Hey there!
Here's the next chapter. There was a bit of a delay, because my beta-reader Slaycinder was apparently eaten by time-monsters. Hope you're alright...
I would like to thank dear Datura Writii who took over beta-reading. You saved this story!
To Queenmedesa: In this story Sarah is nothing to the Count, except for a beauty he had long waited for. Sarah's part in this story is almost over, I'm concentrating on Herbert/ Alfred and the Count. I've written other stories, in which Sarah is indeed Breda's true love, so I know what you mean. But it's not like this in this story. I'm sorry.
An Unexpected Journey
The men that Magda had managed to round up worked feverishly in the attic of the inn. Madame Chagal, Sarah, and the maiden were banned to the kitchen for the moment in order to keep them out of the way.
In the midst of the chaos, the Professor scurried around, bellowing instructions. "The hole must not be that big, but large enough for the rope to run swimmingly. It must not get stuck. So it must be smooth, really smooth," he reminded the man who was standing on a ladder in the bathroom, drilling a hole into the wall between this and the next room – Sarah's chamber. The farmer settled for rolling his eyes – the old man got on his nerves. He had made the same kind of hole already, one into the wall between the bathroom and guest chamber.
"Here is the net," Chagal announced when he and two fellows entered. They had dragged the heavy thing through the whole village. It was pure luck that there was a rope maker living in the village that delivered to all the fishermen in the area.
Abronsius turned to the newcomers and nodded contentedly. "Well then, let's get started. We already have applied the appropriate hooks and eyes to the ceiling. Let us now build the trap."
They needed five men to apply the heavy net to the ceiling. Three had to be replaced until the Professor was contented with the outcome – their arms just couldn't hold out any longer.
"Well now, the rope," the Professor announced finally, allowing the men to take a deep breath. A young craftsman braided the rope through the construct, closely following the instructions of the scientist. Then, he pulled the rope through the two small holes so that the end part was finally dangling in the guest chamber.
As soon as it was hanging there, Abronsius pulled enthusiastically and heard, with a deeply felt satisfaction, the falling net two chambers away. His construction worked.
Chagal, who had just shaken out his aching arms, breathing heavily, looked up, aghast. "Wh...Wha... WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"
"Well, that was the test, to see if it works," Professor Abronsius explained, unmoved and obviously oblivious to the murderous stares of the men around him. "Come now, no need to pretend to be tired. The net must be on the ceiling EXACTLY as it was just now. Well, what are you waiting for? You should know now how it is to be done."
Since it was no use to argue and the men knew what was at stake, they went back to work, grumbling. The second time it was completed quickly. When the construct was back on the ceiling, Abronsius gathered the men around him.
"Listen to me. When the bastard comes back later, he will most likely enter through that window in the bathroom, since I flecked the chimney with holy water. This, along with the garlic at the door, will show him that the inhabitants of this house responded to his last visit. Otherwise, he'll smell a rat and disappear. He'll trespass into Miss Chagal's room – this door is no real hindrance for him – and then he'll be trapped. When the net engulfs him, we'll storm into the room – you three will take care that the net will ensnare him. You two will see that his hands are accessible for me. All the others will keep him at bay with the crucifixes. I'll apply the silver handcuffs. Then, we'll drag him into the coal-cellar and the terror will stop."
"How will we know when to pull the rope?" one of the men asked.
"When the girl screams, of course." Abronsius shuddered, considering his lack of logical thinking.
He glanced around, and the men stared back at him, partly doubting, partly anxious, but, most importantly, determined. Abronsius would have liked to have braver and stronger men, but he had to live with what he got.
"Well, everyone in position," he finished his speech and stayed behind with half the men in the guest room, while the rest went to a cubby opposite Sarah's room. The inn-keeper went to send the women to bed and inculcated Sarah once more with keeping the crucifix in her hands at all times. It was completely un-Jewish, but if it saved his daughter, he could accept it. Chagal was not thrilled for his daughter (who didn't know any of the plan) to be the decoy, but he saw, too, that it was the only way.
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Konstantin Abronsius' plan had worked as it should. When the men stormed into the girl's room, where Chagal tended at once for his still hysterically screaming daughter, the dark creature squirmed in the net and tried desperately, to find a way out of the ropes.
