Father
Author: H.J. Bender
Pairing: --
Rating: T
Summary: A grave-robbing incident goes terribly awry, and Victor Frankenstein finds himself in a race against time to save Velkan from dying after being attacked by a werewolf...
Disclaimer: Main characters, events, original storyline, etc belong to Universal Studios 2004.
A/N: I have taken a few liberties with ages and dates, though minimally. Enjoy.
Without you, I cannot be.
With you, I am also alone...
The forest stands so black and empty,
And the birds sing no more.
-Rammstein, Ohne Dich
IX. "Be Strong & Endure"
Journal of Victor Frankenstein, M.D. Ph.D.
18 December 1886
Steady progress being made as of date, and the Machine's smaller prototype has yielded positive results. Past success with reanimating a dead frog has prompted the Count to encourage taking matters to a grander scale. Size unfortunately a key factor in determining success of experiments; in nothing larger than a canine have I been able to sustain re-life for more than a few hours (see logbook dated 24 Sept). Graduating to mammalian creatures still deemed an achievement.
Began construction of full-scale Machine three months ago—though prototype still not wholly tested—at the Count's request; he seems urgent and as eager as I to see progress. He remains my only friend and companion, and I feel obligated to please him. His happiness is my happiness, likewise is my failure also his. I find myself striving to exceed his expectations, and hope I will not fail him.
Weather is ideal for electrical analysis, unfortunately so—the dynamos took a direct hit from a bolt of lightning last month and required several weeks' worth of recalibration. By luck a vagrant hunchback arrived at the castle, and I have taken him to hire. Quiet and quick to learn, he has been of great help to me, despite his handicap and humble appearance. Would not have been able to repair equipment in such short time without him. His aid has granted me more time to focus upon the biological aspects of this endeavour, which is a great turn of fortune.
In short time I expect to graduate to human test subjects, though lack of medical cadavers and the unorthodox motives of this realm of science provokes questions of my own morality, and at what lengths I am willing to risk breaking the laws of Man and God.
The dirt of a freshly-covered grave was thrown from shovels as two shadowy figures worked by the light of a single lamp set upon a new headstone. It was an unbearably cold night, and a layer of snow covered the ground, reflecting the bluish light of the moon glowing in the sky above. It would have been a serene landscape if not for the unholy deed being committed at this moment.
Victor Frankenstein, cheeks ruddy from the low temperature and fingers aching with a numbing stiffness, ignored his own discomfort and thrust the shovel into the earth. He would not have wished the climate any different, for the cold preserved dead flesh better than the warmth.
"Hurry, Igor," he huffed, breath forming a misty cloud. "We must leave here before the gravekeeper changes his post."
The hunchback, working diligently beside the doctor, gave a grunt said in his hoary voice, "The gravekeeper is not on watch tonight."
"Why not?" Victor panted, continuing to dig without pause.
"Full moon. Werewolves," croaked the disfigured little man, as if it were a perfectly logical answer.
"Rubbish," the doctor muttered. "Nothing but the product of a fool's imagi-" His shovel suddenly struck against hollow-sounding wood—the treasure had at last been reached.
Igor smiled. "We were lucky this man was poor, otherwise he would have been buried much deeper."
"Indeed, one's poverty is another's fortune," said Victor, laying aside his shovel and crouching down inside the shallow grave. He scooped the loose dirt away with his hands while the hunchback stood on the ground above and held the lamp aloft.
"Igor, the crowbar!" said Victor sharply, and was obediently handed the iron lever. He pried the chisel under the pine lid of the coffin and systematically went round the circumference of the box, freeing the nails enough to the point where he could finally grip the lid with his hands and pull it back.
The scent of death, pungent and earthy, wafted up from the contents of the cheap casket as the sallow-faced body of a dead man was revealed, stiff with rigour mortis, lying crammed within the confines. Igor turned his head away in disdain, but Victor, long accustomed to the sight and scent of corpses, deftly reached inside to grab the man's shoulders and haul him up. What a surprise he received when he succeeded with such ease, only to discover the reason lay in the fact that the man had been gruesomely severed at the waist.
"Good God!" Victor cried, dropping the torso in shock and covering his mouth to quell his nausea. The dried entrails of the body lay in a black and red pool at the bottom of the coffin.
