And so, after much ado, we come at last to the Rondo of Blood storyline. :) Now Olrox is really in the thick of it, eh? He's in the big leagues... Tch! Now I'll have to look up the names of all those stupid women who got themselves captured...
##
"Checkmate."
Olrox smiled as Torio, grumbling heartily, tipped over his king. The tengu had been introduced to chess two weeks ago, and was disgusted that he hadn't mastered it yet. He had no qualms about making sure Olrox was aware of this.
"What an idiotic waste of time this is. It's all luck, obviously." He glared down at the chessboard in a huff. Olrox was about to reply, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. Sighing and crossing his study, he opened the door to admit the skeleton waiting outside. Meanwhile, Torio studied the chess pieces, trying to see what it was that Olrox kept doing to beat him.
The skeleton bowed. "Good evening, Master Olrox."
"Good evening," Olrox replied curtly. When the skeleton didn't go on, he raised an eyebrow. "Yes? Did you need something?"
Jumping a bit, the skeleton bowed again. "Beg pardon, Master; I'm very sorry. Master Dracula wishes to see you."
Olrox's other eyebrow rose to join the first. He hadn't exchanged more than three words with his elder for months. 'I wonder what this is about.' It couldn't be anything bad, since Olrox had been, grudgingly, doing everything he was supposed to in his work. His own section of the castle, especially, had been running like clockwork. Apologizing briefly to Torio, Olrox left the tengu to mull over the chessboard and followed the skeleton out into the maze of corridors and rooms. For all the time Olrox had lived here, it was still all too easy to get lost and end up who knows where.
Vlad was reading from the same leather bound book, in the same chair, in the same dingy old study, as he had been on Olrox's first visit there. Olrox found himself wondering whether Vlad was actually reading, or if it was all a sort of habitual ceremony that he'd carried on for years. 'It would explain why the book is so tattered.' The skeleton guide, knowing what was expected of him, silently left the room, shutting the door after him. Olrox stood with his hands behind his back, waiting to be noticed. 'Of course, he knows I'm here now; he heard me in the hallway...'
Without looking up, Vlad said quietly, "Sit down."
A little offended, but in no mood to start a verbal (or physical) battle, Olrox complied. He didn't trust himself to speak with anything approaching deference, so he waited for Vlad to say more.
Eventually, Vlad deigned to make eye contact, leaning forward in his chair slightly. Olrox suppressed a shiver. He'd forgotten how unnerving his elder's gaze could be. He clasped his hands in his lap, lest he start fidgeting.
"I expect you've been feeling rather left in the dark these past few months," Vlad said blandly, as though he'd just chatted with Olrox about the weather yesterday.
Olrox tried to mask his confusion. "Da, domnule. I thought that perhaps you had forgotten about me." He chanced a weak smile. He never knew whether his occasional glib remarks would be well received.
Fortunately, Vlad either didn't notice or didn't care. "In a small dungeon that you'll be led to shortly, there are three women and a child. I'm entrusting you with their welfare." Olrox opened his mouth to voice a question, but Vlad silenced him with a look. "You'll know all you need to know; be patient. Now, regarding your charges... I want you to make sure that they are kept relatively comfortable, and, make sure you heed this, Olrox," Vlad said, "you are to ensure that they are harassed by no one. That includes you. Not so much as a spider is to upset them in their rooms. Is that understood?"
Olrox nodded. He hesitated momentarily, then asked, "Domnule, a question?"
Vlad leaned back and steepled his fingers. "Yes, what is it?"
Rolling his eyes to the floor, as though searching for inspirations, Olrox finally asked, "What is the purpose of this?"
Vlad looked deadpan for a while; Olrox was certain he'd said the wrong thing again. 'Oh no, what have I done now?' Then, Vlad started laughing, making Olrox jump nearly clear out of his seat. Standing, Vlad held out a hand to help up his startled vampire. "Only you, copil, would have the nerve to ask such a blunt question of me." He shrugged. "I have a soft heart for women. They remind me of my living days, and brighten the castle with their voices, their scent, their loveliness." He grinned wolfishly down at Olrox.
Olrox wasn't convinced. He'd seen, and killed, quite a few women in the dungeons, and they didn't seem to be treated even marginally better than the men. He met Vlad's grin with his own cynical smirk. "A vase of flowers or a caged canary would do as much."
Chuckling again, Vlad enveloped Olrox in a quick embrace. "You must always have the last word, copil. Come, let us walk for a while. I'm sure the months have given us both many topics to discuss, and I miss conversing with you."
All the way to these special dungeons, which Olrox had never been to before, he wondered about Vlad's attitude during their meeting. Olrox wandered along silently behind his guide, trying to figure out the reason for his elder's ingratiating behavior. To say that it was confusing was a gross understatement.
Still musing on Vlad's violent mood swings, Olrox came back to himself in time to narrowly avoid running into his guide, who had stopped and was now looking at Olrox with what the vampire assumed was a concerned expression. The skeleton knew better than to comment, however, merely handing over a ring of keys with a muttered explanation. He sighed inaudibly in relief when Olrox dismissed him and he was free to leave. It was common knowledge throughout the castle's lower creatures that while the count's "offspring" was far less demanding than Dracula, he was every bit as volatile.
