FIC: Trials of Fatherhood [Tanz der Vampire]
So that fyrie will stop complaining about me not posting here ;)
Tanz der Vampire, PG-13 - Graf von Krolock's search for the perfect nanny. Part of the Roses for Lucifer universe.
TRIALS OF FATHERHOOD
Castle von Krolock, the border of Transylvania, Holy Empire of the German Nation, Autumn of the Year of Our Lord 1623
The last lights were going out in the village beyond the forest. Peasants huddling together in the inn and houses, Graf Johannes von Krolock thought as he stood on the battlement that connected the two south most towers of his ancestral castle. The village had turned calmer, more fearful in the past years, but not as much as he had feared.
It had been over four years now since he had started this wretched, glorious, damnable nocturnal existence. He had feared the reactions of the villagers, but it seemed that seclusion and avoidance of Mass were now classed as yet another peculiarity of their Lord. In turn, he took care not to hunt in the village unless there were reasons that compelled him to choose to do so. It seemed that for a few decades more, he would be able to sustain this existence, retaining his title and holdings.
This pleased him. He would be loath to move or abandon his library.
The cold night wind tugged at his cape and hair. The stars glittered above him, a whole universe open to his gaze and ready to be read and understood. Was this not better than languishing on the Earth for a few brief years before expiring, unnoticed and unremembered?
He heard the soft shuffling footsteps a few moments before small arms wrapped around his leg. He looked down fondly at his son's golden hair, turned silver by the starlight. "Aren't you supposed to be in bed, Herbert?"
"I was," the boy said. "But I got up and Frau Silke looked funny. On a rope at the ceiling, and with her neck all crooked. And she's not moving, except when I push her, because then she goes kind of swinging."
Von Krolock sighed. "I think we'll have to get you a new nanny, dear one."
* * *
The nanny was middle-aged, had excellent references and a warm smile, not to mention wartime experience as a physician's assistant. She looked to be just what Herbert needed, and von Krolock smiled as he answered her questions about employment conditions.
"Oh, and one last thing," she said as she looked around the richly furnished study. "Will it be a problem if my niece lives with me? I promise she won't get underfoot. She's a lovely girl, just turned seventeen, but quite fanciful about ghosts and such. I keep telling her, she won't catch a man with such notions, no matter how dark her hair is or how smooth her face..."
Von Krolock sighed. Back to the drawing board.
* * *
At a few months shy of his seventh birthday, Herbert was fond of maintaining he was a big boy now. Consequently, von Krolock left his son with a book and an old set of toy horses as he turned to an alchemical experiment that required a particular astronomical configuration. He did not think the boy would be interested in the changing properties of metals anyway.
Some hours later, he realised he had not seen hide nor hair of the child. Returning to the library, he was surprised to see that Herbert had managed to tug a folio on natural history out of its shelf. For a moment he thought the boy had fallen asleep with his nose in the book, but then he realised Herbert was just looking very closely at the etchings.
He knelt beside his son, his cloak sweeping over the child's legs. "What is it that you find so interesting?"
"What people have under their skins." Herbert pointed out a diagram of the circulatory system. "All this is blood?"
"Yes." Von Krolock smiled. "There are over five litres in an adult's body."
"Do animals have the same things under their skins?"
"To an extent. The closer they resemble humans, the more similar they are inside. Warm animals with skin and fur are all almost the same, but a lizard is different, or a bird, and fish are very different inside - their hearts, for example."
Herbert thought about it for a while, chewing on his lower lip. "So if I cut Fido open, I'd find the same things as in the picture?"
"Presumably." Von Krolock smiled as he imagined his son going after the stable dog with a knife. "But I'm sure he'd rather stay alive. You can look at pictures instead, the real thing isn't that pleasant."
"If I cut him open, he won't get up again, will he?"
"No. When you cut people or animals open, they die. We're all delicate inside," he said as he ruffled Herbert's hair. "You might think of a living body as if it were a glass cup - if you break it, even if you put it together again, there'll be holes and it won't hold wine together anymore."
Herbert tilted his head against his father's hand, deep in thought. "But when you kill people and eat their blood, sometimes they get up again."
Von Krolock sighed. He had hoped the boy had forgotten that. "That's magic, dear one. And not a good one. I wish you hadn't seen that."
"If I get a new nanny, will you eat her?"
His lips twitched. "I'm trying to find one I won't be tempted to eat."
Herbert nodded, then dragged another book from the stack he'd assembled. "Look, this one is all about horses. They're pretty. Can I have a horse, Father?"
* * *
The nanny nodded as von Krolock described his son's character and habits.
"He sounds like a darling child," she agreed. "How often does he go to church?"
He blinked. "Every Sunday. And he says his prayers every night, I'm sure."
"Well, we'll have to fix that, won't we?" she said brightly. "He should be in church at least every other day, it's such a tender age and he needs to be brought close to God. And prayers... I think four hours of the Rosary a day should be enough, don't you? I will make him pray more as he gets older, of course."
"I... see."
She crossed herself and muttered a short prayer, apparently oblivious of him. He concentrated on not outwardly noticing the fact his skin was smoking.