Igor chuckled in a low rasp. "No such thing as werewolves, doctor? No, this man just fell on his plow. How clumsy of him."
Victor shot an incredulous, disgusted glare at his assistant before composing himself once more. "His demise doesn't matter, and the body is still of use to me. Half of it, anyway. Fetch the sack, Igor. I will carry it from here."
The hunchback delivered the coarse bag to his master, who quickly stuffed the torso—dangling ribbons of muscle and bowel—inside and twisted it closed. He tossed the burden to Igor and set to work resealing the coffin lid. Once the task was complete, the two men hurriedly shoveled the dirt over top the grave once more, taking care to see that it was as close to untouched-looking as possible.
As they were making ready to depart, the silence of the desolate, snowy cemetery was broken by a long, unwavering howl, one unlike any Victor had ever heard, rising from the edge of the nearby forest. Both he and Igor glanced at each other in wordless alarm, then turned their heads in the direction of the deep, black woods. The leafless tree branches rose like twisted bones from the solid wall of darkness formed by their trunks; the moon illuminated the narrow strip of field between the leaning, decrepit headstones and the forest, but nothing more could be seen.
Victor wanted to ask what on God's earth had made that noise—he knew what it sounded like, but a lupine creature capable of braying that strongly was surely some form of grossly-mutated and aberrant speciæs. Despite his practicality, Victor found himself half-believing the fairy-tale legends of those terrible wolf-monsters, and that was how the fear was allowed into his heart.
"Let's not linger here, Igor," he said in a faltering voice, but the hunchback was already making his way towards the nearby waggon with an anxious, limping gait. Victor followed earnestly, tossing the sack and his shovel into the waggon bed and hopping onto the bench. He extended his hand to Igor, who took it and scrambled into the back, looking cautiously about as if he might already be surrounded by creatures even more frightening-looking than himself.
The doctor took the reins and urged the horse forward on the narrow road that led into the trees. Unfortunately they would have to pass through the forest once more to return to the castle, but despite these circumstances, Victor slowly began to feel a sense of relief as they left behind the scene of yet another crime and entered the cover of darkness . He began to go through a mental list of procedures for salvaging usable parts from this corpse, and was most preoccupied with his thoughts when he heard Igor make a strange sound.
"Did you say something, Igor?"
The hunchback stammered unintelligibly, and Victor turned about on the bench to see what was the matter. Igor's dark little eyes were fixed upon something on the road behind them, and the doctor felt a surge of fear and adrenaline course down his spine like an electric current when he saw it as well: a massive shape, nought more than a black shadow, was following them with predatory deliberation from less than a hundred paces away. It walked on all fours like a beast, yet its shoulders did not roll as naturally as they should, giving it the impression of a man striding on his arms and legs. The lamplight caught the creature's eyes and reflected them back, two yellow-green orbs shining from a monstrous mane.
"Is it a dog?" Victor whispered, throat constricted with terror.
"Too big. Go faster," Igor grunted, keeping his eyes on the beast.
"Is it a dog?" the doctor repeated, unwilling to force from his tongue the real word which he was thinking. "Why is it following us? Tell it to go away, Igor."
"I would, doctor, but it smells meat."
Victor stammered as he fought to control his panic, "Meat? You mean the corpse."
"No. Us." Igor paused emphatically. "They do not eat from dead flesh."
"They?"
"Werewolves."
"They?"
"You must drive faster."
Victor turned around, too horrified to be completely rational. "Just ignore it. It will go away."
"Doctor…"
"Just ignore it."
"It is getting closer. Go faster."
"Going faster will only make it chase us. Just ignore it, Igor. Pretend it is not even there. Wild animals will not take interest if we-"
"Doctor," the hunchback growled, "in another minute our mutilated friend is going to have company, and we would be lucky to be in as many pieces."
Victor closed his eyes tightly and held the reins in a white-knuckled grasp. He was trapped in a multi-faceted nightmare from which he could not wake, torn between the smothering arms of sanity and the wild abandon of pure terror. The urge to scream was unbearable. Alone and vulnerable with no place to hide, having just committed a gruesome deed, Victor thought perhaps this beast following their waggon was a form of God's justice for all of the atrocities that had taken place. How strange that the doctor would contemplate his actions only now, when his life was in peril; it was as if the power of fear were lifting a spell that had been cast upon him for the past year. Or maybe it was nothing but an instinctive reflex when one's final moment was upon them.
