Rating: somewhere between PG-13 and R. If you feel that the chapter's true rating is closer to R, do let me know, and I shall make the necessary changes.
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"I'll kill him," said Robert softly, as he removed the safety patch. I had seen a good deal of Robert's temper and could accurately assert that, while he was louder and considerably more vicious during one of his fits of anger, those at least held the advantage of fading with time. When he was passionate enough about an ordeal as to be patient when exacting his revenge, he was far more dangerous.
"He's confused, Robert." The tea Cadwell had brought me was cold on my lips."He's not well."
"Neither are you in the head if you're prepared to leave this sans any repercussions."
"I'll have a word with him."
Have a word…
I blinked unceremoniously, rubbing my temples softly, almost as if to squeeze the last traces of Alucard out.
"Christ, Kester. What am I to tell Elliott?" He chuckled, dryly. "That you're one of those sex perverts and had a certain itch only half a flock could scratch?!" He ignored my gasp of indignation and took my cup, drinking with a vengeance. "It would certainly be more believable."
"If you'll permit me the suggestion…we might say wolves were running about."
"Wolves? " – almost choking on his- my – tea. I never called the wolves. They won't come uncalled. Has no one told you? Monsters don't come uncalled. "Kester, saying it was wolves, that's-"
"Look, it's either that or officially acknowledging the fact that we're sheltering a vampire."
He seemed to consider this briefly, mayhap because the reality of my alternative was by no means kinder than his jests. "Wonder how long it'd take them to rally up the forks then circle the manor and drive us out of the region." There was a pause. I said not a thing. "It's like to be thirty seconds."
"Oh?"
"We're outsiders, and Hellsings to top it. They've probably been sleeping with hey forks under their pillows ever since we first came in, that is, when they weren't sharpening the cutlery or preparing to light the house." He shrugged lightly, as if in full understanding of such barbaric initiatives. "I've people here at the manor that will give a hand with placing the bones conveniently near the sheds. We'll also have to take the fence down as soon as dawns come, for the realistic touch. I shall have them assigned to London tomorrow, so there'll be no further ado."
"Good." I nodded. "Good. Shan't you please see to the supervision?"
"If I must."
Must he? Oh no. I can rip his head off. But must I do it? We're the products of orders. Order your slave, Master, have him killed, Master, it's what he's there for…
Stop.
Stop now.
God.
There are no Gods but for those you build yourself...
I made for my cup, turned to the open window; took my fill of clean air. Another sip. I would have to send the tea set with Cadwell or any other woken member of our personnel. I sadly had nothing to fear on that we'd find ourselves without where assistance was concerned, even at these untimely hours. The latest gossip should have been sufficient reason as to justify an unseen devotion that would conveniently offer them the chance to see why exactly the new Master was haunting the mansion and screaming like a madman with not the slightest tangencies to the real world.
"Kester…" I was appalled to find Robert still there. I could have sworn to my supposed solitude, and yet now with Alucard here, peace of mind would never again be attained. "Yes, please, Robert?"
"How far are you prepared to go, Kester?"
How far will you follow?
Ah, but how far will he take me?
----------
I couldn't sleep after this incident; I decided to take a walk.
Robert wasn't in the immediate vicinity to stop me, and I assumed the servants to have been ordered in their beds, since, though I could hear their muffling behind closed doors, I could see no one.
Afraid. They're afraid.
I could still feel Alucard, so foreign in my mind, so intrusive. No more a friend than the doctor Lewis or Elliott, no more an enemy than the Lords of the Council. All of them wanted something, and yet this something was rarely a matter of which I would voluntarily dispose.
My feet sunk in the carpet, and I had to try and support myself to the wall. Even in this, I was less the wiser, more the hunted. Blood given freely, but blood I sorely missed. However, I felt that if I could reduce my faintness to the status of a mere inconvenience rather than an impediment, I could safely proceed to do as I had originally intended. I was going to have my walk. I couldn't sleep in that bed anymore, in that room.
The stairs looked menacing beneath me, an endless list of small deceptions. It only takes one step, they were saying to me, one step and you'll be rid of us. But I knew too that it also only took one step, one wrong step and they'd be rid of me.
I concluded that whatever step I took was to be the right one, a sad resolve, as my vision had blurred considerably.
"Oh, Hades," I muttered, trying to remove pestering golden hairs from my forehead, from over my eyes. I couldn't see. When finally I was secure on my spot, I gently made to cover the small distance between two steps with the assurance of not ending up on with a broken neck –
-- "Chris?"
I almost fell. "Who-who's there?" I called, adding in no uncertain terms that such jibes were ill-suited. Cold sweat was all over me, no one had called me that in ages. And I couldn't see.
Chris?
I hurried down the stairs, missed a step, ran when I could barely breathe.
Chris?
It was coming from the door, a voice that wanted in. There was a pale of wind outside. I clung to my coat and walked on.
It plagued me with hideous alacrity. Through the gardens, by the pathway, near the gates – everywhere. Chris? Chris? Chris? Passing by the cemeteries, an imperious urge to visit Papa's tomb was arrested in the name of a worthy cause; I couldn't bear the thought of him now, and it would have been sinful to carry such emotions with me on sacred ground. And he was calling for me.
"From the dark flowers, to the black stream," Arthur, beautiful Arthur, my brother Arthur was saying from the memories of my youth. "We're pirates, and we're ravaging the land!" The dark flowers as placed on each grave, crimson or a peculiar shade of blue. Dark flowers.