* * *
The castle was overall not a dangerous place for a six-year-old child, provided said child could be trusted to keep away from sheer drops and slamming doors. The unused eastern tower was an especially good playground, with the only caveat being that the size of it made finding the boy a difficult task if one did not have the sounds of play to direct him.
In the end, von Krolock had to rely on the monstrous senses he despised, letting his son's scent guide him. Worry tugged at his mind: what if Herbert had tripped, fallen, knocked his head, opened a window and leaned out too far despite being told not to-
He saw the gleam of pale hair in the next chamber and breathed a soft, reflexive sigh of relief. The boy was crouched behind an overturned bench, clutching an old broken crossbow. Hiding?
Gleaming grey eyes turned to him, the boy's lips trembling with restraining a grin. "Father, get down!" Herbert hissed. "They'll see us!"
Von Krolock crouched down beside his son. He let his hair fall forward, hiding his own smile.
Herbert peeked out from behind the bench. "I think they're gone," he whispered.
"Who are they?" Von Krolock lowered his voice to match.
Herbert made a face. "The Turks, father. We're hiding from them because they're invading. And when they catch you, they put you on a sharp stick and push down."
At the last word, the boy shuddered, looking around cautiously. To a child like him, his father thought, the Turks would be even greater monsters. And in the silence, without distractions not of their own making, the tower was chilly and forbidding.
He wrapped his arm around Herbert's shoulders. "Are you afraid?"
Herbert leaned against him, still looking around cautiously for imaginary invaders. "I was, a little," he admitted. "When I was all alone with no-one to help. But now you're here and when they come, you'll rip their throats out, right?"
"That's werewolves, Herbert," von Krolock murmured as he kissed his son's forehead. "I would like to think I'm a little more restrained."
Alone with no-one to help, he thought, holding his son close. The boy needed company, beyond magic-dazed servants and a single vampire who was not sure of his own thoughts for half the time, never mind the needs of one of such a tender age.
* * *
Von Krolock steepled his fingers. "Herbert is a curious child and mostly takes care of his own education at this point. He practices his reading skills on select books from my library. Mostly those close enough to the floor for him to reach."
"Oh, I won't allow that to continue," the nanny said.
He had a bad feeling about this. "You won't?"
"A child should not be heard, nor seen outside the nursery more often than once per day," she explained. "I'm sure the poor motherless boy only needs a firm hand. He'll be thankful for the discipline once he's older."
Idly, he wondered if he had managed to acquire a curse while he wasn't looking. "How would you define discipline?"
"Oh, kneeling on peas, fasting for a day or two maybe." She smiled with a grandmotherly twinkle. "I always say you should wait until they're at least seven before you actually draw blood with the belt. They only learn to appreciate it with age."
* * *
Thousands of books in his library, and not one to help him.
"F-father?"
Von Krolock whirled around, dropping the tome he held. It joined the others scattered all over his desk.
"I told you to remain in bed," he gently scolded his son. "I'll be along in a few minutes. I'm just looking for something in a book."
The boy took short, hesitant steps across the floor of the library. His nightshirt dragged on the floorboards. "I'm scared, Father..."
"Nothing to be-"
Von Krolock's words were cut short when Herbert doubled over with another spasm of coughing. The harsh, barking sound echoed around the room. Then wheezing, on an indrawn breath.
He swept up his son before the echoes faded, lifting the small body easily. Herbert's skin was as pale as his own now, and was it his imagination, or were the lips turning a soft shade of blue?
He stroked the boy's back gently as the coughing faded, though the wheezing breath remained. His own helplessness angered him even as he frantically went through his mental catalogue of books, trying to remember which one could hold a description of his son's illness. It had started as a simple cold, but this cough and painful breathing were neither simple nor benign. Not for the first time, he longed for the company of someone with experience and knowledge of such childhood things, someone who could tell him what it was and how to cure it.
"It's going to be all right," he whispered, more to himself than to the boy.
"I know, Father." Herbert lay his head on his father's shoulder, raising one hand to keep his hair out of the way.
A sudden flash of inspiration sent von Krolock to the far side of the library. Cradling Herbert with one arm, he carried a heavy Arabian tome to the desk and leafed through it. Past the surgery charts, he found what he sought.
He felt some of the tension leave him. Not that rare an illness, then, and not as severe as it could have been, not in a child past six years of age. And he thought he had an idea on how to administer the suggested treatment of cool and moist air. It would also take care of supervising the boy over the day, something he would not entrust to the few servants he had left.
He kissed Herbert's hair. "How would you like to sleep in the crypt for a few days, dear one?"
Herbert smiled tiredely, then set his jaw with determination. "Do I get a cloak, Father?"
"A cloak?"
"You sleep in a coffin, and you have a cloak," Herbert pointed out. "And Lord Draculea's got a big fur cloak too. I want one."
In the end, Herbert got his wish. Wrapped in a short cloak that had been his father's in youth, he fell asleep quickly, the cool air of the crypt soothing his breathing. Von Krolock shifted against the pillows that he had used to line Herbert's side of the sarcophagus and put an arm around his son. He let the death-like vampire sleep take him. His own enchantments would wake him if Herbert moved during the day.