Igor clambered in the back of the waggon, holding a shovel ready but cowering shamelessly.
Victor opened his eyes. "Not yet," he murmured, suddenly detached from the situation altogether. "I cannot die just yet. There is too much to be done. My fate is in my hands… not His."
He cracked the reins and the horse broke into a run. The trees became a blur of lines and shadows, and Victor leaned into the biting wind, eyes watering and heart pounding desperately as the waggon jolted and rattled behind the galloping horse. At the same moment, the creature let out a snarl that the two men heard even at their distance, and began to barrel towards them like an unstoppable engine. Igor uttered a strangled scream as the beast drew nearer, and when the knife-like claws of its forefeet sank into the wooden gate, the hunchback swung the shovel and landed its sharp edge upon the monster's left foot. Blood spangled the air as the toes were severed, and there came a roar of pain that turned all mortal hearts to ice.
A furry black head was thrust into view; yellow eyes burned ferociously as if with all the sins in Hell; white fangs gleamed like hot, arching daggers. The werewolf snapped and snarled, jaws clipping together like two mighty beams of wood slamming into one another. With certain death but inches away, Igor swung the shovel again and landed a strike against the beast's long snout, but it turned quickly after the blow had fallen and grabbed the weapon in its mouth, wrenching it from the hunchback's grasp.
Igor fell back against the bench and watched helplessly as the werewolf prepared to spring forward and finish him.
The thundering of two sets of hooves suddenly sounded on either side of the waggon, and from the trees appeared two riders clad in black, racing up from behind on their dark steeds. Their faces masked by sashes and thin scarves, they rode their horses with the skill and speed of seasoned bandits, yet they seemed entirely focused upon the werewolf that had not yet taken notice of their presence.
One of the riders effortlessly slipped his feet from the stirrups and crouched upon the saddle, waiting for the horse to draw close enough to the beast. Then he leapt into the air and landed directly upon the werewolf's back, planting a long silver knife between its shoulder blades.
The wounded creature brayed so fiercely that it sent a thunder clap of pain surging through one's ears. It immediately loosed its grip upon the waggon and tumbled into the road, snarling and rolling violently with the heroic stranger through mud and snow.
The second rider quickly abandoned the waggon and turned to aid the first, who now faced the werewolf on foot. Igor at last managed to crawl his way to the bench, grabbing Victor's coat as he did. "It is gone!" he wheezed.
"What happened?" the doctor cried.
"A black rider attacked it—keep going!"
Victor turned around to see the situation they were leaving behind them: the injured werewolf rising on its hind feet and facing a figure who sat helplessly on the ground, most likely injured. Though he was terrified out of his senses, the doctor was too much of a philanthropist to simply turn a blind eye on what would be an undoubtedly gory, horrific death. His job was to protect and prolong human life, and what sort of hypocrite would be if he were to allow such an end to befall his fellow man? It went against everything he had ever stood for.
It was with this thought that Victor felt the courageous warmth of bravery bloom through his heart, and he jerked the reins sharply, slowing the waggon to a halt.
"What are you doing!" Igor spluttered in panic, watching with disbelief as the doctor sprang down from the waggon and grabbed his shovel in hand. "Are you mad? You will kill us both!"
But Victor paid no heed as he ran headlong towards the werewolf, shouting and boldly brandishing his shovel like a broadsword. The beast raised its brutish head at the noisome man, giving the second rider a clear line to fire six silver bullets into its chest. The first rider scrambled backwards to the edge of the road, unable to get on his feet, watching the creature scream and writhe on the ground in agony, spasms wracking its mighty body.
Victor slowed as he approached, gripping his shovel tightly as he observed the werewolf's movements grow gradually weaker until at last it lay slumped in the muck, utterly still. And then, like watching the natural process of a flower budding or the sun rising, the monster began to wilt, its hair and skin falling off like a shell to reveal the body of a man, lying nude, with six holes in his chest and four fingers missing on his left hand.
The doctor's breath still came in gasps and he blinked several times, pondering the credulity of his own eyes. Surely this was a raving madman at whom he was looking now, some sort of deranged lunatic in an animal costume. But the size of the beast did not match the size of the dead man, and Victor felt himself losing grip of his sanity. This whole night seemed to be drawn from the pages of a horror story, only all the more horrific because it had been real.