As discussed, five men leapt on the struggling vampire and made sure that the net's meshes kept him busy. The defense of the vampire grew less as more crosses were directed at him. The Professor observed in fascination at how these religious items seemed to draw the strength out of the creature. In the end, it took almost no effort for the two men to pull the hands of the vampire through the mesh so that Abronsius could fasten the cuffs of purest silver to his wrists.
The vampire hissed when the metal came in contact with his skin and it was evident that it caused him pain. Abronsius' pity was low, though. Indeed, there was pure satisfaction in seeing the demon suffer – after all, it had had no pity for poor Alfred. But the Professor never would admit to himself that he was able to harbor such human emotions.
The vampire didn't struggle anymore. Closing the net around him, they dragged him down into the cellar where the coals were stored. They had no regards for his uncomfortable pounding on every step of the stairs. Each and every one of them had lost at least one family member to those creatures of night – this small bit of vengeance was quite welcome.
In the cellar, they bound the net up, soaking the tight knots with holy water as Abronsius attached the handcuffs to chains set within the wall. Afterwards, they all went up to the barroom and Chagal, drunken with joy about Sarah's saving, wasn't penurious for once – everyone got a free beer.
Abronsius didn't take part in the spree. He sat in the flickering light of an oil lamp opposite the creature he had been searching for for decades. He was staring back with pain filled and hateful eyes.
If only Alfred could have been here.
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Breda von Krolock silently chided himself while he tried undauntedly to get free from the tangle of ropes and knots. But instead of getting free, he seemed to entangle himself more with each movement.
Already there came men storming into the room from two sides – how could he have been that careless? He should have noticed this mass of heartbeats while the girl's screams kept on droning painfully in his ears. Some of the men lunged at him, leaving scarce chance to get out of the net. Furthermore, his powers were paralyzed more with every minute. He didn't have to take a look around to know that there were many crucifixes directed at him.
Finally, he ceased his struggling. There was no point anymore; he had no chance to escape. At present. He would have to stay calm, keep a cool head, and wait for the right moment.
That hope of freedom was dashed when an old, lean man applied silver handcuffs to him. The metal burned devilishly into his skin. It would made it nearly impossible to move his hands as long as they were bound like this.
The men dragged him downstairs and he made painful contact with each and every step. How did he get into this situation, helpless as a fish in a net?
At least they brought him into a windowless room, where they bound up the net (thanks to the holy water he would never be able to loosen the knots himself) and chained him to the wall.
While the villagers went up to celebrate their triumph over him, the odd old man sat down opposite him and stared at him with blatant interest. It was obvious to him that his current situation must be all owed to this stranger. The villagers were way too simple to set a neat trap like this. Breda had to grudgingly admit that he felt a certain respect for the old man – no one had ever been able to get him in an affliction like this within almost 300 years.
"Did he taste good?" the old man asked now and Breda thought he heard a certain sadness in his voice.
"Your traveling companion?" he answered with his own question. He knew the old man meant the boy he had found in the tub instead of the inn-keeper's daughter. Everything had gone wrong tonight.
"My assistant," the old man confirmed. "My name is Professor Konstantin Abronsius, chair for natural sciences at the University of Königsberg and besides, studying..."
"Vampires," Breda finished the sentence for him, using the small break the old man placed to end it pompously, and was filled with satisfaction to see the disappointment in the old man's face. "To answer your question; yes, his blood was delicious. I gave his body to the wolves."
Unfortunately, the old man seemed not as distraught at this news, as he had hoped him to be. There was a certain pain in his eyes, but he seemed to be rather relieved.
"That's good. So his soul is saved," the old man confirmed his suspicion.
Damn it. How could he have known that the truth would have been worse for him? What's happened to the terror of a maimed body?
"What are your plans for me?" Breda asked now. Since he had not been destroyed yet, he was sure that was not the immediate aim of the old man. He surely knew how a vampire's demise had to be brought on.
"Well, we both will go on a journey. I want the Nobel Prize to have my name on it by proving the existence of creatures like you to the world. But then again, you probably have no idea what that is."