* * *
The nanny was smiling a little too widely for von Krolock's tastes, but beggars could not be choosers.
"I hope you won't find the castle too quiet," he mentioned as he reviewed her references. It seemed she switched employers somewhat often, but she did work mostly with young children. The short chunks added to several years of experience.
"Oh, it looks very lovely!" she trilled. "And such nice people! And such a big castle!"
He had the strangest impression that she was fluttering her eyelashes at him.
"By the way," she continued, "my condolences on your wife's death. Such a tragedy. A little boy left motherless - you really shouldn't allow that state to last long. Why, my own father - did I mention he was the Mayor of Karcag? - he always said that he remarried for our sakes, because..."
For once, he envied his Sire's ability to turn into mist.
* * *
The pony was a Haflinger, doe-eyed and gentle, with a dark gold coat and a mane of pale gold that matched Herbert's hair exactly.
"Azrael," the boy pronounced as he fastened the saddle straps under von Krolock's watchful gaze.
"Azrael it is," his father agreed as he led his own horse out of the stable. The great bay snorted at the newcomer, but fortunately Bellflower had an even temper. "How do you like him so far?"
Herbert's eyes glittered as he petted the pony's neck. "Can I teach him to bite people? Or do dressage? Can I put flowers in his hair?"
Von Krolock chuckled. "No, maybe, and yes. First, you need to learn how to ride him. Come, we have time before night falls completely. How would you like to ride down to the village?"
It was easier said than done, but Azrael was a placid animal and patiently endured Herbert's initial attempts at steering. Soon enough, the boy was sitting in the saddle like a seasoned rider. The path through the forest to the village allowed him to practice turns and even, once, hazard a canter.
Sunday evening was a holiday for the villagers, and the broad space between the church and the inn was filled with people. All of them bowed low to the Graf; he chose to ignore the whispers that rose in his wake. He made a note to appear in the village more often, if only to quell the rumours.
He dismounted to exchange words with the innkeeper. The old Jew was always a good source of local news, as well as making money off the estate brewing privilege. It seemed that the harvest would be a good one this year.
Walking out of the inn, von Krolock looked around for his son. At first he did not see him, but then loud laughter drew his attention to a gaggle of children near the centre of the square.
His son was letting a little girl feed an apple to the pony, as several boys from Herbert's age to almost twice older admired Azrael's pale mane and elegant carriage. A dark-haired six-year-old had his head almost on Herbert's shoulder as they examined the tack together.
The elder children scattered when von Krolock approached, leading his horse behind him, but the girl and the dark-haired boy remained, too occupied with their conversation.
Herbert looked up. Even in the rapidly darkening twilight, his smile was dazzling. "Father, can I let Tibor and Marishka ride Azrael?"
"Of course." He smiled at the children, who both looked awed with the prospect. "But I think you'd better put it off until another day. It'll be dark soon, so we need to head home, and I'm sure their parents are looking for them."
As Herbert said his goodbyes and his pony received final hugs and treats, von Krolock decided his son should be in the company of his peers more often. If only the sun's rays were more forgiving.
* * *
"I love children. I adore them. We get along so well, I tell stories, they tell stories, they play so nicely, and I watch over them..."
Von Krolock nodded absently as the nanny talked on. He was even prepared to accept her somewhat unsuitable youth. The dark blonde, half-starved mediaeval saint look had never particularly appealed to him, after all. And despite her appearance, the nanny was not overly devout beyond what was seemly, according to her words truly liked children, and did not seem to have designs on him.
She was almost perfect so far.
"Due to the nature of my studies, I maintain a mostly nocturnal rhythm," he remarked. "While it's important for a child to play in the sun, Herbert has taken to rising about noon, so that he can spend time with me in the evening without losing sleep. I hope the schedule will not be troublesome to you?"
She blinked, then smiled. "Oh no, I love the night. It reminds me of my sister."
"Does it?" Von Krolock wondered whether the news of his ill luck with retaining the services of nannies was widespread enough that even this somewhat flighty woman would demand a high wage.
"It was night when she went away to play with the fairies." The nanny giggled. "She was the first one to go away!"
His eyes snapped up to focus on the woman. "The fairies?" he prompted as he reached for sight beyond the worldly senses.
She leaned in and whispered, "I told Dora they were there, but she didn't see them. So I opened the window, and there they were, and I told Dora to walk out and she'd see them. And she did, and she stopped crying, and she went away with them so I didn't have to feed her anymore..."
She jumped to her feet, sending the chair crashing to the floor. She twirled with a giggle, then gasped as her eyes fell on a window.
"They're there again," she whimpered. "And they're not looking at me. They never look at me. I sent so many children to them, but they never look at me!"
She stood there, transfixed, as he approached. She only trembled once as his teeth pierced her neck.
Later, he buried her body in the forest, where the fireflies gathered.
* * *
Out of all the plagues that the Devil sent to Earth, von Krolock found his Sire the most abhorrent.
