Vampires Don't Cry: The Collection

by Ian Hall

  My temper had overflowed. Despite my life’s work, Tomas seemed reckless enough to throw it away in an instant. I slapped him with the back of my hand. He reeled and toppled over, landing near the remnants of the bear.

  “Right at this instant, you’re nothing more than a petulant child!” My bellow seemed to find some mark in Tomas; he flinched, and did not rise. “My order has strove to put a Lucescu in the Hetmanate for many years! The plague has almost struck the Romanian Cossacks from the Steppes, and your selfish actions will finish the job! You have to grasp the situation here, Tomas, or you will be the source of your own downfall!”

  I started to walk among the slain. “Help me here, it must look like there has been a fight, and the victors have taken spoils.”

  Reluctantly Tomas helped me arrange the bodies in such a manner that it looked like an ambush. We stripped some of the bodies, and threw the weapons away. I counted the bodies, but dismay hit when I only got to eighteen.

  “Count them, Tomas!” I snapped. “Quickly!”

  Together, we faced each other, united in our count. Eighteen.

  “Oh, the heavens,” I said, putting my face in front of his. “If word has got back to Moshny, we are ruined!”

  Ivan and I made our retreat back to the Lucescu Keep under the cloak of nightfall. The moon had always been my faithful lantern and it shone brightly to light our path home. Though no one followed, we lashed our horses to a thunderous gallop, expending them until their mouths foamed and legs gave.

  Gregory rushed from the stable in a tither, waving a horse brush as if it were a cudgel. “Mr. Tomas! What’ve you done to her?”

  “Highwaymen; they converged from the south,” I spouted. “It was all we could do to outrun them.”

  He dropped the brush and fell to one knee beside the gelding. Stardust had been a favorite of the stableman’s; indeed she had been my sole companion on many a midnight ride. I stroked her silver mane as an impassioned Gregory doted over her like a lover.

  “Gregory!” Ivan snapped, stepping over his own mount like so much rubble. “Prepare me a fresh horse.”

  His demand ignored, Ivan’s fury from the forest redoubled. He rounded on the stout stableman, pulling him up by the nape of the neck as if he were made of rags. Gregory’s boots flailed some four inches off the ground.

  Ivan’s inflection sounded severely monotone, “Prepare me a fresh horse.”

  He dropped the stableman to his feet and Gregory spared no second glance to Stardust as he ran off to do Ivan’s bidding. I kept to my horse, comforting her with the soft brush upon her fine, black coat.

  “I must return to the Order at once,” Ivan said to the air, “tell them of your thoughtless indiscretion; they will know how to contain the situation.”

  I did not pay him the slightest acknowledgment.

  “You will confine yourself to the holdings,” he continued. “If any should come for you – do not stand against them. Keep hidden; I’m sure Apostol entrusted you with the whereabouts of his secret rooms?”

  Still I kept to my task of ministering to my fallen friend.

  Ivan came at me then, smacking the brush from my hand and locking my head between iron clutches, “Do not be fooled, boy – your survival is far more dependent on the Order than the Order dependent on your survival. You could be plucked from history, unmissed and forgotten, and the still the Order will continue. If you do not reverse this trend of idiocy, I will crush you under my heel and another will be selected to rise in your place.”

  He released his hold. I tried my jaw for good measure and found it still quite mobile. My abhorrence for the man welled over in a bitter, hate-filled, grin.

  “And what will become of you, Ivan, once the Order learns how badly you have chosen? It might be you who gets crushed under heel.” I allowed a laugh at his expense. “Surely your feeble attempt at controlling me will be the subject of much discussion when the Order is notified that I disobeyed your direct command.”

  Ivan shook his head despondently. “That should not have been possible.”

  “For a vampire worth his salt, perhaps not; my failure tonight only underscores your own.”

  His posture stiffened in a useless show of dominance, a comical sketch, derivative of the bear. I rose to mimic his stance, waiting for him to decide how far he would push. For what seemed an eternity the two of us remained posed, eye-to-eye; a pissing contest unworthy of our high positions. However, neither of us was inclined to back down. Nor did Ivan seem in a hurry to test my defiance.