The second rider sprang from their horse and ran to their fallen comrade, and Victor heard a distinctly feminine voice call, "Velkan! Velkan!"
Images of a blue-eyed young man flashed in the doctor's mind, and he dropped his shovel to hurry to the riders. The young woman, hood pulled back to reveal a lovely face framed by dark curls, was tending to her partner by the time Victor kneeled down.
"Injured is he?" he spoke in his slightly-improved Romanian, though he was not accustomed to this form of dialect. "I am a doctor, I will help you. His neck—hold it. Do not move him."
The girl nodded worriedly and allowed Victor to remove the cloth from the rider's face so as to ease his breathing. He was shocked to be met with the haunting eyes of Velkan Valerious gazing up at him; the young man immediately recognised the German from their previous encounter several months before.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded in Latin. "That werewolf, it was chasing you?"
The young woman said something to Velkan in Romanian, what sounded like: You know this person?
"Do not talk, Master Valerious," said Victor, hurriedly making his way through the thin layers of cloth to inspect the gypsy for injuries—he was probably freezing in these clothes and wearing them only for the sake of mobility and lightness. "Do not move, either. You may have broken your bones."
Velkan shut his eyes tightly, more a reaction of dismay rather than pain. "Something hurts..."
The doctor at last unfastened the buttons on the prince's black shirt and opened it wide, revealing the pale skin of a well-formed abdomen, marred by four deep lacerations that coursed blood like springs. "Cover, quick!" he said to the young woman, who hastily began to tear off her scarves as Victor reached out and grabbed a handful of snow, packing it onto the wounds. Velkan let out a scream when the ice touched him, and began to curse in an impressive variety of languages.
"Do not struggle," Victor said to him calmly, stroking the young man's forehead and checking his eyes for signs of dilation or shock. "The coldness will close the capillaries, and the bleeding will slow. Do you feel any numbness, any dizziness?"
"Have I been bitten?" Velkan asked desperately, face contorted with suffering.
"No, but you have been badly clawed. You will need these wounds shut." He nodded to the girl. "Your wife?"
"My sister," Velkan retorted.
"Does she speak Latin?"
"Well enough," Anna interrupted, glaring at the doctor as she pressed her folded sash to her brother's wounds. "How bad is he?"
"He will need a surgeon to close these lacerations—where lives your doctor?"
"Our doctor was killed four months ago," said Anna. "Now we have no one."
Victor deliberated a moment, gazing down at the shuddering young man who was slowly bleeding to death, and then up at the silhouette of the waggon. Creating life could wait, but saving life could not. However, he could not risk the discovery of his plans by taking the gypsy and his sister back to the castle labouratory. Even though he was better equipped to deal with an emergency there rather than at any other place, the Count was adamant about keeping the experiment undisclosed. Victor made up his mind.
"Igor!" he called, and the hunchback shuffled into view. "Return to the castle. This boy needs medical attention, and I will return when I have finished mending him."
"Yes, doctor," Igor grumbled.
Victor turned to Anna. "How far is your home?"
† † †
The front doors of Valerious Manor burst open, and Victor walked over the threshold carrying Prince Velkan in his arms. Anna darted to the fore, directing the doctor towards the scullery where she swept her arm across a table and sent candlesticks clattering to the floor. Victor carefully laid the young man upon its surface and shrugged off his bulky coat, folding it and placing it under Velkan's head.
He began to roll up his sleeves and asked of Anna, "Do you have any alcohol? Wine, vodka, gin-"
"We have plenty."
"Bring several bottles, and hurry."
Anna nodded and rushed away to fetch the liquor as Victor peeled off Velkan's shirt. The prince groaned softly and closed his eyes; the doctor was immediately shaking him and patting his cheek.
"Do not fall asleep, Master Valerious. You must stay awake."
"I'm so weary," he mumbled.
"That is because you have lost much blood," Victor told him, moving towards the black iron stove and stoking its coals. "If you lose consciousness, you might never come out of it." He placed a large kettle upon the stovetop before turning to his patient again. It had been years since the doctor had last dealt with living persons, but his medical brilliance was not limited by this effect in the least.