He shot Vlad Draculea an annoyed look as he bent over the sheaf of paper transcribed with nothing but numbers. "I do not break ciphers. Especially Turkish ones."
"Do you mean you don't know how to do it?" The one-time prince of Wallachia sounded far too amused, his low voice dropping into a purring murmur.
Von Krolock turned away and cleared a space on his desk. "I shall need time."
"Months? Weeks?"
"Days." He located a fresh batch of paper and dipped a quill in ink as he scanned the dispatches. He noted down the rough frequency of individual numbers and sizes of number groups. Never more than four figures, and that rarely. If he was lucky, Draculea would get bored and find other ways of amusing himself.
Or not, he thought as his Sire leaned against his back and fangs scraped against his throat in an unmistakable demand.
"Do you want those dispatches deciphered?" he protested.
"You said days." Teeth nipped at his ear with deceptive gentleness. "A night won't make much difference."
He hated, despised the man, but all the same he let himself be dragged out of his chair and kissed thoroughly. It had been some time since he was able to leave the castle and indulge, and in desperation-
Draculea's fangs dragged sharply along his lower lip. "Stop thinking."
Easier said than done, but neither particularly difficult as strong arms held him fast, another kiss setting fire to his blood. He raked his nails down Draculea's back, almost tearing the doublet, and it had been a long time. The furs in front of the fireplace would be soft enough, and he tried not to think about the use to which Draculea had put the coals once, almost a year ago.
Groaning into the kiss, at first he thought he was hearing things.
"Father?"
No, it was definitely Herbert in the doorway, dragging his nightshirt on the floor.
Draculea released him with a growl. "Don't you have people to take care of your spawn?"
"I'm not spawn," Herbert protested with a yawn. "And father ate my nanny. So now when I can't go to sleep, I come here."
The elder vampire's lips twitched. "I thought you were going to get a new one?"
"I did. You don't want to hear about it." Von Krolock shook his head as he walked up to his desk again. He started rearranging the papers for want of something to occupy his hands, which still twitched with the memory of Draculea's body. "Suffice it to say there are no more decent nannies available in the area."
Draculea looked down at Herbert, who had approached him fearlessly and was now looking at him with undisguised curiosity. He leaned down to ruffle the boy's hair absently. "I think I know someone who would do, if she's available."
"Mmm," von Krolock murmured as he stared at the dispatches. Every third number was divisible by the same prime, in turns five, three and eleven. He reached for the quill again, quickly scribbling. The first three he knew, and it fit the pattern. Greetings, great commander - definitely the beginning of a dispatch. "What's the sixth verse of the forty-first surah?"
"That's the one about Christians," Draculea said automatically. "And as for those who take as protectors others besides Him, Allah doth watch over them, and thou art not the disposer of their affairs.." The Arabic was surprisingly melodious with his Sire's Romanian accent.
"Protectors, guardians - yes..." He racked his brain for the second surah. "Guardians of Shaitan. Order of the Dragon."
A book was dropped on the desk, its jewelled covers clattering on the polished wood as Draculea opened the Qu'ran. "Give me numbers."
"Let me get the page down, some surahs are used much more often than others..."
Distantly, he heard Herbert's voice. "What book is that?"
"The holy book of the Turks," Draculea explained. "Like the Bible, but false."
"What's it say? Those words you said before?"
By now, von Krolock had the numbers sorted and separated, and he named surah after surah. Draculea read each one with the sureness of a trained muezzin, translating into German as soon as he was done.
Two dispatches in, von Krolock named a surah, but did not hear it in return. He looked up to see Draculea lifting Herbert's sleeping body from the floor and depositing it on the pile of furs in front of the fire before returning to their work.
* * *
The nanny was dressed impeccably in almost Puritan clothes. Her dark hair was gathered in a black lace bonnet, and she clutched an umbrella much sturdier than the Italian sun-shades he was familiar with.
He cleared his throat. "Now, about references..."
"Oh, I make it a rule never to give references," she said briskly.
He looked at her without using his physical eyes and nearly startled. "Lord Draculea's recommendation will quite suffice," he agreed. "A day off every fortnight, shall we say?"
"A night," she suggested.
Footsteps at the door to his study alerted him to his son's presence.
"You must be Herbert," the nanny said with a smile. "I'm Maria Poppenau. I'm going to be taking care of you from now on."
Von Krolock saw Herbert nod with a smile, and for once he decided to trust his son's instincts.
* * *
The lights were going out in the village beyond the forest, but that was all the better. Von Krolock moved the lantern closer to the portion of the star map that corresponded to the southeast sky at the moment.
"Can you find Orion again?" he asked.
Herbert shifted in his lap and nodded. "The three bright ones, that's the belt."
"Now look here, this is how you'll find Canis Major and Minor..."
Herbert followed directions carefully if impatiently, quickly finding every constellation. Von Krolock made sure his cloak was wrapped warmly around both of them. He judged they had an hour of stargazing left before it got too cold for the boy; then they would retire to Herbert's chambers, and he would wager that tonight's story would have to be about Orion's bold hunts.
To the north, a shadow drifted over the stars. If it was in the shape of a woman holding a big umbrella, von Krolock deemed it wise not to notice.
