A Cautionary Tale for Young Vampires

by G. D. Falksen

  She sat in a chair by the bedside, intending to watch her son while he slept. But Friedrich stirred at her approach and slowly opened his eyes.

  “Mother…” he said softly in German, as if still half dreaming. Then his eyes opened properly, and he sat up with a start. “Mother, I—”

  He was cut off as he winced in pain and clutched his chest. Varanus reached out and gently forced him to lay back.

  “Careful, Alistair, careful!” she said. “Calm yourself.”

  Friedrich fought her with more strength than Varanus had expected, and finally she allowed him to take her arms and look them over to satisfy himself that they were whole.

  “You’re…you’re unharmed?” Friedrich said, still speaking German. He sounded shocked. “But I saw—”

  Varanus quickly hushed him.

  “I don’t know what you thought you saw, Alistair,” she answered. “Having been shot twice, it astounds me that you remember anything at all.”

  “Bullets do not cause amnesia, Mother,” Friedrich said. “I remember everything.” He blinked a few times and frowned. “That is, I remember almost everything. But I remember clearly, you were—”

  Varanus thought it best to stop him before he recalled—or worse, said—too much.

  “You saw me tied hand and foot,” she interrupted, “with my clothes torn in a most unseemly manner, which I grant was a great horror to the both of us. But thankfully nothing had become of me then, nor did it after.”

  “No, no, no,” Friedrich said, shaking his head. He seemed to be trying very hard to remember clearly something that was little more than a muddle. “No, you.… Your arms.… There…there was blood.…”

  Again, Varanus stopped him quickly:

  “There is blood upon me now, I grant you. But none of it mine. And there was none when you saw me.”

  “Whose blood, then?” Friedrich demanded. “If not yours, then whose?”

  “It belongs to…that man,” Varanus said. “Thorndyke. The one who shot you.”

  At the mention of the name, Friedrich’s face clouded in a scowl, and he struggled to rise yet again.

  “Thorndyke!” he cried. “That murdering pig-dog! I’ll kill him! Oh, God! Oh, God! How many people has he murdered? How many innocent people? I’ll kill the swine!”

  “Calm, Alistair! Calm!” Varanus said, trying to silence him lest his cries draw the attention of Constantine.

  Friedrich breathed heavily, his face still dark with anger, but under Varanus’s urgings he fell silent and slowly relaxed. He winced in pain and touched the bandage on his chest, which was still dry despite his thrashing.

  “Well, perhaps I cannot kill him just now,” Friedrich said, “but in a few days, I will do it. He is a monster. A monster among monsters. I cannot imagine how many people he’s killed, Mother. And after he dared to lay a hand on you.… I will not trust his death to the authorities, Mother. I will see to it myself.”

  Such was Friedrich’s look of righteous determination that Varanus almost felt sorry to correct his revenge fantasy. But it had to be done. Smiling, she took Friedrich’s hand in hers and said:

  “He is already dead, Alistair.”

  “My name is Friedrich, Mother,” Friedrich said, for the moment ignoring the revelation of Thorndyke’s death.

  “Yes, of course it is, Alis…Friedrich,” Varanus quickly amended.

  Friedrich frowned and said softly, “Dead? Thorndyke is dead?”

  “Yes,” Varanus said.

  “How?” Friedrich asked. “By whose hand? Yours?”

  “Uh…hmmm,” Varanus said quickly.

  Killing Thorndyke was not quite as incredible as some of the other things Friedrich had seen of her, but it was still noteworthy.

  “Let us say that he is dead and that I am free,” Varanus continued, giving her son a hopeful smile. “And let us not dwell upon the details. Not in private and certainly not in public.”

  “This is to be like the matter of the beast in Normandy, isn’t it?” Friedrich asked, frowning. “The beast that I know you killed, yet you insist died by falling upon my sword.”

  “Something like that, yes,” Varanus said. She looked into her son’s eyes and asked, “Can we agree to do that?”

  Friedrich thought about this for a little while. Presently he sighed and nodded his head.