Sighing and wishing that he knew what Vlad was up to, Olrox selected one of the numbered keys and searched the corridor for its corresponding door. Finding it, Olrox unfastened the lock and carefully and gradually opened the door, trying to keep its aged hinges from creaking too loudly. Shutting the heavy door behind him, Olrox waited for a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room and glanced around, looking for one of his charges. The room seemed unoccupied. There was no fire in the small hearth, and the bed was made. Holding still, Olrox inhaled deeply; of the many odors present there was a definite human scent in the air, but it could easily be coming from the bedclothes or furniture, where numberless humans had touched them. Holding his breath, straining his ears, Olrox thought he could hear a faint murmur from the far corner of the room. Venturing a few steps into the room, Olrox heard the creak of a floorboard under his feet, and then a sharp intake of breath as he saw a woman jump up from behind the bed. She immediately hurled a vase at him; Olrox sidestepped it automatically and it smashed against the far wall, painfully loud compared to the room's previous silence.
Olrox's first instinct was to retaliate, but seeing the human's scared but determined face he remembered his orders and remained motionless. He wondered briefly how he should address this woman. She had thrown a vase at his head, after all. Fumbling, he tried his level best not to seem threatening, thankful that he'd already eaten tonight.
"I'm not going to harm you," he said, making sure she could hear him. At the sound, the woman cringed farther back into her corner, her eyes darting about for some other weapon. Olrox attempted to catch her gaze. "My name is Trandafir Olrox, and my master has simply ordered me to keep you safe and well; please calm yourself." As an afterthought, he added, "I've fed already. I won't so much as touch you." He wasn't sure if that remark had had the effect he'd wanted, but the woman stood up a bit straighter and glared.
Olrox went on, still using what he hoped were soothing tones. "I'm going to light a lamp, so you can see me better. Please don't throw anything else." He heard a soft "harrumph" from the corner that told him that she would throw whatever she wanted, whenever she felt like it. Crossing the floor to some shelves, he took down an old lantern and set it on the room's one small table.
Over the months, Olrox had seen Vlad occasionally set things, and sometimes other creatures, alight, or simply create a fireball out of nowhere. He was puzzled as to how this worked, but had found with a little experimentation that he could manage a few like tricks himself. Fire was beyond him, but Olrox discovered that he could build up a sort of lightning in himself, and had practiced with it until he could more or less control its strength and direction. For the most part, he'd done this to ensure that he didn't accidentally damage anything, or anyone, important. Pinching the lantern's wick between his thumb and forefinger, he let a slight charge pass between them, heating the wick until it flickered into flames. Blowing gently on his singed fingers, Olrox replaced the lantern's glass cover and smiled at the woman, who was still backed into the far corner.
In the brighter light her features were more easily seen. Her tall, thin frame, stick straight red hair, and gray eyes made for an attractive, if not beautiful, overall appearance. And the scowl she wore was absolutely frigid.
"You stay away from me, you devil!" the woman warned, brandishing the first thing that came to hand, which was, consequentially, a fire iron. "Don't think I don't know how to deal with you!"
Fighting to keep a straight face, Olrox sat down at one of the two chairs at the table, crossing his legs and clasping his hands over one knee. Keeping still, his mind raced, trying to come up with some way to get the woman to put down the fire iron and stop acting like he was going to go for her throat at any second. He could just take her weapon away, bodily; that would be easy enough. 'But that would just make her more angry...' He didn't think that any amount of coaxing would have much effect, either. She didn't seem the type who would put up with anything vaguely condescending.
"What say we both of us drop the show of bravado, hmm?" he said, deciding to just speak whatever came to mind. "We both know that you can't hurt me with that scrap of metal. I'd have crossed the room and snapped your neck before you'd even think to swing." True, putting a little fear of God into her couldn't hurt. The woman's glare became icier, if possible, but she lowered the fire iron and stood up straight. Olrox smiled and nodded once in acknowledgement. "Now, perhaps you'd like to talk to me, so I can be on my way and out of yours?"
The woman thought for a moment, then said, "What do you want?"
'Well, now we're getting somewhere...' Olrox almost showed his teeth, but thought better of it. The acerbic comment that was on the tip of his tongue escaped, however. "Not you, for starters. If you could tell me your name and when you arrived here, I'd be obliged."
The woman's fingers flexed on her makeshift weapon. "I got here yesterday, for all I now; there aren't any damn windows in here. And I'm Annette Renard, and my fiancé will kill every last one of you."
Olrox shook his head. "I'm sure he will, domnisoara Renard. Now, do you need anything? Hungry? Bored? Thirsty?" His eyes lit on the empty hearth. "Cold? I could have a fire lit, if you like."
Annette didn't look as though she was about to admit anything, so Olrox got up with a tiny shrug of his shoulders, and left.
The next charges were uneventful. Two women shared a slightly larger room than the first, and both were sound asleep. There was no fire in the hearth, once again, and Olrox could see how the two humans huddled together under several quilts.* Olrox took note of this, and closed and relocked the door.
One key and one door remained. 'He put the child in a room alone? Surely he's not that thoughtless...' This door was quieter than the others, so Olrox made a little noise with his footsteps so as not to surprise his charge. Instead of sleeping or hiding, the child, a little girl, was curled in a tatty old armchair by the unfailingly empty fireplace, wrapped in a quilt from the bed and looking at a picture book. Olrox couldn't see much of her, only her feet, one small white hand, and a face somewhat like Annette's peeking out from the quilt, framed by fluffy blonde hair. Somehow, someone had lighted the lantern on the mantelpiece earlier.
"Hello." Olrox said gently, shutting the door and sitting on the bed.
"Buna, domnule," she answered, her voice quivering just a little. "Are you going to bite me?"
