CHAPTER 7
A/N – Hello my dear readers! Well, to keep it short for once with the tedious author notes, it's finally time to put my money where my mouth is... if you get my meaning. However, the whole 'scene' came out much longer than I'd thought, so it will be in two parts… So, if you haven't given up on this story yet, here it is. Enjoy ;)
The old carriage rattled a bit onto the unpaved road covered in frozen lumps of mud. Alfred gazed out the window from time to time, but even though it was only late afternoon the cloud-laden sky was quite dark. He had yet to see the small town located in the proximity of Braginski's parish house and couldn't wait for them to leave the black, leafless forest behind. The blond looked down at his clothes again – the bishop had made him wear a set of simple black robes, fit for a country priest and which could comfortably accommodate his pistols underneath. But the American could tell there was something wrong with them, maybe it was that he'd never worn full black before or... 'It's the face' Arthur had pointed out 'you don't look like a priest, not even a novice'. 'Yeah? And what do I look like?''Like a hired gunman in a poor disguise.' At which point the Russian had gently intervened and put an end to the dispute by stating that neither priests nor hired gunmen really looked in any particular way.
On the worn seat opposite, the vampire sat sulking again, wrapped in a long black woolen coat purported to conceal his lack of adequate clothing for a supposedly wealthy young man. A little top hat - equally black - completed his outfit which contrasted with and complimented his fair complexion more than just a little bit. He looked tired though, being pulled from his sleep at such an hour and Alfred knew he'd needed quite a bit of rest after the brothers had worked to remove the silver needles from his body. He shouldn't have been in pain anymore, but the idea of having his powers restrained by Alfred probably annoyed the hell out of him, hence the rudeness from earlier and the current gloomy expression.
"Do you still think I look like a hired gunman?" the taller blond asked, not so much as to continue the argument from before, but as to take his mind off things to come. "Where did you get that idea, anyway? No one can see my guns, after all."
"Yes. Like I said, it's your face. "Arthur replied stubbornly, glancing out the window and refusing to meet his gaze. "It looks suspicious."
Suspicious? Alfred blinked a couple of times, then scowled. "And how would you know what the people in town will think of me? You've never even been in town – Father Braginski told me how your uncle kept you locked in his castle all your life!"
He knew he'd hit in full when the green-eyed blond's face fell suddenly, his eyes going wide with some unseen horror, but it all lasted for a mere split-second. "That's ridiculous, of course he didn't 'keep me locked in his castle'," Arthur said bluntly, sticking his nose up. "And don't think you know anything about my life! What's it to you anyway?"
"Maybe it's because you make such a fuss about being dead. A lot of people are dead, you know?"
But the vampire decided to ignore him this time and very soon the American's attention was drawn to the view as they finally entered the town. He stared in wonder at the houses of rather unfamiliar architecture and at the people going about their business on the narrow, cobblestoned streets, dressed in foreign garments the like of which he'd never seen before. It was a small town indeed, nested between two hills and it looked quite colorful and animated, a pleasant change from the relatively grim past couple of weeks.
Alfred couldn't help a smile at the thought, before noticing the vampire's frown as the latter stubbornly stared in his own lap, refusing to look at anything. A pang of guilt made his stomach cringe at the thought he'd offended-… no, he'd positively hurt the other boy, and before the carriage left the town behind again and they reached their destination, he'd almost made up his mind to apologize. Almost.
Roderich Edelstein's former dwelling was located on one of the hills towering over the town, foreboding in its size and peculiarity. But even after so much time, the mansion looked nothing short of impressive. The bricks had blackened and countless ivy strains had crept up the walls, like the embrace of a thousand dark skeletal arms, the wooden shutters covering the windows were rotten and some broken, grass and weeds had grown on the front steps and on outer windowsills. There also was a large terrace on the side, the top and sides covered by a beautifully decorated glass awning, but now the glass was dirty and broken in places, the iron wrought frames in the shape of sinuous grapevines eaten by rust. And still, despite its eerie and decrepit air, it still looked majestic and it reminded Alfred of some of the rich buildings he'd seen back in France.
But he could not waste time with such useless thoughts – the blond turned back to the carriage, throwing an inquisitive glance at his companion. Arthur had gotten out of it eventually and simply stood there, with his arms crossed, a clear scowl on his face. Behind him, down in the valley, the town unfolded in its entire cheerful, simple splendor under the pale afternoon sun and the American chewed on his bottom lip nervously, reminded of their earlier talk.
"You know, I was thinking… if we finish quickly, we might… I mean I might let you have a look around…" he said in a low voice, motioning towards the view.
The vampire's frown deepened, morphing into an almost openly hurt expression for a fleeting moment. "Look at what?" he retorted sharply, green eyes narrowed.