There was a small river nearby. I could hear its hiss, could almost see the "black stream", a dark serpent in its own right. Had anyone drowned there? As the waters themselves came into the horizon, as I reached the shore and could smell the water, I was quickly becoming more and more obsessed with the thought. A soft pulse would beat frantically in the insides of my head, announcing a new migraine – and I suddenly had to balance myself, I felt so dizzy. Damn it, Alucard had served himself to entirely too much of my blood, I was too unprepared for a veritable recovery.
Has anyone drowned here?
And though there wasn't the slightest similarity between the two but for that they did indeed contain running water, I found myself fondly recalling the Thames. I missed London. I couldn't tell why, truthfully. I had lived here as a child and upon my arrival, they'd all acknowledged me as the master and they'd welcomed me home.
The waters were blacker than the night itself, I could see them sparkle every now and then, onyx layers laughing at the greedy king.
"Chris?" And again someone was calling for me, a child. The voice was young and terribly innocent.
---young and innocent, running through the field, hiding in cleverly chosen locations, where no prying eye could hope to discover us. He was always the faster of the two, and I was a notoriously poor runner. I could never find him.
We were playing at this, had always played at hiding. And Arthur wanted me to find him.
"Arthur?" I asked no one in particular. And as to habit, no one answered. The waters were monstrous…
Someone could drown here.
"Chris?"
My last traces of insecurity dissolved. "Arthur!"
Water snaked further and further, dangerous and wild and still-
If they wanted to.
"Chris?"
"Why won't you show yourself? We can play anew afterwards!" I protested, trembling with vexation.
And then it occurred to me that perhaps he was the captive of unenthusiastic circumstances. The waters were keeping him prisoner.
We'd been bad pirates, savaging the land – nature was punishing us.
I had to find him, save him. Oh God, this headache. I could barely see now-
Why not drown here?
A shadow somewhere, or perhaps a darker streak between all the rocks, silent in itself, not disturbing the familiar murmur. "Arthur? Is that you?"
And then the shadow died in the waters.
I could drown here.
Voice of a child, a shriek somewhere – where was he? Where was Arthur? -"Don't! Don't, Chris, I'm your brother, you can't-" – someone was holding him in the water. So dizzy. I fell to my knees. Single-mindedness accounts for a glorious simplicity. I was a simple man. I had to find Arthur. I had to- must crawl to the water – had to sink, had to swim, had to find him.
Icould drown here…
Stop screaming, Arthur, I was coming, why won't he stop screaming?
"Chris, don't! Chris?"
Why? Why was this happening? What were they doing to my brother? The water was dreadfully cold, cold as only January waters can be, with that stingy frost travelling down the skin. My arms were shaking as I slid them in the cold, my head and neck as well as I threw myself in.
"Chris, don't do this to me! Don't! Father, tell him not to – please, Chris, I beg of you, oh God, CHRIS?"
I couldn't move. My every limb was paralyzed by both the coldness as a secret desire to sink further on, to reach the very depth, to find my brother. His cries were maddening in my head, where the pain had already gathered. I closed my eyes, opened them, couldn't keep them so. Too much pain. Had to sink and find Arthur.
"Chris?"
--and we were dancing around the Christmas tree, Arthur with mama and I with Nana, and Father was laughing and delegating more and more responsibilities to the steward who was already arranging our presents in a suitable order and smoothing the table cloth where it had been tampered with.
"Nana, I'd like some pie," I was proclaiming between giggles. "I'm dizzy!"
Arthur laughed sweetly. "It's all right to be dizzy, means you're doing things well!" --
I was dizzy, I must have been doing things well. There was a hard pressure on my lungs. I was cold everywhere on the surface, though there was a soothing warmth building from the inside, inducing a delicious feeling of numbness. I… I had to…had to find Arthur.
I could drown here…
--pacing reluctantly through the forest, letting Arthur hold me, even though I was no longer a babe, I was six, I could go on my own feet. "It shall all be well," he comforted me, though I kept sobbing, because grandsire Ferdinand had just slapped me over the face. "It won't hurt, he added. It didn't hurt me. It doesn't hurt." –
But it had hurt. No! NO! I didn't want to find Arthur, I was scared of Arthur! I shouldn't be here, I shouldn't be in the water looking for him. I tried to move up, tried to come to the surface. Too late. I…it was so cold on the outside, so warm within. Why move?
I could drown here.
Arthur…why do this to me?
Hahahaha, whatever did you do to that brother of yours?
Kept sinking.
Drown here.
Couldn't breathe. Opened my mouth, the water pushed in and I was choking and I couldn't breathe.
Drown…
Nothingness took me.
----------
Coins.
Coins falling, clinging. Cling. Cling. Cling. Three of them. Perhaps more. This irritating sound was a prelude to yet another cold sensation that would try my body.
I opened my eyes to find there was darkness all around. I couldn't see. Two coins placed on my eyes, two coins removed with satisfactory ease, announcing that, regardless of small difficulties, I was once again in control of the elementary functions of my body.
I couldn't say where exactly I was. It was all far too dark, too unpleasant. Coins kept clinging. Cling. Cling. Cling…
A tumult of additional sensations enlisted a call to try my patience. The cold again, a distinct priority. Pain. Revulsion. Annoyance. Fear.