"Alfred Nobel is the inventor of dynamite – amongst other things. He left a small fortune after his death, which he wanted to be used to support other scientists with their studies. So, since four years ago (*1901) every year scientists that made great inventions are awarded this prize. I might be a vampire, but I'm not behind the times," he countered. He wasn't just any farmer lob, but a count! Literate, educated, and indeed interested in the outside world's affairs.
The old man nodded approvingly. "I see, I speak with a man of education. Well, that could make the journey more enjoyable."
"My subjects will come and get me out of here before that," Breda announced.
"I don't think so. Sun will rise in less than an hour and then no one will come, except for the carpenter with the finished, light-tight coffin that I will put you in. And then our journey will finally begin. By the time darkness falls, we will already be far, far away from here."
Breda stared at the old man, speechless for once. He could not prevent a wave of desperation washing over him.
Herbert...
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Herbert woke the next evening entirely satisfied. He laid in his comfortable sarcophagus and felt the body of the boy his father brought him yesterday beneath him. Keeping his eyes firmly closed, he tried to remember his appearance. When he pictured the shining green eyes, the flawless face with the prominent cheekbones, the firm and well-proportioned butt, along with the blond wisps falling over his forehead, he wondered if the boy was really that pretty or if he was imagining things.
Alfred. He had not talked that much about himself, but there was time enough for that. It was adequate to know that he was intelligent enough to realise that his offer was a fair better option than the cemetery. He had said that he had no experiences. However, he knew exactly what Herbert wanted from him – amongst other things. Well, it was no problem for him. Most of the young men Herbert had taken into his bed had been unexperienced – at least relating to men. He had only met two young men in his whole existence that had really shared his inclination. And one of them had not been to his taste. The others were more or less responsive to the things he was doing with them. Depending on that, they ended up, sooner or later, at the graveyard.
He was eager to find out which sort Alfred was of. Yesterday, he had seemed quite impassive, but he had also stepped into his sarcophagus without hesitation, welcoming him in his arms. Herbert didn't want to keep his hopes too impossibly high, but he could not prevent picturing the upcoming years in brightest colors. He sighed silently. If it only could be true.
The small sigh woke Alfred from his death-like sleep. He opened his eyes and looked around, disoriented for the moment. He was in a coffin. A quite comfortable coffin, he had to admit, but a coffin nevertheless. He recalled that he had died yesterday and rose again as a vampire. This was the coffin of his sire's son. And this son, Herbert von Krolock, heir to the count, laid in his arms. He remembered the bargain of last night. Up to now it had been quite enjoyable. There was nothing awful in holding the slender body of the count's son in his arms. Quite actually, it gave him some comfort.
Herbert opened his eyes in order to compare memory and reality. The young man lying with him was indeed as pretty as his remembrance told him. And those green eyes simply gazed back, giving him the feeling that they could look right through him. Slowly, he lifted a hand and brought it to Alfred's cheeks. Tenderly, he laid some fingers on the soft skin, his thumb brushing lightly over the full lips. Alfred didn't retreat, just continued staring intently at him. If only he could know what he was thinking at the moment. The soft lips lured him, and he decided to conquer them now, making this first part of Alfred his own. He stretched his head towards the one below it and laid his lips cautiously against Alfred's. It was only a very light contact, but it sent shivers down his spine nevertheless.
Alfred still didn't back away, but he didn't exactly respond, either. Oh, so carefully, Herbert enforced the pressure, started to play with Alfred's lips, picked at them, the entire time trying to internalize Alfred's taste. He softly jabbed his tongue against the lips and, to his pleasure, Alfred opened them willingly. Herbert's tongue shot out and explored the unfamiliar mouth. Soon he dueled with Alfred's tongue. Alfred was no absolute newcomer when it came to kissing; that much was sure.
Alfred was honestly astounded. He never had believed it possible to be that pleasant to kiss another man. Especially since Herbert kissed completely different from the bar-maid. With her, kissing had resembled a fight, but this now was far more like a dance. Herbert lured, seduced, tempted, bewitched – and Alfred found himself responding to this invitation completely.