"Well around town, actually. If you've never-"
Arthur snorted loudly, before he could finish the sentence. "As if there were anything worth seeing! It's just a shit town!" His pale lips were pressed for a second as he inhaled sharply, blinking rapidly and looking away. "Now if you'd stop wasting our time."
God, he's like a stubborn child…and I only wanted to help. Alfred couldn't help shaking his head, sighing, but fortunately the smaller blond had already walked past him, towards the mansion entrance, digging in his coat pocket while he muttered something unintelligible.
"Disgusting! What a shit house! Has he lost his mind?! Thinking we could pretend to want to buy this dump!" the American heard him grumbling under his breath as he drew closer after dismissing the driver and watching the carriage start back down the hill slope towards the town. He rather thought it was a bad idea to have to walk all the way back on their return, but the man would not wait for them under any circumstances. It had been trouble enough for the bishop to convince him to take them to the place everyone thought was cursed and haunted by evil spirits.
In the meantime Arthur was still struggling with the lock which was obviously rusted on the inside, rendering the key they'd been given quite useless. Eventually, the Englishman lost his patience entirely and slammed his boot into the door – rather lightly as to not send it flying inside – and it swung open with a loud creak, disturbing ancient cobwebs and tearing up a few dried ivy strains. He then stopped, thoughtful, staring at the patch of light newly made on the checkered marble floor, now covered by a thick layer of dust and random dry leaves carried inside by the wind.
"What is it?"
The dirty-blond boy peeked inside too, taking in what was visible at a first glance. "There are no fresh traces of footsteps…" he stated, brushing past Arthur and making his way into the large hallway at the entrance. His eager gaze swept about the place - a crystal chandelier hung above, matted by dust and cobwebs, in front there was a broad staircase leading to the first and only floor and on the sides tall, sumptuous double doors opened to what once had been elegant drawing rooms. Alfred stared around in wonder, unable to help imagining how beautiful all these things must have looked once, when clean or polished. His steps carried him to the right and the American wandered into the vast room, squinting a bit in the dim light barely filtering through the cracks and holes in the closed shutters. Glancing at the large mantelpiece he suddenly felt the cold and rubbed his upper arms heartily a few times.
"What are you doing?" The vampire had accidentally leaned against the doorframe and now was hastily dusting off his shoulder. "He's not here."
The taller blond nodded. "I was thinking the same… it doesn't look like there's been anyone in here in ages…" he agreed, a bit sad at the thought that they had no reason to explore the mansion some more.
"Let's see what's upstairs," the Englishman said, looking up the staircase and his gaze resting for a moment upon the coat of arms on display on the wall where the stairs split in two different flights, to the left and to the right.
"But what could be-" Alfred hurried to catch up, regretfully leaving the beautiful drawing room behind. "If there's nothing here, not a trace, then what…" He paused curtly, frowning. Maybe it was a trap?
The green-eyed boy went up the stairs with light steps, glancing around carefully. His scowl had disappeared and now he simply appeared curious, if vaguely intrigued. He decided to go up to the left, without bothering to see if the other was following. At the end of the stairs there was a long corridor, but it was sunken in darkness.
"Strange, the smell of mold and dust is barely perceptible in here," Arthur observed, sniffing discreetly and peering along the corridor with several doors on the right side. He looked down at his feet, where his boot had stopped at the edge of a carpet. Kneeling slowly, he fingered the thick fabric, scowling again. "What the hell? This is rather new… and clean."
The American cringed, suddenly alert, his hands flying down to his two weapons as the other stood up and advanced, opening the first door. Weird enough, it was pitch dark inside, without a single beam of light. He heard the vampire tsking softly and his light steps as he disappeared inside, followed by some displeased grumbling.
"What are you doing in there?! Arthur!"
Alfred jumped, startled and squinted as the room was lit suddenly by a multitude of candles which apparently the vampire had lit by repeated snaps of his fingers. His breath hitched as he looked at the spacious living quarters, tastefully furnished with elegant sofas and armchairs placed upon a lush Persian carpet. Immediately he saw why there had been no light breaking in from the outside – the windows were completely covered by thick velvet curtains, apparently in that very purpose. Everything was perfectly kept and there was no dust anywhere. Not good….
Arthur now stood by a large piano placed in a corner, studying it with an unreadable expression. Then he sat down on the stool and lifted the polished lid, before lightly running his index fingers over a few random keys.
"Not even a bit out of tune… hm. I'd say someone still plays at it." The green-eyed blond then ran his hand some more on the smooth surface on top of the instrument, as if in a bizarre caress. "Very well kept and not a speck of dust… someone is very fond of it, I think." He sighed.
The taller blond drew closer, curiously observing the rather unfamiliar instrument. It very remotely resembled the large pipe organ he'd seen in their church back in France, but the sound was completely different. "Do you like it?"