I couldn't disclose the reason for this fear, until I was suddenly offered a hand up. I took it, grudgingly, looking up to thank my Samaritan, but only found Alucard grinning down at me. He was oddly dressed in dark robes, black hood drawn over.
"I am Charon, the Lord of Dark Waters. Come to relieve the world of tiresome Hellsings. I am the war that will divined and conquer you. I am the plague that will make dust of your flesh and dust of your bones. I am the hunger that will eat your insides and have you crave for the blood. I am the death of you and of all that you are."
He shrugged plainly. "The fifth knight of the apocalypse, if you care for less formal introductions."
"What is this?" I was shaking. "What. Is. This?!"
"Your trial, Hellsing."
Trial? I looked around to find there was still no one there. From the sound of water – the black stream, I thought with a certain dread- I could realize this was hardly a happy state of affairs indeed.
"Suicide, such an act of sin. Hasn't anyone told you? Sin," Alucard started with a vengeance, his hand enduring a startling transformation, the clean fingers of a man lengthening, darkening, extending. Tentacles of sorts sprouted forward, shadows bent to his will. They were infinitely colder than the coins had been as they pressed to my arms, my back, tied themselves to me. "You're a sinful creature, aren't you, Hellsing?"
Was I? I had only wanted to- "Find your brother? Hahahaaaa… little Arthur, what did you do to him, Hellsing? What happened to Arthur, hmmm? Such a human disposition towards errors that you should exhibit, Hellsing. Why, one would think, perhaps…you have forgotten?"
This wasn't taking place. It can't have been. I didn't know what had occurred to have ended Arthur's existence, I had told Robert as much, I had far too young- too young – too… "I have no recollection of the times, none! I can't influence that. God, don't you think I want to know? It can't be helped!"
He seemed to have not expected such a childish display of emotion. He recouped his losses with the most fetching of smiles. "Really…?"
"Anything," I continued, obliviously, "I'd do anything to find out, but I can't. They're all dead, those who knew. Nana won't speak word of it. I…"
He pursed his lips and tsked. "Everything can be helped but your mortal arrogance. The jury has reached its verdict." A touch of anger in his voice. "Death."
The tentacles advanced to my throat rapidly, and before I could utter another word, my lungs seemed to burst from the lack of air.
…when I woke up to reality, true reality as I knew it daily, the pain in my lungs had still not left me.
I lay down on Papa's grave, and scavenged at the soil and revelled in the mud. The waters could be heard nearby, though I didn't even take the time to provide myself with the reasonable convenience of an explanation as to why I did not fear the river in itself or why I was still alive.
I was conspicuously cold and felt most dirty and out of place. A part of me, that part inclined to sentimental twaddle was developing its own ache, willing me to cry. But I couldn't, it was the ungentlemanly thing to do. There was no reason for me to cry.
No reason for me to fight.
No reason at all.
I dragged my knees up, hugging them close, rocking back and forth. Wet and cold and dirty. It didn't matter.
I didn't realize how and when hours passed, but I stared blankly to the horizon until dawns had risen.
----------
It was in this miserable state that they came by me.
"M'lord? Oh God! M'lord! Wolves all around, and you here, all throughout the night, right among them!"
The poor sleeping conditions had probably embroidered my face with a clear look of confusion, because I didn't even find myself in the need of feigning a theatrical gasp of surprise.
"Wolves," I repeated impassively, as Elliott leaned to help me up. My clothes were matted with dirt and could have used a bit of blanking. "Is everyone quite all right?"
"No one got hurt – no one saw anything, which is by far the queerer. This hasn't been known to pass since your father-" For only a moment, there was the vaguest glimpse of suspicion in those Welsh eyes that had seen, perhaps, too deep and too far. But the moment passed. He looked away. "All the sheep were butchered, ser."
My head seemed to be made all out of glass, with the barest noise coming to crack a new wall. Thinking hurt. Hearing Elliott speak and trying to discern his words was a torment beyond my endurance. I had rarely been drunk, but I knew this to be a similar feeling. "Have you informed Robert? My cousin, the administrator…"
"Master Robert took a party of ten and went to the woods to hunt down whatever beast within them."
"He should have waited for me," I murmured, all the while wondering why on earth Robert had cared for orchestrating such an overly-dramatic farce. It would only disquiet the men, not to mention raise a few questions; perhaps the tenants would feel that there was more at stake and, with the titled Hellsing master being denied the leadership of such an expedition, they might envision some gigantic ploy, and Robert as the object of someone's vengeance. They'll think he was the one for whom the assault had been devised, I considered, but had sense enough as to leave aside from what announced itself to be a more or less casual and civilized conversation.
"Why aren't you with them?"
"There's the rub, sir. I thought perhaps someone had got hurt and decided to give things a look. " He gave me another fearful glare. "A few of the tenants said they heard a child screaming near the river."
I haunted through the corridors aimlessly, like a madman in search of his lost wit. Finally, a purpose presented itself.
Someone had got me out of that river. And I had a weak suspicion of who it had been.
Fiorelli was in prayer when I opened the door. "Oh, Castor, it's you!" He closed the elegant little Bible – such a striking difference from the one mercilessly massacred in the train- and smiled to me, a smile to which I did not answer encouragingly.
"Why did you do it?"