Olrox couldn't hold back a bark of laughter, but saw the girl's eyes widen and regained control over himself. "No," he said, "No, I'm not. You're too young for my conscience." 'Though in another year, you wouldn't be...' She didn't need to know that, though. He went on. "I'm only here to see if you need anything."
The girl regarded Olrox warily. "Do you have hot chocolate here?" She asked the question as though she wasn't really expecting an answer in the affirmative.
Olrox watched her as she fiddled with the pages of her book. He couldn't help but admire the audacity of the two humans he'd met, especially this child. She was looking straight at him, worrying her lower lip with her teeth, and Olrox realized that his mind had wandered. "I'll see what I can do," he said. "Miss..."
"Renard," the girl offered. "Maria."
Olrox smiled. "Ah, so you're Domnisoara Annette's sister?"
Maria nodded. "Da, domnule."
Olrox lowered his voice in a conspiratorial tone. "Yes, I've met your sister already. She nearly broke my nose."
Trying to keep a straight face, Maria asked politely how that had happened.
Olrox sighed. "She threw a vase at me. She has very good aim, I'll give her that. I suppose it's true, what they say about red hair."
Maria giggled. "Annette's a big hothead..."
"Perhaps I should wear a helmet next time I have to speak with her," Olrox mused, stroking his chin thoughtfully. This earned another chortle. 'She really is fearless, isn't she? Or simple, but...' On that note, Olrox bowed and took his leave of the child, locking her in again and setting off in search of a skeleton, or anyone else who could carry a message, for that matter.
A few minutes later, a bewildered skeleton was trying to comprehend the fact that Master Olrox was requesting from the kitchens, of all places, a mug of hot chocolate, three glasses of wine, four bowls of mutton sour soup, and a loaf of bread. Not that these items were difficult to obtain; there were plenty of the castle's in habitants that needed to eat, and, more importantly, preferred their food cooked. But why Trandafir would need food, and so much of it, was out of the skeleton's understanding.
"But, Master, why-" He was silenced with a look from the vampire.
"I don't believe I spoke to you with the intention of starting a debate. We have guests. Go get what I told you to get, put it on a tray, and bring it up here. Now!" he barked, sending the skeleton clattering down the hallway. If it had had a heart anymore, it would have been racing inside the skeleton's chest.
Olrox was leaning against the wall in the corridor, studying the stress fractures in the stonework, when the skeleton shuffled into view, heavily burdened by a tray from the nearest kitchens. Olrox was rather impressed at the uncommonly strong bundle of bones, since their lack of muscles made most skeletons pitifully weak.
Relieving the skeleton of its load, Olrox dismissed him in no uncertain terms and reached into his pocket with his free hand for his key ring. He's considered at first letting someone else see to feeding his charges, but he'd had second thoughts, and understandably so. He hadn't forgotten his reaction at seeing his first animate remains, let alone all the other grotesque things that he could have employed for this task. 'No, best if I do it myself. At least then I can be sure that they're not harmed.'
With the intention of getting the worst over with quickly, Olrox unlocked Annette's door first. He knocked first and announced himself, which served two purposes. First, it assured Annette that he wasn't someone, or something, far nastier, and second, it was a sort of implied warning to her not to try anything.
"Back so soon, vampire?" the woman growled. "What now?"
Reminding himself to keep his own "hothead" in check, Olrox set down the tray and removed from it a bowl, spoon, mug, and plate and set them on the table in front of one of the chairs. Wordlessly, he ripped off what he guessed to be about one fourth of the bread loaf and set it on the plate, then ladled soup into the bowl. He also filled the mug with some red wine from a thick glass bottle he'd found on the tray next to the soup tureen.
Annette was less than impressed. "Doing all this yourself, are you? And here I was thinking that you were someone important."
Olrox gave her a smirk as he lifted a page out of one of the more rotted books on the bookcase and lit it in the lantern. "Of course I'm important. I'm a vampire, aren't I?" He cupped his hand around the burning page, walking it to the cold wood in the hearth. Setting the paper under some of the smaller logs, he blew on it gently and prayed it wouldn't go out. The last thing he needed in front of this woman was an embarrassment. "I could have sent someone else, but I don't think you would have enjoyed that."
The woman perched on the edge of her bed. "And I'm perfectly thrilled to see you again, leech."
'Thank you, Lord.' With the fire going more or less steadily, Olrox stood and turned to face Annette. "You should be, woman. I'm the only soul standing between you and every crawling, flying, slithering thing that lives here. And I'm the one who remembers that you need to eat." He stepped closer to the scowling woman, bringing his face inches away from her. "And my name is not 'devil,' nor is it 'vampire' or 'leech.' You will address me as Domn Trandfir, or not at all. Am I understood, domnisoara?"
Annette met his stare for some time, but eventually lowered her eyes, muttering, "Da." Olrox noted that her fingers were digging into her mattress, as though they were imagining themselves wrapped around a certain someone's throat. Not wanting to press the matter further, however, Olrox picked up the tray and left, a little proud of himself that he'd kept relatively calm.
The two women in the next room were still asleep, so Olrox set out their meals, leaving the lid of the soup tureen covering the bowls to keep the heat in. After lighting a small fire in their hearth, he left again, quietly turning the key in the lock so as not to wake them.
Maria was up and looking at the bookshelf, still wrapped in her quilt, when Olrox entered her room. After exchanging brief greetings, Olrox busied himself with setting out her food, along with the mug of hot chocolate, over which some thoughtful person in the kitchens had placed an overturned bowl to hold in the steam. Maria sipped at the hot drink gratefully while she watched Olrox get a fire started. Olrox noted the book she'd half pulled out from among the old books. Reading the spine, he learned that it was a battered copy of 'Le Morte D'Arthur.'