Alfred was so drawn into this game of tongues that his brain had a hard time noticing the hand that had somehow found its way under his shirt. Sharp fingernails scratched tenderly over his skin and sent shivers down his spine. The hand wandered deeper, left the shirt again, and caressed his bottom, pinching a bit, as if to test the firmness. Alfred didn't mind. His body was the prince's now; he had promised it.
Herbert was happy. Alfred was a good kisser and learned quickly. This butt was a dream, he'd love to...
But suddenly they were interrupted by a loud shuffling from above. Confused, they both looked upwards and saw that the lid had been opened.
"Koukól!" Herbert called angrily, frustrated when he recognized the servant. "What is the meaning of this?"
"Maaaaaastr," came the cripple's long, drawn-out answer. He pointed at the neighboring sarcophagus.
"What about my father?" Herbert asked impatiently.
"Noddere," announced the servant, causing Alfred to wonder what language this man might speak – Romanian, perhaps? But he suddenly understood when Herbert asked:
"What do you mean, my father is not there? Where might he be? It's the midnight ball tonight."
"Noddere," the servant repeated and shrugged his shoulders helplessly.
Herbert sighed in irritation. He had no idea why his father liked this nasty piece of work that much. According to him, he found him "amusing". Herbert had had better laughs for sure. He got up, stretched, and climbed gracefully out of the sarcophagus. Alfred followed him and eyed up the cripple interestedly.
"What of the guest? Did father bring the girl to the castle yesterday?"
When the servant only shook his head, Herbert felt the first wisps of concern.
"What girl?" asked Alfred.
Herbert turned to Alfred. "Well, the girl for the ball tonight. The yearly midnight ball I told you about. It's tonight and Dad wanted to claim his bride. He had to go twice, because on his first try, he ended up with you instead of the girl."
"Just a moment – you say he went back to the inn yesterday?"
Herbert nodded and ran his fingers through his hair helplessly. Perhaps it had gotten too late to manage the whole way back to the castle and his father had taken refuge in one of the safety shelters all around the area? But even then, he should have been home by now.
Alfred felt a knot building in his guts. Could it be...? No, Herbert told him yesterday that they would know if their sire did not exist anymore. But he still felt worried.
"We must go to the village," he informed Herbert calmly, though he didn't feel calm at all.
Herbert looked at him, puzzled. "Why?"
"The professor, the one I told you about yesterday?"
"The one who taught you basic knowledge about vampires?"
Alfred nodded in conformation. "He is there, too. I came here with him, as his assistant. To... to tell you the truth, we came here to prove the existence of vampires. We were looking for evidence."
Herbert stared at him, his mind not yet ready to accept the consequence of Alfred's words.
"They must have noticed my disappearance," Alfred continued, "My professor would have known what has happened. And do you think that he didn't adopt measures, in case the vampire came back?"
Herbert stared at him some more seconds before ordering Koukól to prepare two horses. He took Alfred's sleeve and dragged him after him.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Herbert's voice was accusatory and aggressive.
"Well, I thought it wouldn't make a good first impression if I introduced myself as a vampire hunter. And you never mentioned your father planning to go back to the inn," Alfred defended.
Herbert could tell the truth in this, but he was still too angry to be just. He dragged Alfred rudely to his quarters. There, he threw him a traveling cloak and some riding boots, while he took the same kind of clothes for himself.
Only minutes later, they were down in the stables and Herbert waited, growling impatiently, for the stable-boy and his aid to finally ready the horses. Eventually, they could mount and Herbert urged his gelding on, not caring if Alfred and his mare would be able to follow.
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They left their horses at the edge of the forest and approached the inn. Alfred stayed behind Herbert, since he lacked vampire hunting techniques. Soon, they stood in the shadows of a shack that bordered Chagal's inn. There was much turmoil in the barroom, possibly louder and more exuberant than Alfred had ever witnessed in the previous evenings.
It was impossible to catch something useful from the scraps of conversation that they could hear through all the noise. But, after some waiting, they heard finally someone say: "I'll be right back," from the back door. Obviously, someone left the pub to pass some water.
Herbert signed Alfred to stay behind. The count's heir left the shadows and crept around the corner and into Chagal's backyard. Alfred couldn't see what happened next, exactly. But Herbert was back only seconds later, detaining a struggling person whose mouth he held closed with one hand.