  “Yes, Mother,” he said, “we can agree to do that. But,” he added, holding Varanus’s hand tightly and looking at her with a firm gaze, “my capacity for blind acceptance is rapidly departing. You ask me to accept much that is impossible without explanation. And I am a scientist. To do so is not in my nature.”

  “Just a little while longer,” Varanus said. She squeezed Friedrich’s hand. “Just a little while longer, I promise you.”

  A great while longer, in all likelihood. He had to produce grandchildren first. And Varanus needed to convince Iosef of the wisdom of her son’s induction into the Shashavani order, which she suspected would be quite an ordeal. But there was no need to burden Friedrich with such knowledge.

  “I shall always respect your decision, Mother,” Friedrich said, “as it is right for a son to do. But my patience is not unending, and my curiosity is great.”

  “I will explain when you are older,” Varanus said.

  “Older?” Friedrich demanded.

  “And now you must rest,” Varanus added, rising from her chair.

  Friedrich sighed and lay back, shaking his head slowly. He looked very tired. His agitation and worry at her safety had, it seemed, drained what little strength remained after his injuries.

  “One of these days, Mother, something will happen that you cannot conceal from me,” he said, slowly closing his eyes.

  “It’s not polite to underestimate your mother, Alistair,” Varanus said.

  “My name is Friedrich, Mother,” Friedrich replied. His voice was soft, lingering just on the edge of sleep.

  Varanus smiled and leaned down to kiss him gently on the forehead.

  “Of course it is, Friedrich,” she said.

  * * * *

  Having assured herself of her son’s safety, Varanus finally made for home. She wore Ekaterine’s cloak to hide the tatters of her dress, and she made certain to wash her face and hair at the clinic before venturing into the street where she might be seen.

  She and Ekaterine returned to the house via the tradesman’s entrance and hurried to their rooms as quietly as they could manage, without the servants taking note. In the corridor, Varanus gave Ekaterine a parting embrace before leaving her friend to fetch the promised bottle of cordial.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “For what?” Ekaterine asked, puzzled.

  “For saving Alistair’s life,” Varanus said. “And for coming to rescue me.”

  Ekaterine grinned and replied, “That is what sisters are for.”

  “I’ll remember that,” Varanus said, and the two of them exchanged a smug smile.

  “And always beware of ghosts,” Ekaterine said.

  “Very sound advice,” Varanus agreed.

  “And giant helmets,” Ekaterine added.

  “Go and get the cordial, Ekaterine,” Varanus said, sighing at her.

  “Why don’t you enjoy a warm bath first?” Ekaterine asked. “I’ll bring the cordial along in an hour, and you can tell me all that transpired.”

  “If I do not answer the door, it will be because I’ve fallen asleep in the bath,” Varanus told her, “and you shall have to wait until morning.”

  “In that case, all the more cordial for me!” Ekaterine replied brightly.

  Varanus shook her head and went into her room. To her astonishment, she saw Lord Iosef standing before the fire, reading a volume of Keats that Varanus kept on the mantlepiece. As Varanus closed the door, Iosef turned toward her and snapped the book shut.

  “Ah,” he said, “you have returned.”

  “My lord!” Varanus exclaimed, crossing her arms as she approached. “What are you doing here?”<
br />
  Iosef placed the volume of Keats onto the mantlepiece.

  “Waiting for you, of course,” he said.

  “Here?”

  “Where else should I expect to find you?” Iosef asked, sounding almost surprised at the question. “This is your place of residence, is it not?”

  “Of course it is,” Varanus said. “Why else would I be here?”

  “It is hardly my place to speculate,” Iosef answered.

  Varanus shook her head at him.

  “I was at the clinic,” she said. “Seeing to my son.”

  “Ah.” Iosef considered the statement and nodded. “I can understand why you would do that. Still, after your ordeal, I assumed you would return here eventually to rest. The wise seek home in times of strife.”

  “I was under the impression that the strife had passed,” Varanus said.

  “Strife never passes,” Iosef said, in his usual placid manner. “It merely goes to ground for a time before it sees fit to reemerge.”