"How old are you, Maria?" he asked, sitting down across from her at the table.
Maria set down her mug, got a spoonful of soup, and said, "Twelve, domnule," before eating it. She swallowed, then asked, "How old are you, domnule?"
Olrox smiled. The girl's boldness reminded him of his own sibling, in a way. 'Well, and Tatiana always wanted blonde hair.' "I am twenty."
Maria downed a few more spoonfuls of soup in silence. Olrox was glad that she liked it. He hadn't thought about food in months, and had just given the women things that he remembered liking when he still had use for them. 'To be honest, the smell is a bit nostalgic...' He'd tried eating once, about a month ago, just to see what would happen. He'd made himself gag, and what he had managed to swallow, he didn't keep down very long. His body as it was now would have none of that nonsense anymore.
"How old are you since you died?" Maria gazed over at a surprised vampire over her soup bowl, her spoon hovering over the surface.
Olrox was a little caught off guard by the candid question. "Twenty," he stammered, though he really wasn't quite sure of his age, now. Had his birthday passed, or was it later...?
Maria went back to eating. "Oh, so it just happened recently?" she commented conversationally, as though Olrox had come down with nothing less trivial that a head cold.
Olrox found himself asking a question of his own, but he wondered at the wisdom of it. "Why aren't you afraid of me, Maria?"
The girl licked a stray dribble of soup broth from the side of her mouth, and started on the bread. "I am afraid of you, domnule. But you haven't done anything bad to me yet, so I suppose...I suppose you aren't going to. I don't know." She shrugged. "You seem very nice to me. I was told vampires were lustful, greedy, sadistic, mindless monsters. And you're not like that at all, so far." She said all this as though she was sharing a tidbit of gossip.
One of Olrox's eyebrows found itself higher than the other. "Really? Who told you that?"
Maria looked up from her food for a moment. "My brother-in-law. Well," she corrected, "he'd not my brother-in-law yet. Not officially, but he will be." She took a sip of her hot chocolate. "His name's Belmont Richter. His family knows a lot about vampires and things like that. He's real smart. I asked him about vampires last summer, because a girl from my town was talking about them, and he told me all those things. I don't know, though. The way he talked about you, I pictured a cold, clammy, smelly, toothy, snarly, ugly thing. You're real friendly, and you're nice looking, except for being too pale. See? You even blushed some when I said you were nice looking. You're just like a person. So, I'm a little frightened, but not really frightened."
Olrox met her eyes. "Perhaps those things are what makes vampires so dangerous to people like you, Maria. However harmless I may seem, you are not safe with me. Don't trust me so easily, copil; I haven't earned it yet." Maria's face fell a little after that stern remark. She ate for a while in silence.
Regrouping rather speedily, Maria asked, quietly, "Domnule, why are the other women and I here?"
Olrox cajoled a small smile out of himself as he stood to leave. "I haven't the slightest notion. My master spoke of you all as though you were a bouquet of flowers he was using as decoration."
"Who's he? I never got to see him. I was asleep the whole way here."
'No harm in telling her. She'll find out within a day whether I do or not.' "Dracula," Olrox stated blandly.
"Oh," said Maria, looking down at her bowl. "In that case, Richter will come and take us home. You should meet him when he does come; I'll bet he'd like to meet you. I don't think he's ever met a real vampire before," she added, with a little touch of pride, because SHE had, "for all he knows so much about them. He'd probably like you."
Olrox rolled his eyes imperceptibly. "I somehow doubt that. I think I'll leave you to your rest now. It's getting very late; even I wouldn't turn down sleep in a short time." Opening the door, he was halted by another question.
"Domnule?"
He looked back over his shoulder. "Da?"
Maria sat back in her chair, closer to the heat of the fire. "What am I to call you?"
'Forgotten again.' Olrox bowed. "You may call me Olrox, domnisoara." And he left, making his way back to his own chambers, half-hoping that Torio was still there. Olrox's meetings with his charges would make an interesting story for the tengu, who was already a bit bored with life in the castle.
By the time Olrox reached his rooms, he was thankful that Torio had gone home. He hadn't noticed how tired he was. Looking out the window in his study, he saw the sun already fully above the horizon.
'Well,' he thought, through the warm fuzziness that the sunbeams were causing to weigh on him, 'that's...' He made it into his bedroom and fell onto his bed, out of the sun, and dozed off, leaving the thought unfinished.
##
*No, they aren't lesbians. Bear in mind that this story takes place in the late seventeenth century, when physical contact wasn't considered a big deal. Plus, it's frickin' freezing in that room...
domn-Mister
domnisoara-(missing its little squiggle thing under the 's') Miss
buna-(missing its little bow thing over the 'a') hello
All right, all right, so I gave Annette a new hair color. I'm sorry. Purple just isn't a color for hair back than. Sorry. I'm also sorry about this chapter taking so damn long (once again). I don't know what's wrong with me. Laziness, I'd wager. I'll do better next time. So, how about them there wimmen folk? I didn't have Olrox talk to the nun and the other broad, since they're sort of in the background, anyway. He might later. Richter will be arriving shortly, as well. Of course, I'll have a lot more fun with his character later, but that's a ways off yet. And what's up with Vlad, huh? It's like the poor guy's in the middle of vampire menopause, or something. Jeez... I never figured out why exactly he felt the need to just kidnap those women in the game. He didn't even bite them or anything... So you won't find out why, either. Not unless I think up a reason in the near future, that is. Need sleep...