Herbert pressed the man to the wall of the shack, keeping the hand tightly over his mouth. Alfred knew the man by sight.
"Listen – you don't have to die. But should you even so much as pipe up too loudly, I'll rip out your throat. Are we clear?" Herbert growled and the man nodded with wide open eyes.
Cautiously, Herbert drew back his hand, ready to press it back again anytime. But the mortally scared prisoner remained silent, if one ignored his panicked gasping.
"What did the Professor do with my father?" Herbert believed it to be best to pretend he knew everything but this detail. "Go on, talk if you value your life."
"H...He...He..." the man stuttered, not able to utter a single word.
Herbert decided to enforce his interrogation by showing the man his bared fangs and hissing. It seemed to work. The man whimpered piteously and lost what little color that was left on his face, but he regained ability to speak.
"He took him. In a coffin. They left this forenoon. He wants to prove their existence. I don't know anything else," he wheezed, crossing his arms before his chest. "Really."
"I believe you," Herbert said at length and he plunged his teeth into the man's neck at the same moment he crushed his larynx with his fingers. No sound came from the dying man.
Alfred was completely taken by surprise from the smell of the blood. Never before had he wanted something so much. Greedily, he watched Herbert as he drank in big gulps, wasting not one drop. It was all Alfred could do to restrain himself from prying Herbert from his prey, for he knew instinctively that he would not survive this attempt. He was the subordinate vampire after all. He was almost horrified when he realised that he was whining, just like a dog begging for a spare bone.
Herbert believed Alfred to scarcely deserve any of it. Without him, there would not be any problems. A smaller, more just voice in the back of his head reminded him that Alfred was hardly to be held accountable. Plus, Alfred would need his strength. So, Herbert abandoned the man while there were still a few gulps of blood remaining and threw the body to the newly risen vampire.
Alfred lunged at him with a relieved growl and bit, sucked, and licked until no trace of blood could be found anymore. Nothing had ever tasted that sweet; nothing that strengthened him more. When he finally gave up on finding another trace, he backed away and started when Herbert drove a broken piece of wood from the fence through the corpse's breast without missing a beat.
"Come on," he snarled, and Alfred followed. They went back to the forest to their horses.
"Where will he bring my father?" Herbert asked tensely.
Alfred had thought about this as soon as he had been able to think straight again (meaning: leaving the smell of the human blood behind). He spent the past three years at the Professor's side. He guessed he knew him and his thinking quite well. What would Abronsius do?
He felt scared for the count. His every wish was to free him. At the same time he realized the absurdity of this – he didn't even know that vampire. The bonding between sire and sired that Herbert had talked of must really be strong.
"We're from Königsberg, his chair is at the university there. He will be on his way there. At first. He'll pass Cracow on the way. He won't be able to keep his find silent by then – and it's still a long way to Königsberg. He'll stay in Cracow and will visit its university. He'll try to find a scientist willing to hear his story about vampires and survey his proof. Your father won't play along and therefore the scientists won't believe my professor. He'll probably even get in trouble, since I won't be there to keep him out of it and protect him from himself. He'll start to think that Königsberg would be the same failure as Cracow. He is in need for an ally, one, who is ready to listen to him and who will add to his credibility. So, he'll turn to Vienna, to Professor Alibori, who is also studying vampires and who was his biggest rival up to now. If we went to Vienna now, we could be there when they arrive." Hope flared up in his eyes.
Herbert was less confident than his companion. "There are too many "if"s. What if you're wrong?"
"When he doesn't stop in Cracow and journeys through to Königsberg – then we can't overtake him, no matter what we'll do. Then he will prove the existence of vampires there, somehow, and afterwards he'll stake the count – we'd be too late. It has to be the other way," Alfred explained dryly. "I know him. I'm quite sure it will be that way. Vienna is the city we have to go to. And as quickly as possible. We will find and free him there," he added, comforting Herbert as much as himself.
Herbert would never have believed that he'd see the day that he left for a long journey without any luggage. But now that day had come. He nodded, climbed up his horse, and cantered away, into uncertainty. Alfred followed. If Alfred was right, if all ended well – Alfred would never have to go to the cemetery.
TBC