-FINIS-
Tanz der Vampire, PG-13 - Graf von Krolock's search for the perfect nanny. Part of the Roses for Lucifer universe.
TRIALS OF FATHERHOOD
Castle von Krolock, the border of Transylvania, Holy Empire of the German Nation, Autumn of the Year of Our Lord 1623
The last lights were going out in the village beyond the forest. Peasants huddling together in the inn and houses, Graf Johannes von Krolock thought as he stood on the battlement that connected the two south most towers of his ancestral castle. The village had turned calmer, more fearful in the past years, but not as much as he had feared.
It had been over four years now since he had started this wretched, glorious, damnable nocturnal existence. He had feared the reactions of the villagers, but it seemed that seclusion and avoidance of Mass were now classed as yet another peculiarity of their Lord. In turn, he took care not to hunt in the village unless there were reasons that compelled him to choose to do so. It seemed that for a few decades more, he would be able to sustain this existence, retaining his title and holdings.
This pleased him. He would be loath to move or abandon his library.
The cold night wind tugged at his cape and hair. The stars glittered above him, a whole universe open to his gaze and ready to be read and understood. Was this not better than languishing on the Earth for a few brief years before expiring, unnoticed and unremembered?
He heard the soft shuffling footsteps a few moments before small arms wrapped around his leg. He looked down fondly at his son's golden hair, turned silver by the starlight. "Aren't you supposed to be in bed, Herbert?"
"I was," the boy said. "But I got up and Frau Silke looked funny. On a rope at the ceiling, and with her neck all crooked. And she's not moving, except when I push her, because then she goes kind of swinging."
Von Krolock sighed. "I think we'll have to get you a new nanny, dear one."
* * *
The nanny was middle-aged, had excellent references and a warm smile, not to mention wartime experience as a physician's assistant. She looked to be just what Herbert needed, and von Krolock smiled as he answered her questions about employment conditions.
"Oh, and one last thing," she said as she looked around the richly furnished study. "Will it be a problem if my niece lives with me? I promise she won't get underfoot. She's a lovely girl, just turned seventeen, but quite fanciful about ghosts and such. I keep telling her, she won't catch a man with such notions, no matter how dark her hair is or how smooth her face..."
Von Krolock sighed. Back to the drawing board.
* * *
At a few months shy of his seventh birthday, Herbert was fond of maintaining he was a big boy now. Consequently, von Krolock left his son with a book and an old set of toy horses as he turned to an alchemical experiment that required a particular astronomical configuration. He did not think the boy would be interested in the changing properties of metals anyway.
Some hours later, he realised he had not seen hide nor hair of the child. Returning to the library, he was surprised to see that Herbert had managed to tug a folio on natural history out of its shelf. For a moment he thought the boy had fallen asleep with his nose in the book, but then he realised Herbert was just looking very closely at the etchings.
He knelt beside his son, his cloak sweeping over the child's legs. "What is it that you find so interesting?"
"What people have under their skins." Herbert pointed out a diagram of the circulatory system. "All this is blood?"
"Yes." Von Krolock smiled. "There are over five litres in an adult's body."
"Do animals have the same things under their skins?"
"To an extent. The closer they resemble humans, the more similar they are inside. Warm animals with skin and fur are all almost the same, but a lizard is different, or a bird, and fish are very different inside - their hearts, for example."
Herbert thought about it for a while, chewing on his lower lip. "So if I cut Fido open, I'd find the same things as in the picture?"
"Presumably." Von Krolock smiled as he imagined his son going after the stable dog with a knife. "But I'm sure he'd rather stay alive. You can look at pictures instead, the real thing isn't that pleasant."
"If I cut him open, he won't get up again, will he?"
"No. When you cut people or animals open, they die. We're all delicate inside," he said as he ruffled Herbert's hair. "You might think of a living body as if it were a glass cup - if you break it, even if you put it together again, there'll be holes and it won't hold wine together anymore."
Herbert tilted his head against his father's hand, deep in thought. "But when you kill people and eat their blood, sometimes they get up again."
Von Krolock sighed. He had hoped the boy had forgotten that. "That's magic, dear one. And not a good one. I wish you hadn't seen that."
"If I get a new nanny, will you eat her?"
His lips twitched. "I'm trying to find one I won't be tempted to eat."
Herbert nodded, then dragged another book from the stack he'd assembled. "Look, this one is all about horses. They're pretty. Can I have a horse, Father?"
* * *
The nanny nodded as von Krolock described his son's character and habits.
"He sounds like a darling child," she agreed. "How often does he go to church?"
He blinked. "Every Sunday. And he says his prayers every night, I'm sure."
"Well, we'll have to fix that, won't we?" she said brightly. "He should be in church at least every other day, it's such a tender age and he needs to be brought close to God. And prayers... I think four hours of the Rosary a day should be enough, don't you? I will make him pray more as he gets older, of course."
"I... see."
She crossed herself and muttered a short prayer, apparently oblivious of him. He concentrated on not outwardly noticing the fact his skin was smoking.
