The new photograph currently hung from the wall in an oval frame, carved with garden flowers and garden frequenters, playful songbirds, rabbits, and a trio of large-tailed fox cubs. Within the dark wooden frame, sat the most displeased infant that might have ever been photographed successfully, placed on a miniature chair built to the infant's minute scale, bonneted and adorned with an infant dress that hid all but the two stubby hands that gripped the armrests purposefully, and then the chubby face with its sharp little frown and narrowed, glaring Hellsing eyes, hardened and cold beneath a lowered brow. The round-cheeked baby was outraged by either his placement upon the regal throne, the photographer before him, or perhaps his cumbersome white gown. However, as the Nosferatu's face was the object currently receiving the grumpy and accusatory expression, the vampire in effect fell to the role of the accused, just as was often the case when the Vampire Alucard was aligned with the matured grumpy looks given to it by its adult Master. The infant Master resembled his father in all ways, but for the dress and bonnet, in this particular photograph.
In other frames strung about the office like holiday tinsel, celebratory of the first child of Van Hellsing, the photographs featured what could have been mistaken for the entire assemblage of infants born with fair eyes and hair within the island of Great Britain. The hyperbolic observation made by the undead being, embittered by enslavement and confinement, and thus primed to project Van Hellsing in a negatively indulgent light, did not exaggerate without some support from the room itself. There were twelve, albeit small, portraits of the Hellsing infant currently arranged in the Hellsing office, a room frequented by officials, scientists, professors, and such other persons of high status or accumulated mental or financial resources. To these men the baby was on display, for whatever purpose but to impose the message that the great Hellsing Organization would be carried on for another generation, at least. However, it was doubtful that the Master of the vampire received many comments or compliments regarding his Hellsing offspring.
Business was not well interrupted by silent, unmoving infants. And decorations were ignored, appropriately. It wasn't as though Arthur Hellsing was an ugly baby. To the Vampire Alucard, the conception of the child was unappetizing, and its existence was still debatable, being so young and small and prone to unexpected death and disease. Plenty of misfortunes were viable to befall the first Hellsing spawn, though Arthur's death had so far been unconsidered by Master Van Hellsing. And the infant's sudden appearance left the vampire slow to acknowledge its reality.
Wide intelligence stared from another frame, in which no expression condensed Arthur Hellsing's soft features, as the gaze communicated awareness, consideration of his surroundings and activities taking place – general thought or means of consciousness concerning the existence of the environment. Although the vampire had no admiration for the infant Hellsing, the grumpy Van Hellsing-like photograph retained a grey humor in its mind.
Then it was amusing as the fussy infant darkened the rings beneath his father's eyes and inhibited his efficiency – and at times, hindering Hellsing's memory of unpleasant promises or previous grievances that had been attributed to the Vampire Alucard.
At present, Van Hellsing had instructed the gaunt creature to meet him in his office a quarter of an hour before eleven that night, and the creature had been punctual. Abiding by specified times was not an effortless task, when the enslaved vampire was not allowed possessions, despite the use they might have served in permitting the vampire to behave in a pleasing, or so called "obedient" manner. How was the time to be determined without a clock, or even a window, to refer to? How was the decrepit thing, a lowly possession itself, meant to makes itself as functional as was the man's want and his strict expectation? And then, the wretched monstrosity that was a starved crescent of the demon that had commanded such respect from the fiends of its kind – as well as other kinds – as Count Dracula, was understandably and yet unreasonably forbidden to roam the Hellsing mansion. The grounds were forbidden. The woods were forbidden. Certainly the road was forbidden, and then this exclusion even included the stream of running water that had no risk of tempting the vampire. It might well have been said that swimming, attending mass or confession, or consuming the blessed Host were prohibited, as such being equally redundant.