##
"Checkmate."
Olrox smiled as Torio, grumbling heartily, tipped over his king. The tengu had been introduced to chess two weeks ago, and was disgusted that he hadn't mastered it yet. He had no qualms about making sure Olrox was aware of this.
"What an idiotic waste of time this is. It's all luck, obviously." He glared down at the chessboard in a huff. Olrox was about to reply, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. Sighing and crossing his study, he opened the door to admit the skeleton waiting outside. Meanwhile, Torio studied the chess pieces, trying to see what it was that Olrox kept doing to beat him.
The skeleton bowed. "Good evening, Master Olrox."
"Good evening," Olrox replied curtly. When the skeleton didn't go on, he raised an eyebrow. "Yes? Did you need something?"
Jumping a bit, the skeleton bowed again. "Beg pardon, Master; I'm very sorry. Master Dracula wishes to see you."
Olrox's other eyebrow rose to join the first. He hadn't exchanged more than three words with his elder for months. 'I wonder what this is about.' It couldn't be anything bad, since Olrox had been, grudgingly, doing everything he was supposed to in his work. His own section of the castle, especially, had been running like clockwork. Apologizing briefly to Torio, Olrox left the tengu to mull over the chessboard and followed the skeleton out into the maze of corridors and rooms. For all the time Olrox had lived here, it was still all too easy to get lost and end up who knows where.
Vlad was reading from the same leather bound book, in the same chair, in the same dingy old study, as he had been on Olrox's first visit there. Olrox found himself wondering whether Vlad was actually reading, or if it was all a sort of habitual ceremony that he'd carried on for years. 'It would explain why the book is so tattered.' The skeleton guide, knowing what was expected of him, silently left the room, shutting the door after him. Olrox stood with his hands behind his back, waiting to be noticed. 'Of course, he knows I'm here now; he heard me in the hallway...'
Without looking up, Vlad said quietly, "Sit down."
A little offended, but in no mood to start a verbal (or physical) battle, Olrox complied. He didn't trust himself to speak with anything approaching deference, so he waited for Vlad to say more.
Eventually, Vlad deigned to make eye contact, leaning forward in his chair slightly. Olrox suppressed a shiver. He'd forgotten how unnerving his elder's gaze could be. He clasped his hands in his lap, lest he start fidgeting.
"I expect you've been feeling rather left in the dark these past few months," Vlad said blandly, as though he'd just chatted with Olrox about the weather yesterday.
Olrox tried to mask his confusion. "Da, domnule. I thought that perhaps you had forgotten about me." He chanced a weak smile. He never knew whether his occasional glib remarks would be well received.
Fortunately, Vlad either didn't notice or didn't care. "In a small dungeon that you'll be led to shortly, there are three women and a child. I'm entrusting you with their welfare." Olrox opened his mouth to voice a question, but Vlad silenced him with a look. "You'll know all you need to know; be patient. Now, regarding your charges... I want you to make sure that they are kept relatively comfortable, and, make sure you heed this, Olrox," Vlad said, "you are to ensure that they are harassed by no one. That includes you. Not so much as a spider is to upset them in their rooms. Is that understood?"
Olrox nodded. He hesitated momentarily, then asked, "Domnule, a question?"
Vlad leaned back and steepled his fingers. "Yes, what is it?"
Rolling his eyes to the floor, as though searching for inspirations, Olrox finally asked, "What is the purpose of this?"
Vlad looked deadpan for a while; Olrox was certain he'd said the wrong thing again. 'Oh no, what have I done now?' Then, Vlad started laughing, making Olrox jump nearly clear out of his seat. Standing, Vlad held out a hand to help up his startled vampire. "Only you, copil, would have the nerve to ask such a blunt question of me." He shrugged. "I have a soft heart for women. They remind me of my living days, and brighten the castle with their voices, their scent, their loveliness." He grinned wolfishly down at Olrox.
Olrox wasn't convinced. He'd seen, and killed, quite a few women in the dungeons, and they didn't seem to be treated even marginally better than the men. He met Vlad's grin with his own cynical smirk. "A vase of flowers or a caged canary would do as much."
Chuckling again, Vlad enveloped Olrox in a quick embrace. "You must always have the last word, copil. Come, let us walk for a while. I'm sure the months have given us both many topics to discuss, and I miss conversing with you."
All the way to these special dungeons, which Olrox had never been to before, he wondered about Vlad's attitude during their meeting. Olrox wandered along silently behind his guide, trying to figure out the reason for his elder's ingratiating behavior. To say that it was confusing was a gross understatement.
Still musing on Vlad's violent mood swings, Olrox came back to himself in time to narrowly avoid running into his guide, who had stopped and was now looking at Olrox with what the vampire assumed was a concerned expression. The skeleton knew better than to comment, however, merely handing over a ring of keys with a muttered explanation. He sighed inaudibly in relief when Olrox dismissed him and he was free to leave. It was common knowledge throughout the castle's lower creatures that while the count's "offspring" was far less demanding than Dracula, he was every bit as volatile.
