Roommates

by Valerie Reyes

  Even if it weren't for the German barrage, August's power on the empire was slipping. He refused to cooperate with the Huns--a long standing tradition of his people. Though the Great Khan did not seem to be too offended by this choice, the aristocracy were outraged by the decision. Breaking ties with the violent and backstabbing group of the Huns seemed to August to be a no brainer, yet it was a political suicide of sorts.

  The grip that August now held on the throne was more tenuous than ever, both from events in which he authored, and events which were relics of past generations and of current world turmoil. Being the youngest king to rule of Romania in many generations was a tough enough hurdle for August to overcome, but scarcely did he establish his dominance and independence did all the trouble which threatened to take away his throne emerge.

  This was a matter of pride to August now, more than it was anything else. He felt as though he belonged on the throne, and that he was the best to guide his people through the hardship that they were facing. Therefore, he could not possibly give up the crown to some other upstart who was cocky enough to think all the problems of Romania could be solved simply. No, all those who were eligible to take August's place on the throne, should he decide it was time to step down, were young and foolhardy.

  Granted, August was a young king himself. He was seventeen when he took the throne, and twenty-five now, as the end of his nation seemed to be looming over the horizon. If he did lose Romania, what would people think? Would they ascribe the loss as incompetence by the leader? Would he be seen as weak simply because he was still in his youth? Or would history view him kindly, and assume that it was mostly the jumbled mess left behind by some old dead guys that were in the ground before they had to deal with the trouble that they had wrought?

  August simply sighed as his thoughts turned down that avenue. He knew full well what the answer to his question was. He would be labeled as an incompetent failure, regardless of the circumstance. Without even taking his age into account, the historians never favored the last ruler of a nation, who ultimately oversaw its ruin. Give these same historians the chance to ridicule the leader for being an inexperienced youth, and they would have a heyday with the opportunity.

  Granted, in dire times such as these, perhaps it was best to put vanity to the side in place of other concerns. Yet all August could do was worry these days, whether upon himself or matters of the country.

  "Dear God, but this situation is hopeless," he muttered while standing at the mirror and looking at his reflection.

  "If you take that attitude, then indeed it is, Sire," Dracule, August's butler, said calmly. August nearly jumped out of his skin.

  "Dracule!" he said in surprise, turning to look at him. His butler had a habit of entering rooms as silently as a ghost, and lingering like one, too. Though this propensity was a bit odd, August usually liked how interesting he could make things a bit more interesting. Needless to say, this time around he was not as pleased with his antics.

  "Yes, Sire," he replied, a ghost of a smile sneaking onto his pale lips.

  "Haven't you ever heard of knocking?" August demanded.

  "I have indeed, and I understand it in theory," Dracule replied, but when he saw that August's grimace did not fade while he spoke, he bowed slightly. "My apologies for having upset you, Sire. I fancy myself a joker without the idiotic get up, though perhaps I should keep my fancies confined to my own head," Dracule said.

  August's tension relaxed upon hearing that. "No, no. I require none of your apologies. I'm just tense," August replied. Dracule was his favorite servant to be sure. If he wasn't, he wouldn't attempt having such a loose tongue when around the king. Yet, even Dracule had his limits of speech around the monarch.

  "I understand, Sire. There is great reason to be. Things are difficult now, but you are as capable a leader as I've ever seen," Dracule said.

  "That's not too impressive, considering you've only seen two, Dracule," August replied. Dracule knew August, of course, and also had worked under his father. But he was but ten years older than August, so he saw no other rulers of Romania.

  "Well, your father was well liked, and I'm telling you that you're as good as he was. Isn't that something to ease your troubled mind?" Dracule asked.

  "My father wasn't facing the Germanic invasion, or a drought. I wish I knew what I was doing so differently," August said.

  "Perhaps you're not paying proper respects to the rain god. When you dance, is your ceremony clockwise, or counter clockwise?"

  "Oh, haha," August replied, not too amused by Dracule's sarcasm. "If only this could be resolved through something that simple, “August said with a sigh.

  "Complicated situations require complicated solutions. But you know this well, Sire," Dracule said. He dropped his air of sarcastic joking for a moment to talk more seriously with his master, much to August’s relief.

  "I know this well, Dracule. But this knowledge doesn't make the burden any less of a cross to bear," August sighed.

  "I think it's best for you to spend some time thinking rather than being pestered by me, Sire," Dracule said, then bowed. "I'll see myself out."

  "Very well," August said, and remained standing where he was until he heard the door click, signifying that Dracule had left.

  Once he was gone, August stared at his reflection for a while. He had fine features, usually something treasured on an aristocrat. Yet, these soft and delicate, almost feminine features that he possessed just furthered everyone's opinion that he was weak even further. He wished he had a strong jaw, a bigger nose, a shorter brow. But no, he was a model for Michelangelo’s statue of David.

  These thoughts just made August sigh, and he left the mirror, going over to the bed and burrowing under the covers. Soon, a deep sleep overtook him. For a little while at least, he could cease to worry about his wondering and self-deprecating thoughts and just focus on resting his tired body.