  Gregory returned to us with the reins of an erratic stallion for Ivan in one hand and a soaked sponge for Stardust in the other. Timidly, he handed possession of the horse with a rehearsed disclaimer.

  “Bruno here was all I could have at the ready under such short notice; he’s been fed, brushed, and freshly shoed.”

  Ivan took the leather straps with a look of regret and apology for the stableman. “He’ll do nicely, Gregory.”

  “Not quite broken, Mr. Ivan. You may be in for a rough ride.”

  I did not attempt to hide my glee over Gregory’s choice of mount for the superior Ivan Vyhovsky. Bruno came easily by bridle and for the promise of sugar cubes; but attempt to mount the creature and calm him turned to calamity. Watching Ivan bucked and trampled would make for delightful entertainment.

  Predictably, Ivan’s conceit betrayed him. “I believe I can manage.”

  Gregory nodded acquiescently and knelt to squeeze cool water from the sponge through Stardust’s lips. Her breathing had already begun to slow; I suspected she would recover.

  Ivan placed his boot in stirrup. Bruno’s neck shook a resounding “NO!”

  “You may want to walk him a few paces before mounting – perhaps until you get to the road outside the gate; let him get to know you,” Gregory offered congenially and without looking up.

  “Good suggestion, Gregory. I will do that.”

  Right then I appreciated the malodourous yet coy stableman. Ivan’s misfortune would befall him when he and Bruno were quite alone, void of bystander or assistance. Though I would be unable to witness the tragedy first-hand, I would wait anxiously for the sad news to reach my bedchamber in the morning.

  Before leading his would-be assassin off, Ivan turned to me with one final word. By the way his eyes drilled me, I know he attempted to brand the command into my brain. I set my spine, having already proven my ability to thwart my changer’s will.

  “Return to the Keep. Maintain your normal routine: confine yourself to the east wing, curtains drawn. Have the kitchens prepare your meat rare; that should stem any…” he stole a glance to Gregory, who kept his head bent but I knew his ears were perked, “relapses of your illness. I will be two days on my expedition.”

  “I will try to manage in your absence,” I said as my belligerent farewell and waved him off like a nagging bee.

  I stayed a while longer beside Stardust, watching with one eager eye until Ivan’s silhouette was lost to the shadows.

  I killed the horse once I passed the next village. Its blood stemmed my need, and its flesh would sustain the villagers for many days. I had no interest in naming horses; they were as subservient to me as I deemed Tomas. Just a necessary part of the Order’s place in the world.

  We became hungry, we fed.

  My immediate Elder listened to my reasons for choosing Tomas, the third son. His features remained unchanging, his expression sullen and bored.

  “Enough,” he said at last. “I care not. Each of the sons are but a fraction of the father, and the Lucescu line has diminished because of Apostol’s demise.”

  “I was unable to stem the father’s end,” I tried to argue further, but got waved down by the Elder’s hand.

  “No matter.” He settled in his seat, crossed his fingers, and looked up at me. “We have more pressing matters. Have you heard news from Kiev?”

  “I know of none,” I shook my head. “The sickness has stopped travel between towns.”

 
; “Boran Pugachev’s son, second in the Igmar Hetman’s line has succumbed to the blood sickness. Forlan, your peer in Kiev, has not reported to the Order since the plague’s arrival. I fear his demise, and need you to clear up any mess. If we cannot get a Lucescu on the Hetmanate, then an Igmars from Kiev would be a worthy alternative.”

  I nodded. “Your will, of course.” I immediately wondered how I, Ivan Vyhovsky, had suddenly been elevated in the Order. “Although there are others of the Order already inside the city.”

  The Elder’s face fell sullen, and I worried if I had overstretched my bounds. “We have had no word from Kiev since the sickness. I fear the worst.”

  I suddenly saw the urgency of the situation. I knew at least six of the Order in Kiev by name.

  “Ivan?” he reached forward to grab my sleeve. “Don’t enter the city officially. We need this done in the utmost secrecy. If the Order is discovered in Kiev, we will be forced to hold back on many years planning.”