He had the grace or perhaps overall decency not to engage in any lie I would have dismissed violently. "No one else was around to do it."
"My thanks, then." I found myself again contemplating those apparently delicate hands with unhidden wonder. He was a very strong man, for all his other failings. There was a pause, wherein I tried to collect my thoughts, and he looked perfectly well suited in not taking the matter further. I decided to play this card, and let it rest momentarily.
"When can you summon an Iscariot representative for a small meeting?" He seemed to ponder an answer, and I gave him his time. "In a fortnight at best."
"Tell them I shall not tolerate that they bring any arms or accusations, whereas we will be fully entitled to the both. I don't care for it being an injustice, we were the ones who had to deal with Cesare." He said nothing to contest my decision. "I shall also want to have a word with you in the afternoon, once I will have had a bit of sleep."
On that note, I left his quarters.
I thanked God for my diplomatic training and abstained from an immediate visit to Alucard's little lair until I had had a bite. They must have been lemon cakes, for they left the awkward feeling of it being a pastry entirely out of the season. I couldn't spare appetite for more than half of a cake and then deserted the rest of them cravenly.
I had so much to think of, so many steps to ponder. What had happened? What more would happen? Alucard…had this been his doing? And yet…
The knife on my plate sparkled its unexpected light, in the way of newly sharpened blades eager to make their cut. I took it, toyed with its ends, snorted ungraciously at the sight of the family engravings on each side of the holder, engravings that I could only think of as in such poor taste.
Mama had ordered them; she had a complete set. We never used them, because she was so fond of them, and one knife had got lost. Or so the tale went.
-- "Chris?" It was never lost, but abandoned. I was with Arthur, in a bath of leaves, and I didn't want to be here, not in the fo-
"Chris, you can open your eyes, it doesn't hurt me one bit," Arthur was saying, and yet I willed my eyes further shut. He kept his palm held up, and right in the middle of it, he'd impaled the knife, so deep that it entered one side and came out on the other. He fidgeted the knife, having it come up and down, up and down. It was sickening. I was young, and I played with toy soldiers, and I thought those bled too. But I didn't like to see his blood.
"You can try it too." A useless invitation. "It won't hurt. Nothing can hurt you now. Nothing can hurt either of us now. Why won't you try it? Chris?"
And I too had a knife, didn't I? I too could be brave as Arthur, I too could handle this. The blade was sharp, very sharp. And it didn't hurt in the least, this was magic.
Chris?
The skin broke just like that, just like magic. Arthur had been right, and no matter that it was cold, the water had been cold too. And yet I had found my brother.
Chris?
Almost in, now. I smiled. Arthur smiled back to me, and the leaves took to the air as we laughed at it, this simple game we were playing.
…do anything to find out…
"Sir…?"
Reality dawned on to me like a slap on the face. Andrew, Cook's eight-year-old nephew come to take my plates was staring fearfully at my hand.
How odd.
I first had to see the knife half-stuck in my hand before feeling the pain of it.
I let Andrew take me to his grandmother, who was suspiciously acceptant of my explanation – a most idiotic accident, really, Mrs…- and crafted folds to cover the bleeding wound. She was delighted to have me at her table and kept me occupied with the most recent gossip of this and that.
"But then everyone knew that – Andrew, cover your ears, love, granny has something to tell Mister Hellsing – well, we all knew Mister Llewyin was far too friendly with the bottle," she said sweetly, naming one of the tenants I was sure I would never be given the chance to meet. Andrew was sharing half a cold strawberry pie with me, and he looked deviously fascinated by everything he was hearing. " A least it was to be expected after that terribly thing his daughter did, running off like that with that silly man! I said to him one day, I said, "Owen, there's nothing you can do about it, that's life for you, it's cruel, and I know that. But that bottle isn't going to help you, not in the least. In fact, it's only to worsen things." Of course, he didn't listen, drunkards never really do, do they? Why, I said the very same thing to master-"
I choked on my milk. "Sorry?"
"Nothing, sir. Nothing. Don't mind my chatter, sir. Oh, gracious, look at the time! It's quarter past eleven, I really ought to go see whether we're all set for lunch!"
All sentimentality and indignation were avoided as she fled the scene of the crime faster than I could call her back.
Someone in this house… a drunkard? I gave it no present thought, but turned my undivided attention to Andrew, asking a small favour of him.
"Mister…Hellsing?" he said uncertainly, but then he took the offered one pound note all the same and provided me with the object of my request, all three of them.
Basic instincts of survival appeased and vision returned to its normal cooperation with the rest of my body, reaching Alucard was only a simple question of climbing the same stairs I had yesterday nearly fallen over from. It was done in a few seconds.
----------
"Good day to you." I walked in uninvited, and with no fear that he would indeed take to harm me. He was perfectly capable of doing so, but I had my own ideas of his game, and to my reasoning, it did not imply an easy triumph.
He had retreated in the bed, the small baldachin put to its intended use, as I was certain it had not been during either my stay in the dormitory or Papa's. Thick old cloth-of-gold hung in even thicker layers, folded twice or even thrice so to keep the light at bay and encompass him as if in his own little tent.
He didn't answer at first, though I could tell he had heard me. He flinched at the sound of my voice, Papa's voice, and therefore unbearable to him.