  In the darkness of his mind while he rested, the image of Dracule came before his consciousness. He was dreaming, but what an odd dream it was. In the blank and darkness of his sleeping psyche, he stood in a seemingly endless voice with Dracule standing before him. Before August could ask him what the meaning of this whole thing was, he spoke.

  "What would you do to protect your people?" Dracule asked, his voice echoing throughout the realm of August’s mind.

  "I would do anything," August replied without hesitation.

  "Anything? Even sacrifice yourself?" Dracule asked, keeping all his seriousness intact.

  August hesitated slightly, but then nodded. "Yes. Even sacrifice myself," he replied resolutely.

  "What if it was only a chance of saving your people? Would you do it then?" Dracule asked.

  At this, August was thrown for a loop. Would he sacrifice himself for merely a chance at saving his people? That was a harder question, because a mere gamble was a dangerous thing to put his life on the line for. Still, considering without some help, he and Romania were both doomed, he did nod again.

  "Yes, I would," August replied, obviously hesitant, but the risk was still worth it.

  "It's a shame you rule the country now, August. Or rather, it's a shame and a blessing. To see us out of these hard times, we need a ruler willing to be as selfless as you are. But at the same time, if you ruled during a prosperous time, I can only imagine what good you would be able to do for us,” Dracule said with a smile.

  "What is the meaning of this, Dracule?" August demanded. Typically he enjoyed Dracule's digressions, but now was not the time. He seemed on the cusp of revealing something of great import.

  "If you're serious about this, meet me in the shrine of your predecessors," Dracule replied, and his form gradually began to fade.

  August stared, not quite knowing how to react to his butler’s disappearing act. Still, he had to ask other question, more pertinent questions. "But wait, don't go yet. What gamble would you have me do? And when should I meet you?" August asked.

  "You'll know when the t
ime is right, Sire," Dracule said with a chuckle as his form finally disappeared in its entirety.

  August just tried to reach out where he saw that Dracule had vanished, all to no avail.

  In what felt like an instant, August found himself awake, sitting up and heaving for breath. That was perhaps the strangest dream that he had ever had. Certainly that dream was just his desperation playing tricks on his mind? Yes, that had to be it.

  So, August convinced himself of that and went about his daily duties for a few days, until he felt this strange compulsion to go to the Shrine of Rulers, where all his predecessors had their mark on the country and on the castle recorded in plaques and busts of their likeness carved into the wall.

  When the urge first overtook August, he wasn't even considering the dream as the reason that he was heading where he was heading. Instead, he thought that perhaps he would find clues on how to handle the dire situation from past leaders who saw the country through its struggles.

  As he browsed past the powerful visages of former rulers of Romania, he traced his fingers subconsciously over his own face, gently running them along his high cheekbone down to his smooth chin. Was he like these men, or was he the odd one out? When other rulers and diplomats walked down this hall, would they stop at August's bust and puzzle over his youthful face, wonder if he was included as a mistake, and move on? Or would the castle even still be standing after his reign.

  "Sire," Dracule said, standing at the far end of the hallway, dusting off the bust of August’s late father.

  August jumped and went wide eyed for a moment. "Dracule! You nearly scared me to death!"

  "I take it you forgot your promise to meet me here, then?" Dracule asked, glancing over at the young king. In that moment, memories of the dream rushed back to August, and he just stared at him dumbstruck.

  "You mean--from the dream?" August asked.

  "If you wish to call it that, yes," he replied flatly.

  "Well, what else would it be called?" August asked, confused. he never thought he'd be asking someone to explain his own dreams but the circumstances were strange all around.

  "I would call it a chat between the two of us," Dracule replied calmly.

  "A chat? A chat while I was dreaming? A chat while I was asleep? I'm afraid I never thought of a chat being under those kinds of circumstances!" August replied, frowning at his eccentric butler. "How could you refer to something like that so casually?"

  "Perhaps your paranormal is just another man's normal, Sire," Dracule replied, and ceased dusting the bust of August’s late father.

  August didn't know whether or not Dracule was making fun of him, but honestly it seemed inconceivable that he wasn't. After all, he seemed to be implying that August was sheltered, when nothing could be further from the truth! Despite him being young, he had become as cultured as anyone could at his age. "I don't appreciate you condescending, Dracule," he said, a dangerous edge to his voice.

  "Condescending? Sire, I apologize that you've mistaken my intentions. I'm not purposefully being condescending. I just want you to know that in my world, talking to someone in their dreams isn't so odd," he replied in a soft tone, humbling himself slightly so that August's anger didn't increase.

  "In your world? You mean to tell me that you think that talking to someone while they're asleep is completely normal to you?" August asked, not exactly willing to accept that.

  "I mean to say, I exist in a world with a different set of norms than you do, my King. I meant no disrespect," Dracule said and bowed. "Now, if you would like, we can perhaps talk about the wager you agreed to?" Dracule asked, looking in August's eyes now, though his glance was somewhat tentative.

  August hesitated for a moment. "If you think this wager is hedged in my favor, then it's worth thinking over," August replied.