The once-King, once-living Prince, was, for whatever had been planned by the absent Van Hellsing, completely purposeless in the empty, baby-filled office. But the invitation into the household had been made, so there was no bane, no word constricting the vampire. It might wander, unseen, at its own risk. Men on guard duty within the Hellsing mansion would detect an undead presence desecrating their commander's property. However, to them a vampire was an uneducated, inexperienced, half-ling juvenile. Meanwhile, Dracula, though starved, prevented from maintaining its own appearance, and by other means degraded, could not be compared to any such low and insignificant creature, which was not worthy of dying to become dust that might join the collection that had gathered in the hair of the dethroned King of the undead, their respective Adam. In their case, royalty, among the dead, was determined by individual faculties, rather than inheritance or some other uncertain tradition which permitted ill-suited men and women to be made rulers of kingdoms destined to decline.
No, none caught the suppressed aura of the vampire as it faded into walls, keeping to rooms of shadow, gloom, and quiet, or crossing empty corridors in pursuit of such accommodating spaces. This pastime was pursued, with the assumption that the Master had fallen asleep earlier than he had planned for himself, or had forgotten the scheduled meeting and had likewise retired for the night.
Yet, dark quiet rooms were rooms that were most appropriate for sleeping persons. However, the bedroom the vampire entered was empty and merely traversed without much notice. Then crying halted the vampire – infant crying, from nearby.
At six months, the Hellsing infant was teething. No nurse was at this time employed to take care of little Arthur, as a recent replacement had been turned out by Van Hellsing – for reasons unknown to the Vampire Alucard. And no response to Van Hellsing's advertisements had yet come. It was a troublesome matter, finding a nurse for a baby in a secretive organization. The circumstances which had placed the Hellsing infant within the estate that served as the headquarters for their operations, could be traced to Arthur's mother, the young Mrs. Abraham Van Hellsing. She currently had little interest in caring for her needy baby, residing in the town home she shared with her supportive mother and a surplus of eight servants – who attended to the household and their inactive mistress with mild disdain.
Though Van Hellsing often claimed that the Vampire Alucard was a Dumkopf, or an idiot, the demonic substance of darkness that manifested within the Hellsing nursery was not acting thoughtlessly. And it had not entered the nursery willingly. An unhappy Hellsing was a demanding Hellsing. And demands were shoved onto the shoulders of the undead slave, which could not resist the tug of the seal as grabbing baby hands waved in the darkness of the crib, a round face blubbering and reddening as tears made his cheeks glint. Thin curtains, more like a gentle veil, allowed the strong moonlight and contribution of the silver night clouds to partially illuminate the room where a rug lay over the floor, while a large chest was situated beneath the glowing window.
A portrait of the youthful Mrs. Van Hellsing hung from the wall above Arthur's crib, and not far from the frame there ticked an ornamented cuckoo clock. Even the mindless babe had a clock. The vampire's molten orbs shone brightly with the generous source of moonlight, in which it stood shadow-less. As always, the undead reflection could not exist, this time failing to appear in a mirror which was fixed to an armoire pushed up against the side of the room. As though the black, skeletal body were not before it, the mirror showed the opposite wall of the nursery, depicting the fireplace which was currently unlit and well-cleaned.
With the little baby, clothed in yet another infant dress, perceiving the introduction of a person into his vicinity, someone who must take notice of his unhappiness, he bawled and shrieked, squirming as his gums ached with the progression of what would be Arthur's sixth baby tooth. The glossy shimmer of a motionless rocking horse was glimpsed as the Vampire Alucard sought an object which it might, allowably, stuff into the noisy infant Master's mouth.
A painted giraffe was the best object the impatient vampire could find, so it was plucked from a toy which resembled a biblical ark. The degraded being of Count Dracula reached down into the crib of the wailing Hellsing infant to insert the hard toy between the tender gums.
Arthur Hellsing did not accept the giraffe. He screamed with it lying over his tongue, drool slick and ample enough to help slide the long necked object into his tiny throat. As a precaution, the undead hand took hold of the toy once more to avoid allowing the infant Master to choke. The giraffe slipped this way and that, attaining an impressive coating of drool as it was maneuvered about in the shrieking mouth to encourage the babe's interest. Arthur's hidden baby legs were brought up and kicked angrily in unison, as fists hit the sheet on which Arthur was lying.