But he made his peace with the thought of my presence then and there, and decided to acknowledge it. One of the drapes parted, and he presented himself in all his morbid glory: wraitish of look and haughty of manner. His hair had taken an unusual shade, silver from where it had been a striking black. I did my best not to stare at its pale tresses, turning whiter still.
I stuffed my hands in my pocket then revealed Andrew's small treasure.
One was tossed.
Cling.
The second.
Cling.
And the third.
Cling.
Two pence landed at small distance one from the other, both at his feet. The third, he caught as it would meet the ground, clutching in his hand. "I've come to pay my debt to Charon."
Laughter.
"You have not fed recently." I was already undoing the improvised plasters, observing the cold glitter being born in his eyes as the first streak of thickening blood lay open. I needed only to make a fist of my fingers, apply the smallest of pressures – there. Blood came with a price, a sharp pain, as sharp almost as it had been in its making.
He was no more than a pace in front of me, and this faster than I could blink; there was the growing grin, fangs whiter than ivory extending when sensing the smell.
Silently, with as much dignity as one consumed by his addiction could maintain, he bit. "You cannot take enough as to kill me unless I approve of it, this much I now know. So I would therefore suggest that you do not persist once you have had some nourishment as to maintain yourself." I continued, with as much determination as I could muster. He was not sparing me any discomfort, and fed as wildly as gave him pleasure, to the expense of my vulnerable skin. "I don't want you locked in this room anymore. I want you a prisoner to only what you are. This." I tensed my fingers even more, and a newly born stream of blood did not fail to be pumped into his mouth.
"You think this is enough…" He paused from the sucking, eyes no more than reddened dots and lusting. "Blood… you think this will earn you your life?"
"I think," I said evenly, though I was slowly returning to that feeling of deep exhaustion, "that no matter the wager, you're not going to win."
A select few, one must force into accepting help.
"It's not completely unnatural," Fiorelli was saying over tea, that afternoon, once I had had my sleep. I had asked him to see me as soon as I had woken, and I was surprised to find him so blasé by what for me had been a scandalous experience.
"No, you shouldn't let this affect your normal life, Castor," he continued, with periodical pauses to chew on an overly baked biscuit, "not in the least."
"Forgive me, then, for knowing a certain sensibility at the thought of being possessed by a demonical presence, or at being driven to effectively commit suicide due to its influence. Or Surely, this is one of my many flaws."
"Sarcasm ill suits you."
"So does a pair of fangs." I gave him my sweetest "all teeth in place and should like to be kept in this format" smile.
"It wasn't possession," he said after a while, his voice husky from a few spoonfuls of honey-and-butter cream. "You were the one who invaded his physical form, rather than the reverse."
"Unwillingly."
"Pardon?"
"I did none of this willingly."
"You weren't – maybe- pondering what vampirism might be like? You didn't give the slightest sign that you might wish to-"
"I was sleeping. Not one of my finest moments."
"There was blood?"
"Yes…does this matter?"
"Oh of course it does, Castor!"
"We shall have to take this step by step. Abraham…Abraham spoke to me of similar occurrences. Granted, they only began with him a few days before…before he…"
…died?
He seemed to shudder. "Can you call him?"
"Alucard? I never thought of it. I suppose I can. Though he's sleeping - that is, he probably sleeps." I found everything concerning Alucard's recovery undeniably fascinating. "His recuperative abilities are amazing. But it would seem he has much to deal with. Papa wasn't the kindest of masters, I should think."
"Sleeping? Oh? Tell me, can you sense him sleeping?" He set his cup aside, fishing for the tea leaves themselves and enterprising the disgusting act of removing them by hand and then wiping them on his sleeve. I didn't ask. I rather felt I was better off in my innocent ignorance.
"It's difficult to explain. It's rather not so much that I can sense his sleep…it's not a distinct presence…I can feel him when he does not sleep and so of course it's as if something is just missing when he does."
"I want you to make an effort and remember – prego – were you upset?"
"Yes." Odious man. Made me repeat myself when he could tell I was perfectly uncomfortable with the subject. "Haven't I said this before? I hate it, this thing I have, I hate it. Last night wasn't too pleasant, and so of course I was upset, what else is there to expect?!"
"Nothing," he said amiably, and then, "He has clearly tied himself emotionally to you. Perhaps he has even done so to far too powerful a degree. Don't fool yourself with thoughts of affection - you're merely the nearest living being he may grasp after such a long time. That you are a Hellsing, above all else, may not serve as much to your advantage as you had believed it would."
Cryptic predictions from the dummy.
"Brother, do you or do you not have any notion as to what exactly happened last night?"
"Oh, of course I do. He tried to kill you. Twice. Should make your proud. Will probably give it another shot in the immediate future, too. Don't think you'll make it out alive, myself." He gestured to his cup. "More sugar, please?"
----------
Days passed in their own unhealthy rhythm, and I was sadly informed – and this from firsthand and none too delightful experience- that managing an estate, even when attended by an accountant and when just playing the part of the formal master, was not as simple as I had predicted.
To begin with, the sheep had to be replaced.
"We need them, sir," Elliott was stressing with vehemence, though Robert was firmly keeping his ground in that perhaps we should invest in non-animal products. "Might keep the…wolves away," he motivated
Fiorelli brought me a few reports one day. "From my superiors. They came by mail. It concerns recent vampirical activity, and they think you might benefit from the lecture."
I don't believe a word you're saying. "Perfectly all right."