  A flicker of movement caught Varanus’s eye as Iosef spoke, and she saw Korbinian rise from a chair where he had been sitting—or apparently sitting, though Varanus had not seen him until that moment. Korbinian passed behind Iosef and leaned against the wall by the fireplace, arms folded. He had recovered from his bloody state during the ordeal of Varanus’s escape, and now his face and clothes were free of blood once more.

  “What a very pessimistic person your Russian is,” he said.

  Varanus gave Korbinian a look of admonishment and turned her eyes back to Iosef.

  “Regardless of where I went,” she said, “I am here now. But why are you here, my lord, if you will pardon the question?”

  Iosef spread his hands in reply.

  “It is a reasonable question,” he said. “Why should one need a reasonable question pardoned?” He folded his hands. “Indeed, I am here to see to your state of being after your ordeal. And to set your mind at ease regarding the police.”

  “Oh?” Varanus asked.

  “I disposed of the bodies in the fire before the building collapsed,” Iosef explained. “And before the police arrived,” he added, though he spoke as if this were an afterthought. “When the place is examined in the morning, there will be little evidence remaining to suggest that their deaths came from any source but the building itself.”

  Varanus raised an eyebrow and asked, “What about the blood?”

  Iosef was silent for a few moments while he considered the question. At length, he replied:

  “A small oversight, I will grant. It has been a lengthy day. But, there should be little enough that the police shall pay it no mind. I confined my method of execution to the breaking of necks for a reason.”

  By the fireplace, Korbinian raised an eyebrow and said, conspiratorially, “He is a rather chilling person when one passes the surface, isn’t he?” There was a pause. “I like it.”

  Varanus sighed and shook her head a little. Korbinian was being incorrigible again.

  “And speaking of the police…?” she asked Iosef.

  “I was away before they arrived,” Iosef replied. “And though I suspect they will have taken note of the gunfire, I do not think much of any significance will come of it. I disposed of their firearms as well.”

  “Efficient fellow, isn’t he?” Korbinian mused.

  Varanus was inclined to agree, but she felt no need to comment. Instead, she nodded to Iosef and said:

  “I thank you, my lord. For…coming to rescue me.”

  There was a short pause, and then Iosef smiled and bowed his head ever so slightly.

  “You are my student, Varanus,” he said. “And as any teacher ought to, I would gladly risk my life for yours. But.…” He paused, searching for the words. “But I am pleased that my assistance was not required. It is always gratifying to see one’s student become self-reliant. It is right and full of honor.”

  “You make it sound significant,” Varanus said, laughing a little.

  “I do not know the details of your ordeal, Varanus,” Iosef said, “and I shall not inquire. But what matters is that you came through it. And I suspect that it was more than a mortal mind could bear.”

  Varanus closed her eyes at the thought of it.

  “It was—” she began.

  “Do not tell me, unless you wish to tell me,” Iosef said, interrupting her.

  His tone was soft and gentle, something Varanus was unused to hearing from him. More commonly his tone was calm and controlled, emotionless, neither angry nor sad, neither vicious nor gentle. But now there was sympathy in it. To hear it almost gave Varanus a turn, for it was worse in its strangeness than if Iosef had shouted in reply.

  Varanus shook herself.

  “Thank you for that, my lord,” she said. “Indeed, I would prefer not to speak about it. But it will suffice to say that it was…monstrous.”

  Iosef nodded and asked, “Did you kill him?”

  “Who?” Varanus asked.

  Surely Iosef did not know of the man called Thorndyke.…

  “Whoever it was who presumed to hurt you,” Iosef said. “I do not know the details, but I can surmise. So I ask, did you kill him?”

  “I slaughtered him like a pig,” Varanus replied without hesitation. And then, after a moment’s consideration, she added, “He tasted horrible.”

  “That is unfortunate,” Iosef said, “but justice cannot always be succulent and flavorful. Sometimes justice requires that we imbibe a bitter drink. Let it be enough to know that he who presumed to harm you shall never harm another.”

  “It is,” Varanus said. But as she spoke, she sighed and added, “But he was not alone in his malice. He is gone, but who can say how many others remain?”

  Iosef slowly nodded, though his expression was not one of agreement.