Sighing and wishing that he knew what Vlad was up to, Olrox selected one of the numbered keys and searched the corridor for its corresponding door. Finding it, Olrox unfastened the lock and carefully and gradually opened the door, trying to keep its aged hinges from creaking too loudly. Shutting the heavy door behind him, Olrox waited for a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room and glanced around, looking for one of his charges. The room seemed unoccupied. There was no fire in the small hearth, and the bed was made. Holding still, Olrox inhaled deeply; of the many odors present there was a definite human scent in the air, but it could easily be coming from the bedclothes or furniture, where numberless humans had touched them. Holding his breath, straining his ears, Olrox thought he could hear a faint murmur from the far corner of the room. Venturing a few steps into the room, Olrox heard the creak of a floorboard under his feet, and then a sharp intake of breath as he saw a woman jump up from behind the bed. She immediately hurled a vase at him; Olrox sidestepped it automatically and it smashed against the far wall, painfully loud compared to the room's previous silence.
Olrox's first instinct was to retaliate, but seeing the human's scared but determined face he remembered his orders and remained motionless. He wondered briefly how he should address this woman. She had thrown a vase at his head, after all. Fumbling, he tried his level best not to seem threatening, thankful that he'd already eaten tonight.
"I'm not going to harm you," he said, making sure she could hear him. At the sound, the woman cringed farther back into her corner, her eyes darting about for some other weapon. Olrox attempted to catch her gaze. "My name is Trandafir Olrox, and my master has simply ordered me to keep you safe and well; please calm yourself." As an afterthought, he added, "I've fed already. I won't so much as touch you." He wasn't sure if that remark had had the effect he'd wanted, but the woman stood up a bit straighter and glared.
Olrox went on, still using what he hoped were soothing tones. "I'm going to light a lamp, so you can see me better. Please don't throw anything else." He heard a soft "harrumph" from the corner that told him that she would throw whatever she wanted, whenever she felt like it. Crossing the floor to some shelves, he took down an old lantern and set it on the room's one small table.
Over the months, Olrox had seen Vlad occasionally set things, and sometimes other creatures, alight, or simply create a fireball out of nowhere. He was puzzled as to how this worked, but had found with a little experimentation that he could manage a few like tricks himself. Fire was beyond him, but Olrox discovered that he could build up a sort of lightning in himself, and had practiced with it until he could more or less control its strength and direction. For the most part, he'd done this to ensure that he didn't accidentally damage anything, or anyone, important. Pinching the lantern's wick between his thumb and forefinger, he let a slight charge pass between them, heating the wick until it flickered into flames. Blowing gently on his singed fingers, Olrox replaced the lantern's glass cover and smiled at the woman, who was still backed into the far corner.
In the brighter light her features were more easily seen. Her tall, thin frame, stick straight red hair, and gray eyes made for an attractive, if not beautiful, overall appearance. And the scowl she wore was absolutely frigid.
"You stay away from me, you devil!" the woman warned, brandishing the first thing that came to hand, which was, consequentially, a fire iron. "Don't think I don't know how to deal with you!"
Fighting to keep a straight face, Olrox sat down at one of the two chairs at the table, crossing his legs and clasping his hands over one knee. Keeping still, his mind raced, trying to come up with some way to get the woman to put down the fire iron and stop acting like he was going to go for her throat at any second. He could just take her weapon away, bodily; that would be easy enough. 'But that would just make her more angry...' He didn't think that any amount of coaxing would have much effect, either. She didn't seem the type who would put up with anything vaguely condescending.
"What say we both of us drop the show of bravado, hmm?" he said, deciding to just speak whatever came to mind. "We both know that you can't hurt me with that scrap of metal. I'd have crossed the room and snapped your neck before you'd even think to swing." True, putting a little fear of God into her couldn't hurt. The woman's glare became icier, if possible, but she lowered the fire iron and stood up straight. Olrox smiled and nodded once in acknowledgement. "Now, perhaps you'd like to talk to me, so I can be on my way and out of yours?"
The woman thought for a moment, then said, "What do you want?"
'Well, now we're getting somewhere...' Olrox almost showed his teeth, but thought better of it. The acerbic comment that was on the tip of his tongue escaped, however. "Not you, for starters. If you could tell me your name and when you arrived here, I'd be obliged."
The woman's fingers flexed on her makeshift weapon. "I got here yesterday, for all I now; there aren't any damn windows in here. And I'm Annette Renard, and my fiancé will kill every last one of you."
Olrox shook his head. "I'm sure he will, domnisoara Renard. Now, do you need anything? Hungry? Bored? Thirsty?" His eyes lit on the empty hearth. "Cold? I could have a fire lit, if you like."
Annette didn't look as though she was about to admit anything, so Olrox got up with a tiny shrug of his shoulders, and left.
The next charges were uneventful. Two women shared a slightly larger room than the first, and both were sound asleep. There was no fire in the hearth, once again, and Olrox could see how the two humans huddled together under several quilts.* Olrox took note of this, and closed and relocked the door.
One key and one door remained. 'He put the child in a room alone? Surely he's not that thoughtless...' This door was quieter than the others, so Olrox made a little noise with his footsteps so as not to surprise his charge. Instead of sleeping or hiding, the child, a little girl, was curled in a tatty old armchair by the unfailingly empty fireplace, wrapped in a quilt from the bed and looking at a picture book. Olrox couldn't see much of her, only her feet, one small white hand, and a face somewhat like Annette's peeking out from the quilt, framed by fluffy blonde hair. Somehow, someone had lighted the lantern on the mantelpiece earlier.
"Hello." Olrox said gently, shutting the door and sitting on the bed.
"Buna, domnule," she answered, her voice quivering just a little. "Are you going to bite me?"
Olrox couldn't hold back a bark of laughter, but saw the girl's eyes widen and regained control over himself. "No," he said, "No, I'm not. You're too young for my conscience." 'Though in another year, you wouldn't be...' She didn't need to know that, though. He went on. "I'm only here to see if you need anything."
