Chapter V
Joachim and Karl Armster arrived at their destination ahead of schedule, which pleased the Baron. For that much, at least, Joachim was grateful. The coach wheels had barely come to a halt when he was abruptly pulled from its sheltering warmth by several liveried attendants who proceeded to escort him to his guest rooms. He barely had the time to take in his surroundings and soon ceased his attempts to memorize the numerous stairways and corridors he passed through on the way to his rooms.
Joachim was less than thrilled when he learned that his father was occupying the chambers adjacent to his own. The old man was in a rare good humor as he ordered the servants to unpack their possessions, but he was still critical of their methods and watched them closely. Joachim was exhausted, and he lay sprawled over an immense overstuffed chair, his cane dangling from his supple fingers. He was not quite recovered from his recent collapse, and had sunk into a sullen depression due to his parting from Norgard.
" I think," he said dryly, "that I shall sleep now." Karl Armster curtly ordered that tailors be sent for immediately, and he waited until the last servant had bowed his way from the room before turning his attentions to his son. "You will rest after being fitted for formal attire."
Joachim did not open his eyes when he replied, "Why should I worry with measurements? Send your tailors a pair of breeches and a shirt and instruct them to be creative. I care not what I should wear." he waved one hand lazily and dropped his cane onto the rug. Karl stood quite still, his hands clenched at his sides, eyes dangerous. "Well, I have a care for how my son is presented before our King and peers," he growled, "and if I say that you're to be fitted for decent attire, it will be done even if I must hold you up by your hair! I could snap your neck right now, boy, for even considering disobeying me in this."
"Ah yes," Joachim yawned, "Family honor and all. Wouldn't want to tarnish our good name, would I?" To his surprise, Karl did not reply, his only response was the slamming of the door. Joachim snorted and shook his head. He doesn't quite know what to make of this! Yes, I believe I have unsettled the old bear, let him ponder over his son's boldness for a while, perhaps he will be slower to strike one who snaps at his hand! I have no doubt the beatings will stop, after all, he needs me to be as hale and hearty as possible to beget his precious heir.
The tailor and his assistants did arrive, and Joachim submitted to their attentions meekly, allowing himself to be poked and prodded as they measured, took notes, and frowned over his pale complexion. "There aren't too many colors that will show off that pallor, young lord." the tailor warned him. "We'll have to be careful not to make you appear sallow. No greens, oranges, and most certainly not black!" With a motion of his hand, he commanded one of his assistants to produce the fabric bolts. The boy displayed several samples of fabric for Joachim to choose from, and he impulsively selected a bolt of rich blue velvet to match his earrings.
"And what sort of attire were you planning on wearing, young lord?" the tailor questioned. Joachim opened his mouth to reply, but promptly closed it again as he shook his head, a look of embarrassment on his handsome features. "I honestly have no idea. Something which is comfortable, functional, and still formal. Something to conceal my spare figure, perhaps? I should not want to appear before the nobility of this realm looking as though I were a malnourished wastrel."
The tailor absently chewed on the plume of his pen as he pondered the nobleman's request. After a time, he nodded in satisfaction. "I've just the thing for you, then, if you'll trust me to see it through?" Joachim smiled in relief. "Absolutely. I leave the entire matter in your capable hands."
"White breeches then, to go with what I've in mind, and we'll see to the boots as well, since we've a cobbler who works out of our shop." the tailor said in approval.
"I thank you." Joachim said sincerely as they were packing up their instruments and samples. The tailor looked at him in frank astonishment, gray eyebrows lifting nearly to his well-receded hairline. "Well, you're a polite one, I'll give you that much. We'll have your clothes ready before the formalities begin, so you needn't worry yourself. Have a pleasant evening, young lord." The man bowed smartly before chasing his attendants from the room and leaving Joachim alone with his thoughts.
Well, that was easier than I thought. Though I cannot help but wonder what foppish nonsense will be delivered. Joachim reclined in his chair and appeared to be deep in thought. The room was quiet and still until, quite suddenly, he cursed and brought one fist down upon the arm of the chair in agitation. "God's breath! I neglected to bring any books!"
Tired, dismayed and completely shamed, Joachim tilted his head back against his seat and closed his eyes. The fete was proceeding worse than he had expected, which was surprising, given his cynicism. The proceedings filled the King's hall to overflowing, and the din of numerous voices caused an ache to settle behind Joachim's melancholy eyes. Bright banners were hung from the rafters, garishly proclaiming the presence of the numerous noble families in attendance. Pageboys ran to and fro' delivering summons, well-wishes or snatches of illicit gossip or correspondence between besotted young lovers. Torchlight flashed on the many bright clothes and jewels which adorned the wealthier celebrants, and the overall pomp and vanity frayed the young nobleman's nerves beyond salvage.