He checked Velkan's eyes once more for signs of delirium, and put pressure on the bloody rags to further staunch the blood flow. The prince made a small noise in his throat, but did not cry out. Victor saw that he was in excruciating pain, and found himself admiring the lad's courage.
"I don't believe I've met a braver person than you," he admitted whole-heartedly. "Any man in your situation would be half-mad and screaming like a child."
A thin smile graced Velkan's lips. "My Father has taught me to be strong and endure," he said with a trace of sadness staining his voice.
"Your father…" Victor narrowed his eyes as he entered a stage of keen pondering, such as he would if he were trying to connect two formulas. "Have I met him? I feel as if…"
"Boris? Very unlikely," said the prince, wincing a little as he shifted about on the tabletop. "He distances himself from everyone, even Anna and I. Ever since Mother…" He trailed off, and Victor understood the unspoken well enough.
"I see," he murmured. "My condolences. Is your father here now?"
"No. He is out with the hunting party, patrolling the southern forest. He will not be back for some time."
"Damn. I could do with a few extra hands. Have you any servants about?"
Victor was surprised when Velkan lay a bloody hand upon his own, and held fast the cloth covering his wounds. The doctor was riveted by the gypsy's sapphire gaze like a fly in a spider's web, hypnotised by both his eyes and the disquieting darkness behind them.
"My hands are still useful," Velkan said, attempting to make light of the grave situation, his blood warm against Victor's cold skin. "What must you do?"
The German inadvertently stared at the crimson-stained cloth on his patient's abdomen. "Once the bleeding has stopped, we must then take precautions to see that the wounds do not get infected. But do not trouble yourself with worrying, Master Valerious. You will be properly cared for."
At that moment Anna returned from her quest with several bottles and a brown leather bag which she set heavily on the table beside her wounded brother. Victor was surprised by her vehemence, and cast a sidelong glance at her that spoke all too clearly of how intimidated he was of this young woman who behaved as no female he had ever met.
"The medical instruments in this bag are old, but in good condition," she said. "I think you would use them better than improvising with forks and spoons."
"Indeed. That is clever thinking of you, Mistress Valerio-"
"Anna."
"Miss Anna."
"Hear me, doctor," she said sternly, "I am not leaving his side. Do not bother lecturing me, only tell me what I must do to help."
Victor nodded, feeling somewhat relieved that the young man's sister was offering her services. "I will have to stitch his wounds. I need strong thread, Anna, and I need it to be coated in wax—it is less painful and more sanitary that way, and you seem to have enough candles for the task. I also need several sturdy needles, like the kind used for leather repair. If you haven't got any, bring me whatever you can find, and quickly."
The princess said nothing, but was away in an instant to gather the man's requested supplies.
Victor turned back to Velkan, whose face was beginning to reflect his hæmorrhaging, pale and sweaty. "You are going to sew me back together," he muttered, "like a quilt?"
"You will not feel much, my boy. I will try to make it as quick and painless as possible."
"The pain is not what troubles me," he said. "It is the thought."
"And I will take care of that first. Here, have a draught of whiskey-"
"O God, I am dying then, aren't I?"
"Of course not, it is only to ease your discomfort. There are certain merits to being intoxicated, such as lack of sensation and decreased blood circulation. I'm afraid it is the best anæsthesia available at this point, so drink up. Small sips now, take care not to choke. I know it's difficult to swallow while lying down, but you should try to avoid as much movement as possible.
"Now, since you seem a bit apprehensive, I will tell you exactly what I am doing and when I shall do it. Right now I am going to begin disinfecting that first laceration…"
And so Victor Frankenstein poured alcohol on Velkan's wounds, removed the bits of dirt and gravel from the torn flesh, and began preparation for the impromptu surgery. Anna remained true to her word, assisting the doctor in readying the thread and cleaning his instruments as well as any nurse. She held her brother's hand as Victor drew the first stitch, and Velkan clamped down on the wooden dowel in his mouth to stifle his screams.
Though wholly concentrated on his task, Victor was impressed by the resilience and strength exhibited by the siblings, and was certain that he would never again meet such fascinating and heroic individuals. It served as a reminder that integrity knew no ethnicity, and gave him all the more reason to succeed in his work. This was for whom he strove: people whose fantastic lives would ultimately be cut short by death. In a world that knew no tragedy, these souls would continue to live on and do their good for humanity. This is the definition of his life's work, thought Victor with love pouring from his heart and into his industrious, blood-stained fingers. This is where the wall between Heaven and Earth shall fall, and the fear that has haunted Man since time began shall crumble with it.
