muttering, “No, that’s impossible. But there’s the bullet, there’s the rib behind it, and the rib remains whole.… What in God’s name…?”

  Constantine quickly shook himself and looked up. He checked Friedrich’s pulse and then the man’s eyes. Friedrich swatted him away weakly.

  “He needs blood first of all,” Constantine said.

  “Needs blood?” Iosef asked, almost sounding amused at the idea. The Shashavani had long understood the concept of blood transfusion, for medicine as well as for sustenance, but few modern doctors took the practice very seriously.

  “Yes,” Constantine said. He grabbed a small glass pump from a nearby stand and set it on the table. “He has lost so much already, we must add more so his own will continue flowing. I do not intend to heal his wounds only to have him die all the same.” He looked at Iosef and asked, “Can I count on you to provide?”

  Iosef was silent and exchanged looks with Ekaterine. Being living Shashavani, Iosef’s blood was like poison. To spill it upon flesh would do little harm, but if it were transfused into Friedrich’s body, it would kill him.