Strigoi

by Tony-Paul de Vissage

  Vlad sat up also, nodding at his brother’s words. “After all, Marek, we’re considered adults now. We’ve celebrated our aberatie, and fought beside you. You can’t keep treating us like children.”

  “He’s right, you know.” Karl-Josef was careful to keep his voice neutral.

  “I think the key word in that little argument is considered,” Marek snorted. “When you act like adults, I’ll treat you as such. You’ve—”

  “Bah! You’re turning into an old man,” Vlad threw at him, and turned his attention to the scene outside the window. “If you’re this bad now, what’ll you be like when you reach a century?”

  “Or more?” Andrei added.

  “As I was about to say,” Marek went on. “You’ve accepted our recent hardship with remarkably good grace, so perhaps that’s a good sign.”

  The coach stopped, and the footman jumped from his perch to open the door. Marek climbed out, waiting for Karl-Josef, who followed him.

  The Graf handed the gloves he held to the twins. “To hide your clan-stones. They must never be seen by a human.”

  As they obediently put them on, Karl-Josef led the way into the small shop, its sign announcing, Johann Diedrich, Schneider.

  As the shop door opened, a small bell tinkled, bringing a short, slender man in a white shirt, black waistcoat and trousers, from between a set of heavy draperies and onto the stairs. A tape measure hung around his neck like an unwrapped cravat. Pins and needles were stuck through various spots on the waistcoat’s front.

  “Herr Graf. What a pleasant surprise.” His voice was a musical trill as he bounced down the stairs, bowing to his visitor. “Your garments aren’t quite prepared, I fear.”

  “No matter.” Karl-Josef waved away discussion of unfinished clothing. “I’ve brought my kinsmen to be fitted, Johann.”

  “All three of these handsome young gentlemen?” Johann regarded Marek and the twins as if they were the most marvelous sights he’d seen that night. He peered nearsightedly at Vlad and Andrei. “Why, those two are as alike as peas in a pod. How delightful.”

  The twins exchanged glances, not bothering to correct the tailor that they were fraternal and not identical, and quirked their eyebrows at Marek, who ignored them.

  “Ja, their luggage was damaged in transit, and they each need complete wardrobes.”

  “Of course, Herr Graf.” Johann bowed again and gestured to the curtains through which he’d entered. “The dressing rooms are back here. If you will, mein herren?”

  He trotted up the two stair-steps and swept back the drapes, bowing once more. Stepping back, the twins let Marek enter first, bowing in exact imitation of Johann’s gesture, then followed. Vlad placed a hand over his mouth to hide his smile. With a tolerant expression, the Graf brought up the rear at a more leisurely pace.

  Inside, the room was furnished with several cheval glasses, and rows and rows of clothes presses, some of which had their doors open, revealing beautifully constructed garments hanging inside. At the back seated at a long table were several young men, also adorned with tape measures, their clothes decorated with pins and needles. Each was bent over a length of cloth being transformed into a suit of some kind. At another table, a young woman painstakingly embroidered a shirt front while her companion applied smocking to a cuff.

  “Now, sirs.” With a flourish Johann swept the tape off his neck and advanced on Marek who took a step backward. “If you’ll prepare yourself, I’ll take your measurements, and we can get started.”

  “Prepare myself?” Marek glanced around, looking as if he were preparing to make a mad dash for the door.

  “Just remove your cape and your coat, that’s all. You may place them on that chair.”

  Swinging off the cape, Marek dropped it, his coat, and tricorne on the designated piece of furniture. When he turned back to the little tailor, Johann made an appreciative sound.

  “I vow, my lord, you do have a very gracious form. And your height…oh, you’re going to be difficult to fit, I'm certain.” As Marek scowled slightly, he asked, “Is there something wrong, sir?”

  “No, no,” Marek denied. “I’m merely unaccustomed to having anyone remark about my…uh…form…so. Not in public, anyway.”

  “Well, my lord...” Johann wrapped the tape around Marek’s chest, making a notation on a little slate. “I discovered long ago there are few enough compliments in this world, so I determined if I saw a need to make one, I was going to do it.”

  He slid the tape around Marek’s waist, looking at the measurement and then up with a gaze of admiration.

  “As now. Such a slender waist. I envy you, my lord.”

  “Uh...thank you, Johann.”

  Marek gave the tailor a slight bow, smiling in spite of himself. He remained silent while the rest of the measurements were taken…the length of his arms…from the base of his neck to the point where the hem of his coat-skirt would be…but when it came time to measure his inseam, Marek balked. After the energy of the night before, his privates were still sensitive and he wasn’t ready for anyone’s hand to be near them else they react.

  “But, my lord,” Johann protested. “I have to get this measurement. Otherwise your trousers won’t fit properly. The stride might be too long, or too short.”

  That brought a spate of laughter from the twins.

  “I imagine our brother can fill his trousers easily enough,” Andrei spluttered.

  Marek sent him a venomous stare, and the boy subsided into something like hiccoughs.

  “Let me hold the tape, and you can check it.” Taking the end of the tape, he pressed it to the inside of his thigh, standing with legs slightly apart as Johann unrolled it to below his knee and wrote down the length.

  “I suppose you’ll want shoes, too, and stockings?” the tailor asked. “With such handsomely-shaped calves as those you’ll surely want to show them off to advantage.”