† † †
The hours that had become small during the night were now growing larger as dawn approached. Victor had finished sewing shut Velkan's wounds by four o'clock, and now there was nothing to be done but wait, and pray that the prince had not lost too much blood.
The doctor and Anna had moved him to a chaise in the parlour, and there, bandaged and blanketed, he slept peacefully with his sister sitting by his side on the floor. She dozed intermittently and had yet to let go of his hand.
Victor had cleaned the scullery and returned it to its previous condition, but afterwards his clothes were still stained with blood and he was frightfully exhausted from the ordeal. He joined the Valerious siblings in the parlour, intending to be close at hand should Velkan need resuscitation, and fell asleep in a chair quite by accident. He was roused some time later by Anna shaking his shoulder. His eyes sprang open suddenly and he was surprised to see the room illuminated by the sickly light of a grey, snowy day.
"O my, do forgive me," he apologised. "I hope I've not caused you any inconvenience by nodding off."
"I hear my father's return," said Anna, ignoring the doctor's words. "I will tell him what happened. Don't wake Velkan just yet." And then she disappeared from the parlour.
Victor released a heavy sigh and rubbed his face, brushing back his short blond hair. He was in no mood to greet people at this hour, especially looking as haggard as he did. Still, he mused, he looked a great deal livelier than the average Vaserian citizen.
He stood from the chair and made his way over to the chaise where Velkan lay, shirtless but wrapped in gauze strips about the middle. There was very little blood on the bandages, which meant that Victor had been thorough in shutting the wounds. The doctor took a seat on the edge of the chaise, and the young man awoke from the movement beside him.
Victor smiled at him reassuringly, and Velkan sleepily returned the expression. "I suppose I've lived after all," he murmured.
"It seems you have. This time, at least." He gently patted the prince's knee. "You may not be so fortunate should this happen again, Master Valerious. I would avoid any more of these 'hunting parties' for a few weeks."
Velkan blinked slowly as he sustained his thin smile, his eyes appearing older and wiser than his years. "Somebody must destroy the werewolves, doctor."
The way he so calmly and naturally spoke the words made Victor's hair stand on end. If he were at Goldstadf he would have been inclined to argue the existence of such fairy-tale creatures to no end. But Victor knew that the people of Vaseria were stubborn in their beliefs of the supernatural, and he saw no point in arguing. He was clearly outnumbered; however, he was reluctant to admit that he was perhaps beginning to entertain the possibility—scientifically speaking—of cross-speciæs mutation. But not yet. He already had enough to focus upon as it was.
"I know I have no reason to doubt your sincerity," Victor said quietly, "and I know that the thing which attacked us last night would have killed me were it not for you, Velkan. For this I am greatly in your debt."
"You owe me nothing," he replied. "Your efforts saved my life as well. I would say that we are equal by one another." He paused. "I apologise for my behaviour the first time we met. I thought you were up to no good, but now I see that I had been too quick to judge. For that I am sorry."
The doctor felt almost ill, knowing in truth that Velkan's instincts had been correct. Stealing corpses from graves to use in an experiment where the main objective was undermining God's power was far from "good", and certainly more evil than any idea this innocent young man was capable of authoring. But still Victor managed to smile, and he felt like a liar even though he spoke not a word.
Velkan's eyes were drawn over the doctor's shoulder; his expression fell into a cold, lifeless mask that was both sorrowful and ashamed. "Father," he said tonelessly.
Victor turned to see Boris Valerious in the doorway, staring at his son with mutual sadness in his single eye. Anna was at his side, looking solemn and surprisingly docile.
The man was greying and burly, rugged-looking and thickly built. His attire was dark like that of his children's—no doubt for nighttime camouflage, assumed Victor—and he carried a sword on his belt. His presence was commanding, yet the doctor could not help but to feel as if this man were locked outside the walls of a happy life, looking in with the demeanor of one who had resigned himself to the inevitable.