  “I will use discretion, Great One.”

  “Remember your Jesuit days in Lviv?”

  Transported back forty years, I smiled at the distant memory. “Yes, sire. I remember Lviv well. My days in the Jesuit Collegium were a peaceful time.”

  “Then find robes and travel as a Jesuit. I need to find the truth, and to be sure, so many of our Order are silent, I fear we have been discovered. Perhaps worse.”

  Kiev lay another fifty miles to the north, and the road not of the best quality. Given a new horse by the Elder, I rode for most of the way, then travelled on foot the last few miles, comfortable in my Jesuit smock. I found the southern gate closed, barred against any incomers, so I did a quick scout, and found a trader’s gate on the east side.

  The best place to hear gossip would be in the market and taverns, so with the stalls before me, I browsed, hopefully keeping most of my face in the folds of my cowl. As a priest, I was often asked for blessings, which I repeated from memory. I countered their gratitude with discreet questions. Within moments, I heard the word ‘Boran’ linked with ‘demon.’ I winced, knowing that this did not sound like good news for the Order. It only took a drink in three taverns to confirm the worst of my fears. The town lay full of the story.

  Boran Pugachev, in a wailing grief for his son’s death, had struck out at the apothecary – my friend, Forlan – and caused him severe physical harm. When visited the next day, the wound had healed beyond human ability. In a rage, Boran had hacked at Forlan’s head. My friend, of course, in his death, had turned to dust.

  It seems that Boran had more guile than I had suspected. Every associate of Forlan’s had been caught and jailed, each alone in a cell. An arrow fired through the door had been the device of discovery. If they survived, they were beheaded. If they suffered, Boran’s physicians attended their wounds.

  From earwigging the buzzing of the taverns, the number of the dead totaled over fifty, but I knew that had to be an exaggeration.

  I could not believe that Boran could have been so fortunate to net all members of the Order in Kiev, but since none had reported to the Elders, I had to accept the possibility.

  Sleep had been one nuisance I’d been glad to be rid of since my turning. I required very little of it in order to keep my strength. This allowed hours to my studies never afforded to me in human life. By candlelight, I poured over the leather-bound volumes my mother had lovingly acquired for my amusement; the great philosophers Plato and Socrates, the poets Sappho and Vergil…all lifelong friends to a solitary boy. By these tomes, my thoughts and heart were molded; I could only wonder what their fertile minds would make of my transformation.

  As the sun made its first appearance, the curtains brightened to a faint amber glow. I teased myself with Ivan’s promise that my aversion to daylight now lay a useless remnant of my former life. The temptation to test it had me swooned. Drunken with the prospect of watching the dawn come to its full glory, I set aside my book and made way for the window.

  My fingers barely touched the coarse fabric of the curtains when I heard a gasp behind me. Nicolette, my personal handmaiden, hovered at the threshold of the east parlor. I gasped at her almost nakedness, sheathed in a gossamer thin cotton nightdress, her waist-length, ebony hair free of its usual, unbecoming pins.

  Surely, she believed herself alone at this hour, the master of the house still abed. I knew my servant often crept into the parlor, making use of the piano while she believed I lay tucked away. Many times her music had woken me prematurely; she played well and so I allowed it, listening from my chamber.

  But today, Nicolette’s gall was unmitigated, scolding me as if I had been the one caught red-handed; skulking about in places I ought not to be.

  “Mr. Tomas, what are you doing? You shouldn’t linger so close to the window; daylight is upon us!”

  I made a haughty show of clapping my hands together. “The curtains are filthy with dust, Nicolette. Am I to use them to hide from the sun only to choke on the thick air? I’d say I’d do better to die quickly than to slowly suffocate.”

  The maiden’s notorious temper rose as dangerously as the dawn. “I pounded the curtains within an inch of their lives just yesterday, Mr. Tomas. I assure you – they are quite clean.”

  Her smoldering glare elicited my transient appreciation for the lovely creature; Nicolette had always had a mind of her own and never feared to speak it. No doubt her fire, as much as her beauty, prompted my father to hand-select her as my personal servant. When I turned fifteen, Apostol disposed of the weathered spinster that had attended me in my youth and employed the much more vivacious Nicolette in her stead.