The girl regarded Olrox warily. "Do you have hot chocolate here?" She asked the question as though she wasn't really expecting an answer in the affirmative.
Olrox watched her as she fiddled with the pages of her book. He couldn't help but admire the audacity of the two humans he'd met, especially this child. She was looking straight at him, worrying her lower lip with her teeth, and Olrox realized that his mind had wandered. "I'll see what I can do," he said. "Miss..."
"Renard," the girl offered. "Maria."
Olrox smiled. "Ah, so you're Domnisoara Annette's sister?"
Maria nodded. "Da, domnule."
Olrox lowered his voice in a conspiratorial tone. "Yes, I've met your sister already. She nearly broke my nose."
Trying to keep a straight face, Maria asked politely how that had happened.
Olrox sighed. "She threw a vase at me. She has very good aim, I'll give her that. I suppose it's true, what they say about red hair."
Maria giggled. "Annette's a big hothead..."
"Perhaps I should wear a helmet next time I have to speak with her," Olrox mused, stroking his chin thoughtfully. This earned another chortle. 'She really is fearless, isn't she? Or simple, but...' On that note, Olrox bowed and took his leave of the child, locking her in again and setting off in search of a skeleton, or anyone else who could carry a message, for that matter.
A few minutes later, a bewildered skeleton was trying to comprehend the fact that Master Olrox was requesting from the kitchens, of all places, a mug of hot chocolate, three glasses of wine, four bowls of mutton sour soup, and a loaf of bread. Not that these items were difficult to obtain; there were plenty of the castle's in habitants that needed to eat, and, more importantly, preferred their food cooked. But why Trandafir would need food, and so much of it, was out of the skeleton's understanding.
"But, Master, why-" He was silenced with a look from the vampire.
"I don't believe I spoke to you with the intention of starting a debate. We have guests. Go get what I told you to get, put it on a tray, and bring it up here. Now!" he barked, sending the skeleton clattering down the hallway. If it had had a heart anymore, it would have been racing inside the skeleton's chest.
Olrox was leaning against the wall in the corridor, studying the stress fractures in the stonework, when the skeleton shuffled into view, heavily burdened by a tray from the nearest kitchens. Olrox was rather impressed at the uncommonly strong bundle of bones, since their lack of muscles made most skeletons pitifully weak.
Relieving the skeleton of its load, Olrox dismissed him in no uncertain terms and reached into his pocket with his free hand for his key ring. He's considered at first letting someone else see to feeding his charges, but he'd had second thoughts, and understandably so. He hadn't forgotten his reaction at seeing his first animate remains, let alone all the other grotesque things that he could have employed for this task. 'No, best if I do it myself. At least then I can be sure that they're not harmed.'
With the intention of getting the worst over with quickly, Olrox unlocked Annette's door first. He knocked first and announced himself, which served two purposes. First, it assured Annette that he wasn't someone, or something, far nastier, and second, it was a sort of implied warning to her not to try anything.
"Back so soon, vampire?" the woman growled. "What now?"
Reminding himself to keep his own "hothead" in check, Olrox set down the tray and removed from it a bowl, spoon, mug, and plate and set them on the table in front of one of the chairs. Wordlessly, he ripped off what he guessed to be about one fourth of the bread loaf and set it on the plate, then ladled soup into the bowl. He also filled the mug with some red wine from a thick glass bottle he'd found on the tray next to the soup tureen.
Annette was less than impressed. "Doing all this yourself, are you? And here I was thinking that you were someone important."
Olrox gave her a smirk as he lifted a page out of one of the more rotted books on the bookcase and lit it in the lantern. "Of course I'm important. I'm a vampire, aren't I?" He cupped his hand around the burning page, walking it to the cold wood in the hearth. Setting the paper under some of the smaller logs, he blew on it gently and prayed it wouldn't go out. The last thing he needed in front of this woman was an embarrassment. "I could have sent someone else, but I don't think you would have enjoyed that."
The woman perched on the edge of her bed. "And I'm perfectly thrilled to see you again, leech."
'Thank you, Lord.' With the fire going more or less steadily, Olrox stood and turned to face Annette. "You should be, woman. I'm the only soul standing between you and every crawling, flying, slithering thing that lives here. And I'm the one who remembers that you need to eat." He stepped closer to the scowling woman, bringing his face inches away from her. "And my name is not 'devil,' nor is it 'vampire' or 'leech.' You will address me as Domn Trandfir, or not at all. Am I understood, domnisoara?"
Annette met his stare for some time, but eventually lowered her eyes, muttering, "Da." Olrox noted that her fingers were digging into her mattress, as though they were imagining themselves wrapped around a certain someone's throat. Not wanting to press the matter further, however, Olrox picked up the tray and left, a little proud of himself that he'd kept relatively calm.
The two women in the next room were still asleep, so Olrox set out their meals, leaving the lid of the soup tureen covering the bowls to keep the heat in. After lighting a small fire in their hearth, he left again, quietly turning the key in the lock so as not to wake them.
Maria was up and looking at the bookshelf, still wrapped in her quilt, when Olrox entered her room. After exchanging brief greetings, Olrox busied himself with setting out her food, along with the mug of hot chocolate, over which some thoughtful person in the kitchens had placed an overturned bowl to hold in the steam. Maria sipped at the hot drink gratefully while she watched Olrox get a fire started. Olrox noted the book she'd half pulled out from among the old books. Reading the spine, he learned that it was a battered copy of 'Le Morte D'Arthur.'