We had still been shamelessly monitoring his correspondence, and knew well enough that he had not received any mail for a few days now.
We watched him, at times. I found him frightening, in the same way I had found many of the killers I had been assigned to defend at various points in my life frightening; Fiorelli seemed to share their macabre naiveté, the innocence of the man who, unlike those who feel they were right in committing certain barbaric acts, didn't realize they were doing anything wrong to begin with.
Robert slept with his pistol at hand.
I barely slept at all, and when I did, I dreamt of lambs.
Lambs with their tongues torn out, bloodied thumps still hanging in their open cavities, glaring me in the eye, mouthing, "Chris?"
Memories or Arthur followed me, and with them, chaos. A few similar incidents convinced me that I was best not left unattended during my times of bath, or close to razors. I made a purpose of not nearing a balcony, of not descending stairs at night. I had never indulged in such severe paranoia until then. My brother asked for me. My brother wanted me with him.
Chris.
Such senseless drama in a little word.
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"Such an honour…greatest distinction… how generous and welcoming of the council…of course the Hellsing heir shall attend…our sincere gratitude," Cadwell was saying over the phone, summing up my confirmation of the renewed invitation for the 25th.
Robert stoically endured being told what to do and how to behave and what to bloody wear for the better part of an hour. To his credit, however, he managed to keep the muttering and mumbling at a minimum and even as much as gave his word to try and do his best. He made several toasts in my name and to my fortune, actually, though I imagined that had less to do with my own present circumstances, and far more with his anxiety.
"You should have told me," he said blankly as we came down the stairs, but all I could manage was, "You would never have come." Fiorelli merely shook his head.
"How distinguished you look, Lord Alucard," my cousin mumbled, before storming out just as I paused to survey our newest Hellsing addition. He was immaculate in Papa's red ensemble, which he had again summoned. I made no inquiries on the carvings on his hand, fresh blood still glittering its red on flesh to have surprisingly not been regenerated. All over his hands, they were, circles and inscriptions – I said nothing, just as I said nothing on how Fiorelli had tied clean wires to his throat, or cut discrete crosses into his collar, or drawn needles through the back of his head, leaving gruesome little holes behind.
I said nothing, because I knew whatever occurred in those rooms of Alucard's, whatever happened each night when Fiorelli struggled to contain him – whatever it was the Brother had to do and undergo, this was all part of a craft greater than my own.
"Shall we?" Fiorelli drawled on the words. It was only then that I noticed how remarkably pale he was, how unslept he looked.
Again, I said nothing.
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I was in the King's hall, waiting for the council's imminent arrival, and kindly posing a number of rhetoric questions as to what exactly was to be expected of me.
"Who's chairing?" I asked as I took my seat. The gentlemen to my left, a man of roughly fifty and some, whispered back a short, "Huyxley."
Joy of all joys.
Sir Huyxley and his party were announced a meagre five minutes before the chosen time, making a discrete appearance and settling in their chairs without the smallest informal greeting. I had insisted that Alucard should be allowed the place to my right, and had invariably damned Robert to the hell of undesirable company. Apparently, he was stuck between two former acquaintances made in unfortunate circumstances, where he had been forced to act as the offending agent in the name of rivals questioning the possibility of fraud. He'd won one case and faced a draw on another, and so he was now the beloved object of much common interest and a choice of frowns.
We'd arranged for Fiorelli to be permitted stay outside the council room in itself, in a delicate little antechamber where he was to serve a light meal and occupy his time with the charitable endeavour of entertaining the few spouses also in waiting.
Alucard himself was oddly out of place. He had fallen in another of his dark moods, staring blankly from one strange face to the other, unmindful for their wants, unaffected by their curiosity, lost in his own thoughts.
They opened the discussion in an elegant tone, with the few necessary introductions to ensure we would at least be familiar enough with one another as to discern who had said what in the reports placed idly in front of us.
"…Sir Thomas Beckinsgale, Sir Alaric Harris, Sir Antoine Delaware," intoned Huyxley, and one by one the named would rise, sometimes under a casual cheer, others under a stoned silence. "Delaware?" whispered the man on my left, whom I could now identify as Sir Percival Fielding, "I can't believe they've let him in again, after what he did last time! Oh, for shame!"
When Huyxley reached me, I had the courtesy to come to my feet and acknowledge the interested stares. "I assume I shall have to make the presentations from now on. Gentlemen, " I beckoned for Alucard to raise as well, "this is Lord Alucard of…" A small smile. "The Purgatory. As you have all been doubtlessly informed, one of the few Nosferatu in known existence. More plainly put, vampire, my lords."
Gasps. Shock. Disbelief.
Those near Alucard slid away as far as etiquette would allow it so that they would not squash one another. The one closest to him, save for myself, simulated an ingenious fit of coughs and excused himself out. As I was to later note, he never did bother to return.
"You're supposed to rise," I said weakly, to which, finally directing some of his attention to the real world, Alucard replied with a casual, "To my recollection, those of higher ranks keep to their seat. You insisted on presenting me as a lord, you gave me a human title, and a human distinction. Give me then my true human rights. I ruled in my mortal life. I will not be ruled in this pretence at it."
Sir Flavius Alexander was in awe. "How dare you…?!"
Alucard favoured him with a smile. "And as a general rule, rulers as myself were not so easily addressed by subjects."
"Keep your pet on a tighter leash." Trevelian, still smoking a cigarette, straightened in his seat.