  "That's a topic for you to decide. Come," Dracule said, and motioned for August to follow him. At the end of the corridor was a stone table and a set of benches, for purveyors of this hall to ponder over what they have seen. Dracule motioned to the table and August sat, the servant following his example. "Do you know about the curse of this castle?" Dracule asked, his voice lowering somewhat.

  August paused, then frowned at Dracule. "You mean that old phony myth about the Vampire King?" he asked, and as he spoke these words, he saw a real distressed expression come upon Dracule's face.

  "Don't say that it's phony, Sire. He is not phony," Dracule replied in a hurried voice, looking around his shoulders to check and make sure no unwelcomed creature was standing close to him. Once satisfied with his check, he turned back to August. He was not impressed with this little show in the least, however, and his expression showed that plainly enough.

  "If he's not phony, then is that what you wanted to talk to me about? A vampire?" August asked, sighing. He had always thought Dracule was an intelligent gentleman. A bit eccentric to be sure, but witty as could be when he felt that it was safe. Did his jester butler honestly buy into the myth of the Vampire King? Not even the dimmest peasant believed such malarkey.

  "Yes, Sire. I know how to get to his catacombs and release the seal, but it takes the sacred emerald on your pendent before the seal can really be broken," Dracule replied in a hushed tone.

  August was still obviously skeptical, but he put those feelings away for the time being to entertain whatever nonsense Dracule was talking about, just in case the nonsense could actually yield some results. It was doubtful, but not impossible. "And if I did break the seal, what exactly would happen?"

  "The Vampire King ruled over Romania for 100 years before the peasants began to realize that he never got old and staged their uprising. His bust was broken in the corridor by the guards, but records show that he was one of the greatest rulers our country's history. If you could tap into his brain and have him help you, then you could put this country on the right path again," Dracule said.

  "The records? I never came across anything of the Vampire King in the royal library," August said, eyeing Dracule skeptically now. How could he know more about the country's past than him? Even if it was just over the particulars of one ruler, his history lessons were very thorough, and he was a diligent student. Under no circumstances would it be possible that he was more learned than August.

  "The scribes would have destroyed the records of Neculai, if they weren't removed from the library," Dracule replied emphatically.

  "Neculai?" August asked, and he saw Dracule's face turn red.

  "Neculai is the name of the Vampire King. Even that was lost to history," Dracule explained. "But, my family preserved his records, because we knew a time would come when he would have to be called on by the country, and so we've kept a place in the royal house, waiting for that time. It seems like the time is now," Dracule said.

  That was a little much for August to take in easily, so he just tried to grasp the concept of that. Dracule's family, who have worked in the royal house for many generations, actually only kept their loyalty to the throne for the Vampire King? A man that the last four or five generations, at least, had never seen or even been alive during his reign. How could they be so loyal to a monster?

  "I've said more than perhaps I should have, Sire, but you have to understand. It's really important for you to consider this. If you free the Vampire King, and he still loves his country, he will help you regain its former glory," Dracule said.

  "And if this King, should he still even be alive, feel bitterness towards the people for locking him up for a few hundred years, he will kill me and wreak havoc on my people? And then I will officially be the worst monarch in the history of the human race for unleashing an unholy demon upon my flock," August said dryly.

  "It's either Neculai or the Germans, but at least there's a chance that Neculai will play nice," Dracule said.

  "A slim fucking chance at that," August replied, grumbling under his breath.

  "A better chance than none," Dracule replied.

  August clenched his fists and tried to concentrat
e on the situation that was placed before him. On one hand, he could gamble on whether or not it was possible that the Vampire King would actually help his country, or if he'd watch it crumble. On another hand, he could watch it be invaded by Visigoths and torn to shreds. As much as he hated to admit it, the slim chance that he had by being led by Dracule was better than nothing, as he had said.

  "Very well, Dracule. I will entertain the suggestion. But if this goes wrong, I hope the Vampire King eats you first," he muttered.

  Dracule didn't seem to hear any of August's words after "Very well", as he just lit up and hopped to his feet.

  "All right, my King. Please, follow me," Dracule said, and he led the way to the broken bust in the corridor, and he pushed it forward. It moved just like a heavy door, and revealed a dark stone staircase winding down into the earth like a snake.

  On the wall, Dracule grabbed an oil lamp and lit it. This wasn't his first time going down this staircase, that much was obvious. He led the way in the dim light with confidence, scaling down the stairs in no time. A definite excited stride showed his enthusiasm, and though they descended what must have been two hundred steps, he was not in the least bit winded as they reached the final plateau before a large and ornate stone door.

  "There is a key here," Dracule said, picking up an equally ornate stone key and showing it to August. "But even though it turns, the lock remains in place. That's because there's another key to opening the door. Look," Dracule said, and directed August to a pedestal on which a faint glimmer from the moon shone through the cracked wall of stone. "Place your pendent here," he urged.

  August hesitated, unnerved by how quickly everything was progressing, and how imminent this reveal was. He half believed that nothing would happen, and Dracule would just tease him for being so gullible, but another part of him believed that this might be much more.