The Englishman snorted bitterly. "My uncle wanted me to play so he got me a tutor. He would always hit my hands with a long, thin stick every time I made the tiniest mistake. The backs of my fingers used to be so full of wounds that I wondered how come they didn't fall off or something."
Alfred's gaze darted involuntarily towards the vampire's pale, dainty hands now resting sheepishly in his lap. The milky skin was smooth like porcelain, unblemished.
"Your fingers are perfect," he blurted out without thinking.
"Yes… now that I'm dead, everything is perfect." Arthur murmured almost inaudibly, moving to replace the lid over the piano's keys.
The other boy could only bite his lip at this awkwardly, not finding any words to say, and quickly averted his gaze. His eyes landed on the large painting hanging right above the marble mantelpiece somewhere to his left and became immediately glued to it. It was a portrait in natural size of a man – the kind of thing he'd never seen before – and the depiction was so vivid that he could swear the man was going to start moving or speaking, or even step out of the frame anytime now.
It was the portrait of a young man with very black hair, fashionably ruffled a bit and dark blue eyes behind thin, gold-rimmed spectacles. His skis was as pale as the finest porcelain, contrasting with the midnight-blue velvet coat he wore, complimented by delicate silver embroideries around the collar and the hem of his sleeves. Yet despite his obvious beauty and elegance, the man had a stiff, rigid air, from the formal posture of his body to the stern look on his face and his eyes… The American squinted and took a step closer, paying close attention on how the candlelight reflected off the dry, finely cracked oil, in an attempt to figure out what was about those eyes that bothered him.
There is something odd about him…He took a step to the side, then another one and blinked. No, he couldn't have gone mad all the sudden or his own eyes to deceive him like this! No, Alfred was sure, the man was watching him.
"My God!" he murmured, still unable to free himself from the evil spell of those sapphire orbs.
Arthur, who appeared to have fallen into melancholy, rapidly snapped out of it and – having quickly read his companion's mind - rolled his eyes. "It's a bloody painting, Jones. Of course it's not looking at you!"
The dirty-blond swallowed and fought to turn around, away from the sight. "I-It's Roderich Edelstein, isn't it? He… um… he was quite young, wasn't he?" he pointed the obvious. "W-when he died, I mean."
"Indeed, I believe this is our man and yes, he was much younger than Erzsebet," the vampire confirmed, standing at last and drawing closer to observe the painting. "I suppose he appreciated experience in a woman. Or something…"
"How can you say this, so… coldly?" Suddenly the taller blond's temper flared again, reminded of the apparent indifference of everyone else to the gravity of this situation and which irked him to no end. "He's dead! One way or the other… He and his poor wife and his servants – all slaughtered in their home! They were innocent people! Do you not care at all?!" he nearly shouted.
Green eyes widened in genuine surprise at this and for a moment Arthur seemed to be simply choking with indignation. His mouth opened, but all that came out was a loud breath, before he promptly turned his back on the American and walked away a few paces, hands clasped behind his back and fingers twitching nervously.
"How the hell can you say that?! How can you pity him?!" the Englishman spat eventually. "Were you not told what he was like? And… he's dead you say. Well guess what, everyone dies, but at least he had a life, while he had it! He lived a lush life in Vienna, he studied music, he went to dances and parties, he went hunting, he had lovers and… and he was free!" Arthur paused, suddenly beginning to choke in sobs and his eyes filled with tears. "If I had a lover, I would be… ah… grateful!" He paused again, breathing hard, sniffing and hastily wiping his cheeks and his nose with the back of his hand, with little effect as tears continued to spill and slide down his face. "And this man you pity had countless women and he ditched them all like broken toys and he bloody brought this upon himself and his wife and his servants when he kicked the wrong one to the curb! His wife was an innocent victim, his servants were innocent victims, but not him!"
The apprentice looked back at the painting, who now looked down at him arrogantly, appearing to mock him even and scowled. He would not admit it, but the Englishman's words had stirred some things inside of him, things he'd stuffed down years ago and which now came up again, to eat at him with renewed strength. 'He was free'. Indeed, during his life Roderich Edelstein had been a free man, with a family, a name and a status, not an orphaned child stuck with his insane uncle or a bastard shunned by his own blood and forced to become a dog of the Church.
Alfred's fists clenched to his sides and he shook his head, trying to break free from these poisonous thoughts. "Come on, Arthur, I think we should-"
He stopped shortly when the vampire, who had collapsed on a loveseat still crying softy sat up, his eyes wide and alert, staring at the door. "There's someone in here." he murmured, his body tense like a bow as he slowly crawled off the seat and made his way back to his companion, gripping his arm.
"But you said he wasn't here!" the American protested weakly as Arthur dragged him away through the communicating doors leading deeper inside the house.
"It's not a vampire."
To be continued
A/N – 200 points for you (and a review to your story of choice if you're an author) if you guess who it is, based on what has been disclosed so far in the story ;)