He was arrayed in his newest clothes; a stylish blue jacket with clever hook-and-knob catches covered him from neck to wrists in thick velvet, effectively concealing his thin arms and chest. Loose white breeches encased his legs and were tucked into soft brown leather boots which ended just below his knees. The tailor had taken this ensemble one step further; the jacket doubled as a robe, and was slashed in both the front and back, both to preserve Joachim's freedom of movement because of his reliance on a cane, and to mask the looseness of the breeches. Rich embroidery decorated the hem of his robe, and his jacket was also embroidered in a complex trellis pattern. The overall effect was stylish and fashionable, but Joachim's demeanor lent the outfit an air of somberness and regality. He drew many inquisitive stares, not only because of his outfit, but also because of his finely wrought face, which had acquired a more mature mien over the course of the last several days. His ivory pallor discouraged the less bold from venturing close to him, and there were already whispered comments concerning the severity of his sickness passing amongst the noble families.
The eligible daughters of influential lords had been paraded in front of him all evening, each with varying degrees of either awe, horror, or pity stamped upon her features. Their flawless manners and impeccable breeding had immediately come into control, masking the expressions of each of the young women. Not all of them had kept their social masks in place, though, as he had bowed over their reluctantly outstretched hands. One of the more dainty of the bridal troupe, as Joachim had begun to privately think of it, had shuddered when he placed a chaste and polite kiss upon the back of her hand.
The Baron had not helped in smoothing over his son's nerves, either. "They may be wealthy, aright, but what use has the Armster family for wealth?" he sneered as he stood by, a decanter of rich wine clasped in his meaty fingers. He appraised the next candidate with approval as she approached their bench. A particularly heavyset young lady curtsied prettily to the Baron before turning to his son. "Good even' milord." she greeted in a surprisingly rich voice as she extended her hand. Joachim dutifully struggled to his feet and clasped her fingers gently. No sooner had his lips met her hand than he heard his father's frank appraisal.
"She's of good breeding stock, boy, and her blood is nearly as blue as ours. Look at her hips; she would have no difficulty in throwing a son." Karl chortled as he quaffed his drink. Joachim's eyes darted to the lady's face, which had flushed a bright shade of crimson. As my own no doubt has! he thought angrily as warmth suffused his pallid features with color. True to her upbringing, the young woman did not speak up in her defense, nor did she acknowledge the crudeness of the Baron's remark. She curtsied once more to Joachim and his father, murmuring a subdued, "By your leave, milord." Eyes lowered demurely, she quietly trod back to her place among her relatives. She had been the only woman thus far to not show a hint of revulsion.
Furious, Joachim turned to glare at his father, the blood rushing from his face to his pounding head. "Must you be so arrogant?" he hissed, "Could you not have at least waited until she had gone from earshot before comparing her to the livestock in the pastures?"
Karl Armster regarded his son disdainfully before coldly replying, "Of what matter is it to you? You will likely be dead before the next harvest! Turn you energies and concerns to a more fruitful goal, son!" he spat.
As Karl stalked away, Joachim sank weakly into his chair and buried his face in his hands. His life was falling to pieces, and he could not stop thinking of Norgard. "I'll be waiting for you." he murmured into his fingers, repeating those words which had kept him from faltering since his departure. Joachim wished that he could open his eyes, toss away his cane, and run from the crowded hall. He fancied stealing a horse and escaping home through the back roads, whereupon he would invade the scullery and fend off the tyrannical cook before fleeing the scene with his beloved Norgard. He was not entirely certain what would happen after that, so he abandoned his fanciful thinking and almost immediately fell into self pity. Joachim grimaced into his palms and exhaled shakily. Oh, stop pitying yourself! he chided, Surely there are wretches in this world who are worse off than you! Besides, the likelihood of his dreams coming to fruition was as impossible as the prospect of his father suddenly collapsing of a mortal heart failure, though the thought did cheer him a bit.
I would attend your funeral, as befits a grieving son, and when the parish priest and the other mourners had gone, I would happily piss on your grave mound.
A fanfare of trumpets pulled him from his reverie, and he propped his chin upon his cane as the court quieted, then began to buzz with renewed talk and agitated movements. They are like a hive of agitated insects. Joachim thought in disgust. The court herald smoothed his livery before drawing a deep breath and announcing, in a rather bored tone, "Count Walter Bernhard!"
Another puffed up lord, no doubt, probably wearing so weighty a mass of jewels and trinkets that it could send a sailor at his funeral to the bottom of the sea. Joachim snorted at the thought. He vaguely caught sight of a shock of red hair, and heard a deep and throaty laugh before the assembled noblewomen clustered about the newcomer in the same manner as nervous hens will cluster around a rooster when assailed by a bored dog. Joachim rolled his eyes at the proceedings before he rose wearily to his feet and slowly made his way towards the nearest exit. His father was across the hall, engaged in conversation with several other men who appeared every bit as ill tempered as he was. As he headed out the door, Joachim tousled the head of a pageboy who looked remarkably like Norgard's brother. The child simply stared at him in astonishment before sticking out his tongue. Joachim chuckled and menaced the boy with his cane as he pushed the door closed behind him.