  “We Shashavani are sworn to guide and safeguard mankind,” he said, “not to be its custodians. Or do you wish to take on such a responsibility? To be the guardian and watchman of all of London?”

  Varanus frowned and shook her head. The very thought of it saddened her. It was a duty required of someone, surely, for all the world—and London among it—was in dire need of guidance…guidance by force if necessary. But though she wished to see it done, it was not a duty she could willingly accept. And that knowledge left her unsettled. She did not feel guilty about it, but she almost felt that she should feel guilty.

  “No,” she confessed, “I do not wish such a responsibility. What I wish is that it was not necessary. I wish that those languishing in the shadow of death were capable of conducting themselves with some degree of sense and civility. That they did not require us to order them to do right!”

  Iosef was silent for a time. He gazed into the fire, his expression placid. But his eyes were alight, seething with anger and sorrow and regret.

  “You are right, Varanus,” he said. “As I said in Georgia fifteen years ago, if we could be tyrants and force mankind to live in wisdom, it would be a wondrous thing. But we cannot. Those living in the shadow of death must learn of their own accord. If they do not, any improvement we force upon them shall be fleeting and soon reversed. It is a conundrum I have pondered many times.”

  “I know,” Varanus said, “and I accept it, though with great reservation. But it saddens me to accept it.”

  “As it does me,” Iosef agreed. He paused a moment and asked, “Varanus, shall I draw you a bath?”

  The question took Varanus by surprise, and she was unable to answer for a moment.

  “What?” she finally asked.

  “Shall I draw you a bath?” Iosef repeated. He seemed surprised at her surprise. “It is a perfectly ordinary question.”

  “It is nothing of the kind,” Varanus said.

  “You have been through an ordeal, Varanus,” Iosef said. He almost sounded sympathetic. Or rather, he sounded as if he should sound sympathetic, if the weight of years had not deprived him of the capacity for such sentiment. “You need rest. You must relax. And I myself
have found a warm bath to be a great restorative in such times.”

  After a lengthy silence, Varnaus replied:

  “Yes, then, I suppose I would appreciate one. But surely, the servants will question why my husband has arrived unannounced and is boiling water in their absence.”

  “Do not concern yourself, Varanus,” Iosef said. “They shall neither hear nor see me.”

  He walked to the door and turned back to her, smiling a little.

  “I am pleased that you are well, Varanus,” he said. “I know I do not speak of it often, but you are of great importance to me. And though I do not doubt your capabilities, know that I would have been greatly angered by your death.”

  Iosef sounded so very serious that Varanus almost laughed to hear him speak.

  “Angered?” she asked, smiling at his words. “How angered?”

  Iosef was silent for a time before he answered with a sincerity that chilled Varanus:

  “I might have slaughtered the whole city for the loss of you. Remember that,” he added, as he opened the door, “and take pride in it. There are many like you, Varanus, but none else who are you. And that is significant.”

  And so saying, Iosef vanished into the darkness of the hallway, leaving Varanus alone with her thoughts. With her thoughts and with Korbinian, who smiled to himself, as if delighting in Iosef’s words.

  “Your Russian,” he said, when the door had closed, “is a man of great intensity, don’t you find?”

  “I do,” Varanus said, slowly falling back into Korbinian’s waiting arms.

  “Intense men are the best of men, you know,” Korbinian mused. “For good or ill, at least you know where you stand with them.”

  “In a bath, apparently,” Varanus said.

  “Surely not with him,” Korbinian said, gently kissing her hair. “In a bath with me, but not with him. That would be so.…”

  “Untoward?” Varanus ventured.

  “Unthinkable,” Korbinian said, laughing.

  He smiled at her and kissed her on each cheek, one after the other with tenderness and care. Looking into her eyes, he said:

  “I am pleased that you are well and safe, liebchen. Pleased beyond all measure of describing. I was…worried. Very worried to see you there, confined beneath the madman’s knife. As I was worried to see you distraught at the sight of—” Korbinian suddenly caught himself and frowned. “At the sight of bones and relics that need no further contemplation. But above all, I am pleased that you are well. And our son, also.”