"How old are you, Maria?" he asked, sitting down across from her at the table.
Maria set down her mug, got a spoonful of soup, and said, "Twelve, domnule," before eating it. She swallowed, then asked, "How old are you, domnule?"
Olrox smiled. The girl's boldness reminded him of his own sibling, in a way. 'Well, and Tatiana always wanted blonde hair.' "I am twenty."
Maria downed a few more spoonfuls of soup in silence. Olrox was glad that she liked it. He hadn't thought about food in months, and had just given the women things that he remembered liking when he still had use for them. 'To be honest, the smell is a bit nostalgic...' He'd tried eating once, about a month ago, just to see what would happen. He'd made himself gag, and what he had managed to swallow, he didn't keep down very long. His body as it was now would have none of that nonsense anymore.
"How old are you since you died?" Maria gazed over at a surprised vampire over her soup bowl, her spoon hovering over the surface.
Olrox was a little caught off guard by the candid question. "Twenty," he stammered, though he really wasn't quite sure of his age, now. Had his birthday passed, or was it later...?
Maria went back to eating. "Oh, so it just happened recently?" she commented conversationally, as though Olrox had come down with nothing less trivial that a head cold.
Olrox found himself asking a question of his own, but he wondered at the wisdom of it. "Why aren't you afraid of me, Maria?"
The girl licked a stray dribble of soup broth from the side of her mouth, and started on the bread. "I am afraid of you, domnule. But you haven't done anything bad to me yet, so I suppose...I suppose you aren't going to. I don't know." She shrugged. "You seem very nice to me. I was told vampires were lustful, greedy, sadistic, mindless monsters. And you're not like that at all, so far." She said all this as though she was sharing a tidbit of gossip.
One of Olrox's eyebrows found itself higher than the other. "Really? Who told you that?"
Maria looked up from her food for a moment. "My brother-in-law. Well," she corrected, "he'd not my brother-in-law yet. Not officially, but he will be." She took a sip of her hot chocolate. "His name's Belmont Richter. His family knows a lot about vampires and things like that. He's real smart. I asked him about vampires last summer, because a girl from my town was talking about them, and he told me all those things. I don't know, though. The way he talked about you, I pictured a cold, clammy, smelly, toothy, snarly, ugly thing. You're real friendly, and you're nice looking, except for being too pale. See? You even blushed some when I said you were nice looking. You're just like a person. So, I'm a little frightened, but not really frightened."
Olrox met her eyes. "Perhaps those things are what makes vampires so dangerous to people like you, Maria. However harmless I may seem, you are not safe with me. Don't trust me so easily, copil; I haven't earned it yet." Maria's face fell a little after that stern remark. She ate for a while in silence.
Regrouping rather speedily, Maria asked, quietly, "Domnule, why are the other women and I here?"
Olrox cajoled a small smile out of himself as he stood to leave. "I haven't the slightest notion. My master spoke of you all as though you were a bouquet of flowers he was using as decoration."
"Who's he? I never got to see him. I was asleep the whole way here."
'No harm in telling her. She'll find out within a day whether I do or not.' "Dracula," Olrox stated blandly.
"Oh," said Maria, looking down at her bowl. "In that case, Richter will come and take us home. You should meet him when he does come; I'll bet he'd like to meet you. I don't think he's ever met a real vampire before," she added, with a little touch of pride, because SHE had, "for all he knows so much about them. He'd probably like you."
Olrox rolled his eyes imperceptibly. "I somehow doubt that. I think I'll leave you to your rest now. It's getting very late; even I wouldn't turn down sleep in a short time." Opening the door, he was halted by another question.
"Domnule?"
He looked back over his shoulder. "Da?"
Maria sat back in her chair, closer to the heat of the fire. "What am I to call you?"
'Forgotten again.' Olrox bowed. "You may call me Olrox, domnisoara." And he left, making his way back to his own chambers, half-hoping that Torio was still there. Olrox's meetings with his charges would make an interesting story for the tengu, who was already a bit bored with life in the castle.
By the time Olrox reached his rooms, he was thankful that Torio had gone home. He hadn't noticed how tired he was. Looking out the window in his study, he saw the sun already fully above the horizon.
'Well,' he thought, through the warm fuzziness that the sunbeams were causing to weigh on him, 'that's...' He made it into his bedroom and fell onto his bed, out of the sun, and dozed off, leaving the thought unfinished.
##
*No, they aren't lesbians. Bear in mind that this story takes place in the late seventeenth century, when physical contact wasn't considered a big deal. Plus, it's frickin' freezing in that room...
domn-Mister
domnisoara-(missing its little squiggle thing under the 's') Miss
buna-(missing its little bow thing over the 'a') hello
All right, all right, so I gave Annette a new hair color. I'm sorry. Purple just isn't a color for hair back than. Sorry. I'm also sorry about this chapter taking so damn long (once again). I don't know what's wrong with me. Laziness, I'd wager. I'll do better next time. So, how about them there wimmen folk? I didn't have Olrox talk to the nun and the other broad, since they're sort of in the background, anyway. He might later. Richter will be arriving shortly, as well. Of course, I'll have a lot more fun with his character later, but that's a ways off yet. And what's up with Vlad, huh? It's like the poor guy's in the middle of vampire menopause, or something. Jeez... I never figured out why exactly he felt the need to just kidnap those women in the game. He didn't even bite them or anything... So you won't find out why, either. Not unless I think up a reason in the near future, that is. Need sleep...