* * *
The castle was overall not a dangerous place for a six-year-old child, provided said child could be trusted to keep away from sheer drops and slamming doors. The unused eastern tower was an especially good playground, with the only caveat being that the size of it made finding the boy a difficult task if one did not have the sounds of play to direct him.
In the end, von Krolock had to rely on the monstrous senses he despised, letting his son's scent guide him. Worry tugged at his mind: what if Herbert had tripped, fallen, knocked his head, opened a window and leaned out too far despite being told not to-
He saw the gleam of pale hair in the next chamber and breathed a soft, reflexive sigh of relief. The boy was crouched behind an overturned bench, clutching an old broken crossbow. Hiding?
Gleaming grey eyes turned to him, the boy's lips trembling with restraining a grin. "Father, get down!" Herbert hissed. "They'll see us!"
Von Krolock crouched down beside his son. He let his hair fall forward, hiding his own smile.
Herbert peeked out from behind the bench. "I think they're gone," he whispered.
"Who are they?" Von Krolock lowered his voice to match.
Herbert made a face. "The Turks, father. We're hiding from them because they're invading. And when they catch you, they put you on a sharp stick and push down."
At the last word, the boy shuddered, looking around cautiously. To a child like him, his father thought, the Turks would be even greater monsters. And in the silence, without distractions not of their own making, the tower was chilly and forbidding.
He wrapped his arm around Herbert's shoulders. "Are you afraid?"
Herbert leaned against him, still looking around cautiously for imaginary invaders. "I was, a little," he admitted. "When I was all alone with no-one to help. But now you're here and when they come, you'll rip their throats out, right?"
"That's werewolves, Herbert," von Krolock murmured as he kissed his son's forehead. "I would like to think I'm a little more restrained."
Alone with no-one to help, he thought, holding his son close. The boy needed company, beyond magic-dazed servants and a single vampire who was not sure of his own thoughts for half the time, never mind the needs of one of such a tender age.
* * *
Von Krolock steepled his fingers. "Herbert is a curious child and mostly takes care of his own education at this point. He practices his reading skills on select books from my library. Mostly those close enough to the floor for him to reach."
"Oh, I won't allow that to continue," the nanny said.
He had a bad feeling about this. "You won't?"
"A child should not be heard, nor seen outside the nursery more often than once per day," she explained. "I'm sure the poor motherless boy only needs a firm hand. He'll be thankful for the discipline once he's older."
Idly, he wondered if he had managed to acquire a curse while he wasn't looking. "How would you define discipline?"
"Oh, kneeling on peas, fasting for a day or two maybe." She smiled with a grandmotherly twinkle. "I always say you should wait until they're at least seven before you actually draw blood with the belt. They only learn to appreciate it with age."
* * *
Thousands of books in his library, and not one to help him.
"F-father?"
Von Krolock whirled around, dropping the tome he held. It joined the others scattered all over his desk.
"I told you to remain in bed," he gently scolded his son. "I'll be along in a few minutes. I'm just looking for something in a book."
The boy took short, hesitant steps across the floor of the library. His nightshirt dragged on the floorboards. "I'm scared, Father..."
"Nothing to be-"
Von Krolock's words were cut short when Herbert doubled over with another spasm of coughing. The harsh, barking sound echoed around the room. Then wheezing, on an indrawn breath.
He swept up his son before the echoes faded, lifting the small body easily. Herbert's skin was as pale as his own now, and was it his imagination, or were the lips turning a soft shade of blue?
He stroked the boy's back gently as the coughing faded, though the wheezing breath remained. His own helplessness angered him even as he frantically went through his mental catalogue of books, trying to remember which one could hold a description of his son's illness. It had started as a simple cold, but this cough and painful breathing were neither simple nor benign. Not for the first time, he longed for the company of someone with experience and knowledge of such childhood things, someone who could tell him what it was and how to cure it.
"It's going to be all right," he whispered, more to himself than to the boy.
"I know, Father." Herbert lay his head on his father's shoulder, raising one hand to keep his hair out of the way.
A sudden flash of inspiration sent von Krolock to the far side of the library. Cradling Herbert with one arm, he carried a heavy Arabian tome to the desk and leafed through it. Past the surgery charts, he found what he sought.
He felt some of the tension leave him. Not that rare an illness, then, and not as severe as it could have been, not in a child past six years of age. And he thought he had an idea on how to administer the suggested treatment of cool and moist air. It would also take care of supervising the boy over the day, something he would not entrust to the few servants he had left.
He kissed Herbert's hair. "How would you like to sleep in the crypt for a few days, dear one?"
Herbert smiled tiredely, then set his jaw with determination. "Do I get a cloak, Father?"
"A cloak?"
"You sleep in a coffin, and you have a cloak," Herbert pointed out. "And Lord Draculea's got a big fur cloak too. I want one."
In the end, Herbert got his wish. Wrapped in a short cloak that had been his father's in youth, he fell asleep quickly, the cool air of the crypt soothing his breathing. Von Krolock shifted against the pillows that he had used to line Herbert's side of the sarcophagus and put an arm around his son. He let the death-like vampire sleep take him. His own enchantments would wake him if Herbert moved during the day.