Having no effect, fangs were momentarily visible within a displeased scowl, and the other end of the giraffe was offered experimentally. Apparently tired of the offensive gesture, baby Arthur was determined to show the vampire exactly what he was interested in, and the chubby waving hands caught onto the vampire's white glove, quite visible in the gloom, and he bit the Vampire Alucard's finger – then refused to release it.
Yes, the Hellsing infant wanted something to chew on, and the cold dead hand was found to be exactly what he now desired, and nothing would make Arthur give the finger up.
Alucard could not touch Master Van Hellsing's baby. It could not unhook the drooling baby jaws. The giraffe was removed and then held in the vampire's free hand, as it mentally approached the problem it had suddenly fallen into. In the hallway the steps of an exhausted father were heard approaching the nursery, but there was nothing that the inhibited creature could do for itself. In this way, Van Hellsing found the Vampire Alucard in this compromising position.
As it was late and the man was tired, the quiet with which he assessed the scene from the doorway provided nothing that the vampire could use to predict what its fate might be. The clock ticked on the wall as Mrs. Abraham Van Hellsing stared out the veiled window from her frame, and between Van Hellsing and the clock, wholly ignored by the portrait before it, the Vampire Alucard waited with an arm extended into the crib, and its glove held firmly by the baby who gnawed and sucked on the side of the cold finger contentedly.
Abraham Van Hellsing watched to determine whether there was a threat or some other worrisome deviance he might detect, or perhaps he had stumbled upon a pattern of nightly behavior the monster might have hidden from him. But how? And what exactly had he come upon in this moment?
An explanation for the arrangement, which should have come sooner, was offered by the low voice of the dead being, which was at risk of an unknown category of punishment.
"I'm bitten."
The weighted phrase bore much darker, grimmer connotations within the Hellsing Organization, yet in this reversal of roles, the dreaded announcement was left blunted and muffled in Van Hellsing's baffled ears.
Hellsing left the door, striding forward to look into the crib and see exactly what the monster's predicament was. The glove and Arthur's determination to keep the hand for himself, were both observed. But then descended the disquieting storm, as revulsion whipped through the mildness of the event. The past use and purpose of the gloves were brought to mind, where they had been, and on what they were fitted. Already, these thoughts had been known to the Vampire Alucard, which dispersed a few, potentially, self-preserving words.
"For the matter of the glove, they are both sterile. Bloodless – without exception. There is no threat, but the fact that I have not managed to detach him. So that he seems likely at this time to become a permanent appendage, which I do not wish to acquire."
The flame of outrage that had burned so tremendously for that first instant, with the fuel Van Hellsing's temper could provide, was doused by the vampire's words, aided by Hellsing's own fatigue and the demon's demonstrated powerlessness. The exact statement – the reassurance or the humor – which had been responsible for the favorable outcome was difficult to determine. And certainly, the vampire expected to be questioned in the future.
But for now, Van Hellsing reached into the crib to separate the vampire from his whimpering and then distressed son. Arthur rocked and kicked his covered feet as he fussed. Quite abruptly, the thwarted Hellsing infant, who was mortified by this unexpected defeat, then screeched with a volume that further excused the vampire as Abraham was forced to invest several minutes, which stretched into a near hour, of comforting, patting, and rocking to quiet the screaming baby. The Vampire Alucard was seen slipping away into the next room, where it was then assumed to begin its return to the cell – as was the case. This required the Vampire Alucard to descend into the subcutaneous netherworld in which the Hellsing scientists operated on un-anesthetized half-ling vampires and their malformed fledglings. Amidst the cries of a very young and newly caught fledgling which resounded through the funneling, arched passageways in the Hellsing underworld, the once-King retired to its lowly cell to await the morning, which would bring with it the preferable state of unconscious slumber.
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to be continued