The scent of newly blossomed spring flowers surrounded him, and Joachim planted the tip of his cane firmly in the earth as he inhaled their rich fragrance. He had not been out of doors since he had been hurriedly bustled from the coach into the palace. The elder Armster had been leery of allowing his son outdoor excursions ever since Joachim had contracted a severe cough at the age of seven. He had slipped in and out of his sickened fits for so long that the entire household had expected his next lapse into a fitful struggle for breath would end with his demise. Joachim had realized the severity of his present condition when his father had insisted that he attend the fete. The coach ride had not been easy for him.
The Royal gardens were truly exquisite, and it was evident that much thought and care had gone into their creation. Carefully plotted footpaths wound amongst trellises laden with ivy and creeping flowers, statues peered from amongst the various flowerbeds, and benches were set at various points along the paths to allow visitors a chance to rest as they contemplated the beauty surrounding them. Norgard, he thought sadly, would love this place. Vowing that he would relate all of his new experiences to her over the first breakfast after his homecoming, Joachim made his way towards a bench and settled carefully onto its surface, wincing at the cold.
Though the bench proved to be uncomfortable, he felt very at ease. He briefly entertained the notion that he was pleasantly intoxicated, until he remembered that he had not allowed himself to sample the wine. His cane slipped from his slack fingers and clattered briefly on the footpath as he slumped over. Joachim was thinking of the bruises such a fall could accrue when strong hands caught him and pulled him upright. He wanted to turn and thank this person, but his tongue was heavy in his mouth, and his limbs felt leaden.
He was vaguely aware of someone cradling him while brushing back his hair, and for a moment he was reminded of what Old Nan the midwife had said of his birth: "Your mother, she held you just once. She held you close to her, and the worry in her eyes was all for you, you were so still. You didn't cry after you was born. No, you just opened your eyes and looked right at her. She died like that, loving you. I saw it in her face. Never forget that, boy. Your mother loved you." He had only spoken with her that once, and she had died soon afterwards of old age and weariness.
I'm dying, and she has come to guide me over. I did not make it till harvest after all. Joachim wrenched open his heavy lids and looked at his mother's face. What he saw froze the blood in his veins and caused him to struggle fearfully, for it was the face of a devil. Winged eyebrows arched over dark eyes, and his captor's lips tilted in a cruel smile. Lethargy again stole over Joachim, rendering him slack, and his heart seemed to struggle frantically. It was as though his body was no longer in his control, and he felt like the helpless observer who can only look on in astounded silence while an atrocity is committed.
Joachim began to weep silently in terror and frustration, tears streaking his cheeks and collecting in his eyelashes. Thick red hair blocked his vision of the surrounding gardens. He could dimly hear the talk and laughter streaming from the nearby palace, and he struggled vainly to cry out. And to think that I was so eager to leave that brightness and clamor, more the fool I for not staying!
The devil seemed to read his thoughts, and it grinned at him maliciously. Joachim wondered drunkenly whether or not it had come to escort him to Hell. Its head dipped low as it tugged firmly on his hair, pulling his head to one side and exposing his neck. Joachim felt its warm breath, and then a shock of pain as its teeth pierced his flesh. He finally realized the creature for what it truly was when he felt its mouth working greedily to draw the blood from his veins.
Vampire! Only a legend, how can this be?
Overcome with revulsion, Joachim again fought to overcome the creature's hold on his mind and body. His hands reluctantly rose to his bidding as he weakly pushed at his assailant's chest, then battered at its face. Sobbing openly, he tore at its eyes with his nails and pulled at its hair, desperate for surcease. The vampire easily caught both of Joachim's hands and wrenched his arms behind his back.
Lights were beginning to flash behind his eyes, and he felt as though a void had opened beneath his paralyzed form. Joachim's heart raced in an attempt to more quickly circulate the blood that had not been drained from his body. The feel of his faltering pulse terrified Joachim more than the unholy creature holding him, and he drew in a deep breath, and the last vestige of his will. The vessels behind his wide and dilated eyes burst as he screamed; the wordless cry of a hare caught in a trap, or a hind as it is pulled down by a brace of hounds. It was the primal scream of a creature which realizes it is about to die.
Pain seared Joachim's neck as the vampire tore its mouth away with a muffled curse, throwing its victim to the ground. The vampire turned away from him in disgust, and he watched in a stupor as the fiend simply disappeared. As shocked celebrants rushed towards where he lay, Joachim realized dimly that a mist had fallen over the garden.