  Unknown to my mother, the new maid’s duties encompassed responsibilities never undertaken by her predecessor. Father did not want my appearance to keep me from enjoying the full scope of my rank. Though I’d often wondered what Apostol would do should the lowly house servant yield him a bastard grandchild; then easily dismissed it as his concern and not my own.

  Nicolette’s tendency to misconstrue our arrangement as something more than commerce did concern me occasionally. As such, she allowed herself privileges her position did not account for. That obstinate streak could become somewhat tiring when my temperament lay darker; luckily for her, today my mood seemed quite sanguine.

  I pointed to the drapery. “You missed a spot.”

  Nicolette charged to the window, flattened her hand and gave the curtain three solid smacks; no doubt, fantasizing it was my face.

  She wiped her hands together and sneered, “Clean.”

  “Perhaps next time I am away, you will spend more time at your chores and less at my piano.”

  The stone expression fell away, replaced by a child’s dread of punishment.

  “You didn’t think me deaf, my dear?”

  At that, her rebellion flared again. “Deaf? Not as much as wasteful, Mr. Tomas. It is my duty to care for your possessions, is it not? I would be slipshod to allow this fine instrument to sit, unused, collecting dust.” She crossed her arms again. “And we all know of your disdain for dust.”

  Her rebuke struck home. In truth I had been neglectful in making use of the piano mother had so painstakingly tried to instruct me on. After many years, I became proficient at finding the notes. But, still the music eluded me. Nicolette – the lowly maid – on the other hand, was something of a prodigy in that regard.

  “Well then,” I said with a grand sweep of my arm toward the piano, “get to work.”

  Nicolette’s arms fell gracelessly to her side, a warrior dropping her shield. She fluttered like a butterfly to the bench, her nightdress billowing enchantingly as an iridescent wind. As soon as her fingers stroked ivory, she and the instrument became one being.

  I molded myself to the chair, book folded over my chest, and listened behind closed lids. Monteverdi’s opera, L’Orfeo, suffused the room and I got swept to another place and time. I opened my eyes to see Nicolette enraptured within it. Her body tensed and convulsed with every chord, her face set in a mask of
ecstasy. That piano was more her lover than I could ever be; and I realized a sudden envy to feel what she felt.

  I had tasted Victor’s essence and knew beyond a doubt that something of him remained alive in me. In my partaking, a bit of his soul had fractured and joined with mine.

  Slowly I stalked closer to her. I dare say Nicolette, on the verge climax, heard nothing of my coming. She startled to my first touch as I pulled the nightdress down from her shoulder.

  Her nimble fingers grew still and the piano’s last note vibrated off to silence. She breathed a fortifying breath; not one of anticipation but of resignation. Once again my beautiful housemaid had misinterpreted my intentions for her. I had indulged in Nicolette’s skin enough to last a lifetime; now I wanted what lay beneath.

  I bent to her neck, piercing flesh and encouraging the blood with my suckling lips. As her jaw fell slack and her body succumbed, I drank her music into my veins. She was an empty husk as I lifted and carried her to the bed. Glassy eyes stared up at me, but enough light remained that I knew I had stopped in time to spare her life.

  While she slept off her stupor, I claimed the bench and rested my fingers upon the keys. Nicolette’s soul stirred within me, not quite conducting a symphony, but certainly there seemed to be an understanding of the rudiments now in my fingers. As the piano sang to my touch, I marveled at my own ability. In taking that part of her into myself, I could now do this thing which I could never do before.

  At that moment, the full promise of my new life truly opened up for me.

  The Elder took the news with more emotion that I’d anticipated. “Such members will be difficult to replace.” He paced the room, his wooden sandals clicking on the earthen floor. Suddenly he turned to me. “If I remember, your training in the Order was not the most thorough.”

  I nodded. I had been a member only a few months when the Romanian Cossacks had entered Lviv. Hurriedly thrown into their midst, and handed a frantic instruction; ‘Get close to their leader.’ Two years later before another member of the Order approached me. I had thought myself alone in the world.