* * *
The nanny was smiling a little too widely for von Krolock's tastes, but beggars could not be choosers.
"I hope you won't find the castle too quiet," he mentioned as he reviewed her references. It seemed she switched employers somewhat often, but she did work mostly with young children. The short chunks added to several years of experience.
"Oh, it looks very lovely!" she trilled. "And such nice people! And such a big castle!"
He had the strangest impression that she was fluttering her eyelashes at him.
"By the way," she continued, "my condolences on your wife's death. Such a tragedy. A little boy left motherless - you really shouldn't allow that state to last long. Why, my own father - did I mention he was the Mayor of Karcag? - he always said that he remarried for our sakes, because..."
For once, he envied his Sire's ability to turn into mist.
* * *
The pony was a Haflinger, doe-eyed and gentle, with a dark gold coat and a mane of pale gold that matched Herbert's hair exactly.
"Azrael," the boy pronounced as he fastened the saddle straps under von Krolock's watchful gaze.
"Azrael it is," his father agreed as he led his own horse out of the stable. The great bay snorted at the newcomer, but fortunately Bellflower had an even temper. "How do you like him so far?"
Herbert's eyes glittered as he petted the pony's neck. "Can I teach him to bite people? Or do dressage? Can I put flowers in his hair?"
Von Krolock chuckled. "No, maybe, and yes. First, you need to learn how to ride him. Come, we have time before night falls completely. How would you like to ride down to the village?"
It was easier said than done, but Azrael was a placid animal and patiently endured Herbert's initial attempts at steering. Soon enough, the boy was sitting in the saddle like a seasoned rider. The path through the forest to the village allowed him to practice turns and even, once, hazard a canter.
Sunday evening was a holiday for the villagers, and the broad space between the church and the inn was filled with people. All of them bowed low to the Graf; he chose to ignore the whispers that rose in his wake. He made a note to appear in the village more often, if only to quell the rumours.
He dismounted to exchange words with the innkeeper. The old Jew was always a good source of local news, as well as making money off the estate brewing privilege. It seemed that the harvest would be a good one this year.
Walking out of the inn, von Krolock looked around for his son. At first he did not see him, but then loud laughter drew his attention to a gaggle of children near the centre of the square.
His son was letting a little girl feed an apple to the pony, as several boys from Herbert's age to almost twice older admired Azrael's pale mane and elegant carriage. A dark-haired six-year-old had his head almost on Herbert's shoulder as they examined the tack together.
The elder children scattered when von Krolock approached, leading his horse behind him, but the girl and the dark-haired boy remained, too occupied with their conversation.
Herbert looked up. Even in the rapidly darkening twilight, his smile was dazzling. "Father, can I let Tibor and Marishka ride Azrael?"
"Of course." He smiled at the children, who both looked awed with the prospect. "But I think you'd better put it off until another day. It'll be dark soon, so we need to head home, and I'm sure their parents are looking for them."
As Herbert said his goodbyes and his pony received final hugs and treats, von Krolock decided his son should be in the company of his peers more often. If only the sun's rays were more forgiving.
* * *
"I love children. I adore them. We get along so well, I tell stories, they tell stories, they play so nicely, and I watch over them..."
Von Krolock nodded absently as the nanny talked on. He was even prepared to accept her somewhat unsuitable youth. The dark blonde, half-starved mediaeval saint look had never particularly appealed to him, after all. And despite her appearance, the nanny was not overly devout beyond what was seemly, according to her words truly liked children, and did not seem to have designs on him.
She was almost perfect so far.
"Due to the nature of my studies, I maintain a mostly nocturnal rhythm," he remarked. "While it's important for a child to play in the sun, Herbert has taken to rising about noon, so that he can spend time with me in the evening without losing sleep. I hope the schedule will not be troublesome to you?"
She blinked, then smiled. "Oh no, I love the night. It reminds me of my sister."
"Does it?" Von Krolock wondered whether the news of his ill luck with retaining the services of nannies was widespread enough that even this somewhat flighty woman would demand a high wage.
"It was night when she went away to play with the fairies." The nanny giggled. "She was the first one to go away!"
His eyes snapped up to focus on the woman. "The fairies?" he prompted as he reached for sight beyond the worldly senses.
She leaned in and whispered, "I told Dora they were there, but she didn't see them. So I opened the window, and there they were, and I told Dora to walk out and she'd see them. And she did, and she stopped crying, and she went away with them so I didn't have to feed her anymore..."
She jumped to her feet, sending the chair crashing to the floor. She twirled with a giggle, then gasped as her eyes fell on a window.
"They're there again," she whimpered. "And they're not looking at me. They never look at me. I sent so many children to them, but they never look at me!"
She stood there, transfixed, as he approached. She only trembled once as his teeth pierced her neck.
Later, he buried her body in the forest, where the fireflies gathered.
* * *
Out of all the plagues that the Devil sent to Earth, von Krolock found his Sire the most abhorrent.
He shot Vlad Draculea an annoyed look as he bent over the sheaf of paper transcribed with nothing but numbers. "I do not break ciphers. Especially Turkish ones."