Perhaps it was a reaction to his son's condition, thought Victor. A son that, for some reason, looked nothing at all like his biological father…
"Lord Valerious," he greeted in awkward Romanian as he rose to his feet. "To meet you is an honour."
"He is not a lord," Velkan corrected softly. "He is a king."
The doctor turned about in shock. "The king? Of Vaseria?"
"King of the gypsies, yes."
Victor bowed low to Boris, who arched his eyebrow suspiciously. "My apologies, Your Majesty. I did not know your status."
Boris nodded his pardon. "Do not worry yourself, Mr…?"
"Frankenstein. Victor Frankenstein."
"Mr Frankenstein, do not feel the need to salute me so grandly. My title is not of especial importance. In fact, I should address you as 'Doctor', correct?"
"I am a doctor, yes, though not to mistake me for a physician; I am familiar with, ah… Velkan, how does one say 'diagnoses'? Really? Thank you. Diagnoses, sire, and treating common illness, but my knowledge is for surgery and studies. I came to Transylvania early this year to finish my research."
Boris nodded again, somewhat impressed by the foreigner's grasp of the Romanian language. "We lost our own doctor some time ago," he said in a rumbling voice. "I understand that you have saved my son's life."
"Only after he first saved mine, sire."
"Is this true, Velkan?"
The prince closed his eyes and nodded his head slightly.
"You swore that you would not go into the east forest again," the king said sternly. "Did you forget what happened the last time?"
"No, father…"
"Anna's horse had to be put out of its misery after the werewolf disembowelled it, and being abducted by Dracula himself is something I would care never to hear of again! It was but three years ago—you should not have forgotten by now."
Victor's breath hitched in his throat when he heard the name of his benefactor spoken so terribly, and suddenly it seemed as if all the air in the room had been sucked out by an invisible lung. He stumbled in his momentary disorientation, and was surprised when Anna—Princess Anna, he reminded himself—was then at his side and steadying him.
"Are you feeling well, doctor?" she asked concernedly.
"I-I am only tired," he lied. "It has been a long night. I… should be making my way home again."
Boris stroked his moustache thoughtfully. "Pity that you must leave so soon. I was hoping to speak with you a bit longer, but I suppose our conversation can wait for another occasion. I will call a carriage to return you to your home."
"Please, do not trouble yourself for my sake. I am-"
"Nonsense, I insist. It is no trouble, and the very least I could do in return for saving the life of my reckless son."
"Well… very good. Thank you, Your Majesty." Victor found himself abbreviating his sentences, his mind fully occupied with questions regarding the Valerious' knowledge of Dracula. Obviously the Count was not well-thought of by this family, and Victor was immediately obsessed with finding out the reason why.
"I should go now," he excused himself, gathering up his coat. "I have much to do, and so must yourselves."
"If it pleases you, sir. Come, I will show you the way," offered Boris.
Victor bade farewell to Anna and Velkan, and followed the king from the parlour. "You have wonderful children," he said conversationally as they walked. "You must be very proud."
The elder man sighed heavily. "God knows I try," he answered. "They have been difficult to raise."
"Your effort is clear… it, it shows in them," Victor stumbled, trying to find the correct term.
"Perhaps in Anna," Boris admitted, "but Velkan…" He trailed off and shook his head as they approached the front entrance, then clapped a hand on Victor's shoulder. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Dr Frankenstein. Perhaps if you are not otherwise engaged, you would like to join us for dinner next week? It is Christmas after all, and we would appreciate your company."
Victor's heart sent blood surging through his veins. It had been so long since his last interaction with people that he found himself suddenly starving for human companionship, even if he was barely acquainted with them. However, the Count was most insistent that the doctor keep himself immersed in his current progress, lest he become distracted and fall behind. But the need to escape the darkness of his labouratory and the heavy conscience he carried from committing those ghastly deeds suddenly overpowered whatever hesitation he harboured about postponing his experiment. He needed this respite, thought Victor. He needed to be reminded of those for whom he struggled, to be around a family, such as the family he had left behind in Germany. Perhaps in this he would find himself renewed, ready to take on greater strides in the name of science. He had no reason to refuse such a generous offer—and the man was a king, after all. How could he refuse a personal invitation from such a prominent figure?
"Thank you," said Victor with a smile as he shook Boris' hand in a gesture of farewell. "I would be delighted."
To Be Continued...