"I was told to bring a sentient here, sir. Not a dog. Though I am told he can take the shape, if asked nicely. Care to beg, Sir Trevelian?"
Our good Lord of the Cigars did not appear to mind the retort 'You were told to bring him here. Well, Sir Hellsing, let's jump then at the heart of the problem. Not that one would ever doubt your honourable intentions – but what exactly do you have in mind for the – thing? What's the point in supporting it? Why keep him? You don't need him, surely. Unless you…fancy dogs."
Various inane remarks were exchanged, and I grudgingly had to admit to defeat. Briefly, because it was largely imperative that I should find a brilliant solution to this entire mess. I could see what would happen if I didn't, I could almost hear Huyxley snorting with his mates and having a laugh as they concluded their great argument on whether impaling Alucard or plain butchering him would produce a more valuable note of entertainment. They were sharks, waiting to smell blood. If I didn't save him now, no one would.
"Because," I said, drawing in the entirety of my conviction, "whereas I mightn't need him, you, gentlemen, mightn't find yourselves in the same blissful circumstances."
"Are you threatening us, Hellsing?"
"Of course I am not. Neither is Alucard. But you shall all bear in mind that the clear motivation behind my father's extended studies – studies that, I am assured, the British Crown supported and encouraged – he is not a singular case. There are more of them, and not as-"
"-tame?" Suggested Bernard Hepwards, sounding mildly interested.
"Not my preferred choice of words, but something of the such. Alucard shall bring you no harm, but what of the others?"
Someone declared it sheer and utter nonsense and made to take the word, but Huyxley gave me leave. "Carry on, Hellsing."
"The possibilities to recreate the experiments and the bonding in order to assure that we secure other members of his species in a similar manner are not within my abilities to recuperate. That mastery died with my Father. For the time, we cannot as of yet establish a mean to neutralize them, when they come, and they will." I extended my series of documents – of which the Vatican ones safely masked their origin- revealing the exact nature of our situation. Some complained about the statistics. Others disagreed completely with the overview. They all concluded my handwriting was a mess.
"But we can exterminate them?" I didn't know whom had spoken. It didn't matter. They all clearly had rat infestations at home. Exterminate this, exterminate that, zap, zap!
"We, gentlemen? Need I resume this meeting for an hour at whose end I may present you with full reports of the tens and hundreds who died to bring him to you? We alone may guarantee a certain rate of success."
"But I can do it faster, better, and generally livelier," interrupted Alucard, ensuring himself the sort of mesmerized attention that a late speaker – and particularly this late speaker- is both entitled to and object of.
I hadn't thought he would agree to it, had thought I would have to order him into silence while I could delay an exact stipulation. But the it was within every predator's nature to pride in its moments of triumph; and he could know triumph. "Exactly."
"This is ridiculous." Sir Alaric was outraged. "You're buying your time, you know this wasn't even in your original plans, you're just trying to-"
"No, I have my proof." I decided to raise the wagers and bluff. "I have taken the liberty to invest and found the association designed to cater for such…projects. Bearing my late father's name, if you pay such small details any mind. I was well intent on this project to begin with, sir, make no mistake of it."
"I don't believe a word you're saying. A fully functional organization? No support? No finances? No approval?"
"Am I not receiving your approval now, gentlemen?"
Huyxley was surprisingly unruffled. "Does this association truly exist, Lord-"
"Mister."
"Well does it, Mister Hellsing?"
"Yes. And I invite you all to assist in the preparations made for its first task, whenever His Majesty's men will have signalled the need for our presence."
Sir Percival was aghast. "You're serious."
"Entirely."
"All right, Mister Hellsing," said Sir Huyxley, kind Sir Huyxley, God bless you, Huyxley, you most certainly made my day, you idiotic little—and then Sir Huyxley proceeded to dig my grave. "We'll be in attendance in a week."
Oh God, what had I got myself into?!
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God granted Himself six days to create the world.
I was given just as many to create London's greatest institution.
Seemed reasonable enough.
I talked to Robert of whether he could handle the internal economics of such a procedure.
"Yes, but I imagine that's the most I'll be able to do for you." He was not in the least pleased by the outcome of our newest ploy, but he could not improve the situation more than I by complaining incessantly. "It'll take a lot of paperwork."
With this aspect finished, and my own involvement in assuring the legal part of it, we needed a third man to administer our registration and external affairs.
It was at this point that I fortunately prevailed in finding my good friend Lawrence in the most blissful of humours.
"Hold on, Christopher, what were you saying?" Phones were devices unintended for small, rural locations such as the one that supplied Hellsing with its territory. I could sadly find no better, and we would therefore have to pause every now and then, hoping half a sentence hadn't been lost due to the bad connection. "You want me to enlist a Hellsing institution at the Hall of Commerce? All right, I suppose, what occupation?"
This put me in a certain difficulty. "Filth disposal," said Alucard wickedly from over my shoulder. As always, he was pestering me incessantly.
"Trash disposal?" Lawrence sounded amused. "By God, I might have to come down there and see what exactly you've got yourself into, Hellsing."
"You do that. But register us first."
If there was anything that this disheartening initiative accomplished, then it was to guarantee that Alucard would be constantly engaged in one activity or the other. He did little to help, at times took greater trouble in spoiling some matters, or butchering more sheep – though he kept them out of the house, thank God- just when we had finished a counting.