"Do you mean you don't know how to do it?" The one-time prince of Wallachia sounded far too amused, his low voice dropping into a purring murmur.
Von Krolock turned away and cleared a space on his desk. "I shall need time."
"Months? Weeks?"
"Days." He located a fresh batch of paper and dipped a quill in ink as he scanned the dispatches. He noted down the rough frequency of individual numbers and sizes of number groups. Never more than four figures, and that rarely. If he was lucky, Draculea would get bored and find other ways of amusing himself.
Or not, he thought as his Sire leaned against his back and fangs scraped against his throat in an unmistakable demand.
"Do you want those dispatches deciphered?" he protested.
"You said days." Teeth nipped at his ear with deceptive gentleness. "A night won't make much difference."
He hated, despised the man, but all the same he let himself be dragged out of his chair and kissed thoroughly. It had been some time since he was able to leave the castle and indulge, and in desperation-
Draculea's fangs dragged sharply along his lower lip. "Stop thinking."
Easier said than done, but neither particularly difficult as strong arms held him fast, another kiss setting fire to his blood. He raked his nails down Draculea's back, almost tearing the doublet, and it had been a long time. The furs in front of the fireplace would be soft enough, and he tried not to think about the use to which Draculea had put the coals once, almost a year ago.
Groaning into the kiss, at first he thought he was hearing things.
"Father?"
No, it was definitely Herbert in the doorway, dragging his nightshirt on the floor.
Draculea released him with a growl. "Don't you have people to take care of your spawn?"
"I'm not spawn," Herbert protested with a yawn. "And father ate my nanny. So now when I can't go to sleep, I come here."
The elder vampire's lips twitched. "I thought you were going to get a new one?"
"I did. You don't want to hear about it." Von Krolock shook his head as he walked up to his desk again. He started rearranging the papers for want of something to occupy his hands, which still twitched with the memory of Draculea's body. "Suffice it to say there are no more decent nannies available in the area."
Draculea looked down at Herbert, who had approached him fearlessly and was now looking at him with undisguised curiosity. He leaned down to ruffle the boy's hair absently. "I think I know someone who would do, if she's available."
"Mmm," von Krolock murmured as he stared at the dispatches. Every third number was divisible by the same prime, in turns five, three and eleven. He reached for the quill again, quickly scribbling. The first three he knew, and it fit the pattern. Greetings, great commander - definitely the beginning of a dispatch. "What's the sixth verse of the forty-first surah?"
"That's the one about Christians," Draculea said automatically. "And as for those who take as protectors others besides Him, Allah doth watch over them, and thou art not the disposer of their affairs.." The Arabic was surprisingly melodious with his Sire's Romanian accent.
"Protectors, guardians - yes..." He racked his brain for the second surah. "Guardians of Shaitan. Order of the Dragon."
A book was dropped on the desk, its jewelled covers clattering on the polished wood as Draculea opened the Qu'ran. "Give me numbers."
"Let me get the page down, some surahs are used much more often than others..."
Distantly, he heard Herbert's voice. "What book is that?"
"The holy book of the Turks," Draculea explained. "Like the Bible, but false."
"What's it say? Those words you said before?"
By now, von Krolock had the numbers sorted and separated, and he named surah after surah. Draculea read each one with the sureness of a trained muezzin, translating into German as soon as he was done.
Two dispatches in, von Krolock named a surah, but did not hear it in return. He looked up to see Draculea lifting Herbert's sleeping body from the floor and depositing it on the pile of furs in front of the fire before returning to their work.
* * *
The nanny was dressed impeccably in almost Puritan clothes. Her dark hair was gathered in a black lace bonnet, and she clutched an umbrella much sturdier than the Italian sun-shades he was familiar with.
He cleared his throat. "Now, about references..."
"Oh, I make it a rule never to give references," she said briskly.
He looked at her without using his physical eyes and nearly startled. "Lord Draculea's recommendation will quite suffice," he agreed. "A day off every fortnight, shall we say?"
"A night," she suggested.
Footsteps at the door to his study alerted him to his son's presence.
"You must be Herbert," the nanny said with a smile. "I'm Maria Poppenau. I'm going to be taking care of you from now on."
Von Krolock saw Herbert nod with a smile, and for once he decided to trust his son's instincts.
* * *
The lights were going out in the village beyond the forest, but that was all the better. Von Krolock moved the lantern closer to the portion of the star map that corresponded to the southeast sky at the moment.
"Can you find Orion again?" he asked.
Herbert shifted in his lap and nodded. "The three bright ones, that's the belt."
"Now look here, this is how you'll find Canis Major and Minor..."
Herbert followed directions carefully if impatiently, quickly finding every constellation. Von Krolock made sure his cloak was wrapped warmly around both of them. He judged they had an hour of stargazing left before it got too cold for the boy; then they would retire to Herbert's chambers, and he would wager that tonight's story would have to be about Orion's bold hunts.
To the north, a shadow drifted over the stars. If it was in the shape of a woman holding a big umbrella, von Krolock deemed it wise not to notice.
-FINIS-