However, we seemed to have created an ungodly understanding. My nightmares still were as they were, and at times unwanted memories would make themselves known at the most inopportune of times; but he himself pressured me not, and would instead divert himself with this new goal; much like a child, he was in need of attention, and there was no more spotlight he could hope for than that provided by the making of an institution designed to have him as the main attraction.
Where a few matters were easily solvable, others demanded particular straining.
Where one aspect in particular was concerned, infantry, I was to lead a fabulous play at decadence, and make a foolhardy of all my principles. Robert said I was merely doing the done thing. Fiorelli expressed his condolences to my morals, but kindly explained how in such a match, they had had no place to begin with. Alucard laughed.
I paid Sir Henry Boylen a very short visit, wherein particularly rough words and many accusations were exchanged. He was as coy and as unpleasant as always, but at least this time I countered with the aggressiveness he had always portrayed.
I shoved the documents I had been sent after he had been declared a free man in his arms, and raved as much as I could.
"Henry, what did I tell you when I agreed to take on your case? What did I tell you, Henry? Don't remember? Allow me to remind you. I told you, Henry, don't lie to me. I told you, Henry, do anything but lie to me. And what did you do? Well? You lied to me."
He wouldn't look me in the eye. "How was I to know-"
"-I'd ever find out? You wouldn't know. Can't have known. But I did find out and you mind my words, they arrested you, and I got you out." I paused briefly. "But this time, I am the one putting you behind bars, and that's where you'll be staying. I know enough to do that, and you're my witness to such."
"You can't do that, that'd be- that'd breaking client confidentiality!"
Laughter. "What client, Henry? You're not my client anymore, no one is, in fact, haven't they told you? I no longer take cases, no longer am a fully active lawyer. Besides, I have no need to accomplish anything. I've my men. A carefully slipped envelope in the right mailbox, a word of caution whispered to a certain magistrate…my name needn't even be mentioned."
He looked at me curiously. "All right, Hellsing rat. All right. What do you want? Is it money?" He shrugged with what wanted itself as sheer indifference. "I have money. I have money enough to buy you, your entire family and your titles and then sell you for half a coin, Lord Hellsing."
"I've no doubts where that is concerned. I don't want your money."
This surprised him well enough. "Then what do you want?"
"A few words whispered in the right ears."
He made for his port-cigarette, extracted a thin little piece, lit it. I coughed discretely. It appeared that there was nothing I could do to escape the damned gentry and their even more damnable smoking habits – and yet, if he took note of my discomfort, he did naught to ease it, and plainly took a few puffs. "Going to enter politics?"
"Hardly." Albeit, it was a most amusing course of thought. "Put the word out on the street for me, Henry. I've seen the sort of accomplices you appreciated. Killers or soon-to-be, the lot of them. And that's what I want. If they can slave all day for your coin, they can pull the trigger on occasion for mine. Tell them Christopher Hellsing will take anyone who has no qualms in getting a bit of blood on their hands. No questions asked on their past, no questions asked on their future. Similarly, do ensure they can be silent on the matter."
"Here's a tip for you, ratty." He offered me a cig; I declined. "You can buy a man's body, but never his loyalty."
"All I'm interested in is their aim. I don't want them to defend a holy ideal, I want them to answer to my every call. I want them to jump when I say jump, to slit each other's throat when I ask it. And I want them to do it without half of London getting a particularly gory and detailed account of it." Because, God help me, should the King come to the incriminating knowledge of half a squad parading and massacring under his name, we'd be done for.
Lord Henry, however, looked increasingly more interested. "When do you need them?"
"I thought they said you were clean these days. Are you in a position to help me?"
"Maybe I am." No true answer, that.
"In three days' pass. I've immediate need of about five-and-twenty, shall take more with time. Group them in a greater lot, though. I'll be sending someone to give them a look."
"Oh? Who?"
"His name's Alucard. You wouldn't know him."
"I'm finding that there're quite a few people I've no true notion about. Take you, Sir Hellsing." He fell silent for a moment, almost astonished. "Such an odd turn of events. Yesterday you were my devoted lawyer, and today you're acquiring yourself an army."
"Fortune can be whimsical." After all, I had never suspected the day I had made Lord Henry Boylen's acquaintance a year ago that I would end up having my services commissioned by this respectable gentleman no more than a few months later. I had the decency not to mention this notable fact, however.
"Are you, then? Getting an army?"
I laughed. "Why, Lord Henry, maybe I am."
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Author's note: Chapter's moral – if you have siblings, make sure they don't like to call your name too often. – grin- Sorry for the late update, but I've been a slight busy with the edits, so, huzzah? Must conveniently take the time to note that I might or mightn't update again til Christmas. I will be on holiday, but, on the other hand, I have other fanfic obligations to try and keep up to: an AxI fic that's slowly turning into a 10k monster, a PxS, SxAnderson, Valentine Brothers… (Christmas wishes)
As it is, next chapter shall probably concern: Iscariot visit, a more talkative and generally badass Alucard (poor baby, he gets his first kill under Hellsing banners), a wildly insane Kester and a still pie-free Robert. Oh well. If all should go as planned, four other Kester chapters til we pass on to another POV. Joy of all joys, I can almost hear you groaning.
Any a how, have a Merry Christmas. And a Happy New Year. And the best of luck.