  “Of course.” Karl-Josef, who had been watching the proceedings with amusement, spoke up. “Didn’t I say these three need new wardrobes? That means everything, Johann. Stockings, shirts—everything.”

  “They shall have it, Herr Graf. The very best I have to offer. I’ll notify your cobbler, also.” Johann did a quick measurement of Marek’s boots, then, with a bow, pulled the tape from his hand and turned to the twins. “If you handsome young gentlemen will remove your coats…?”

  * * *

  At last they were once more outside in the night’s coolness.

  “Now,” Karl-Josef said. “That wasn’t such an ordeal, was it?”

  “I’m sorry if I acted the boor, sir,” Marek apologized. “Truth be told, I’ve never liked to be fitted for new clothing. If I had my way, I’d wear student’s robes until I died, and be buried in them, too. Spending the After in tight trousers and a waistcoat isn’t my idea of Paradise.”

  The rain had stopped and for the time being the streets were washed clean of debris and filth, so Karl-Josef suggested they walk to their next destination.

  “Where are we going now?” Marek tried to forestall any facetious remark from the twins. He didn’t doubt they were planning some new devilment.

  He was startled to realize he was looking forward to the rest of the evening with the same excitement he experienced when János would set him before him on his horse as he rode on an inspection of the estate. It wasn’t so odd, he supposed. Since Karl-Josef was his father’s friend, he could expect to feel in his presence as he had with János.

  “There’s a coffee shop I often frequent. I thought perhaps we’d stop there before we go on.” Gesturing with his walking stick, Karl-Josef started off in that direction, calling over his shoulder, “Dieter, follow us with the coach.”

  The coachman shook the reins, and the horses started off at a sedate walk.

  “That idea of Master Johann’s is a good one, don’t you think?” Andrei spoke up.

  “Which one’s that?” Marek glanced at him.

  “About saying something nice to someone.
”

  “Yes,” Marek agreed. “As a matter of fact, it is.” He looked thoughtful. “Perhaps I should attempt that. Hmm. Would you recognize me if I were nicer to you two?”

  “Never,” Vlad declared. “We’d demand to know who you are and where you’d hidden our stern older brother.”

  “Nevertheless, I intend to give you two a compliment. Vlad, Andrei, you’ve both been brave and uncomplaining on our long journey, and for that I thank you.”

  The twins exchanged glances and looked slightly discomfited.

  “In that case,” Vlad answered. “I suppose we should return the favor. Ahem…: He cleared his throatg self-consciously. “…Brother, we appreciate everything you’ve done for us. We also appreciate what you’re currently, Herr Graf. To that end, we ask you both for leave to part company with you before we do something to embarrass you.”

  “Hah!” Karl-Josef laughed. “A deft way to say you want to do your own exploring?” He looked at Marek. “What do you say, lad? Do we dare turn these two loose on my unsuspecting Vienna?”

  Two pair of blue eyes turned Marek’s way, a little anciously, he thought.

  “Go ahead, you two.” The sudden revelation of emotions had been uncomfortable for him as well as for the twins. “But first, tell me…what are you planning on using for money during this exploration?”

  They both look disgruntled. Neither had thought of that.

  “Waldfrid?” Karl-Josef spoke up.

  “Ja, Herr Graf?”

  At the Graf’s call, the footman leaped from his seat upon the coach and came running toward them. He was short and plump and looked like a good-natured puppy, his footman’s uniform fitting him as if he’d been poured into it. Though he appeared about the same age as the twins and was very obviously human, there was an old look to his eyes.

  Another thrall, Marek decided, evidently accepted into servitude while very young.

  “Go with these two.” Karl-Josef gestured at the twins before turning to Marek. “They can put any expenses on my accounts and Waldfrid will vouch for them. Everyone knows him.”

  “How do you know they’ll go where you’ve accounts?”

  The Graf smiled. “Waldfrid can show them the way. There’s one thing, however.”

  “What’s that, sir?” Vlad fidgeted, impatient to be off.

  “Force yourselves to show a modicum of good behavior. At least until you’re actual residents of Vienna. Do nothing drawing attention to yourselves. No arrests. Our police aren’t very tolerant of foreigners. Keep your gloves on. Definitely don’t let anyone know you’re aventurieri.” He nodded to the footman and make shooing gestures. “Well? Go. Now.”

  Once the twins and Waldfrid were out of sight, he turned to Marek.

  “I hope I didn’t misspeak myself. You do plan to settle here?”

  “Unless I see Mircea Ravagiu walking down the street.”

  “The Domnitor ordered you to suspend your search,” Karl-Josef reminded him.

  “The Domnitor drove me from my home for something over which I had no control,” Marek replied. “If I find Ravagiu, I may possibly get killed. Whether it’s by him or the prince, if I can bring down that monster it’ll be worth it. I’m not abandoning my search.”

  “Now that you’re no longer our Taietor, you’re to become a hunter, eh? That’s quite a step downward, lad. Some might even call it a steep plunge.”

  “Is it so very different from the title I inherited from my father?”

  Since becoming the prince’s assassin, Marek often privately compared his position to those aventurieri working as hunters-for-hire—killing and performing other unsavory deeds for pay while those employing them were kept free from the onus of their crimes. Royal sanction was all that made him different. Now, nothing separated him from what he really was.

  “Hunter or lord, I won’t stop until I’ve had my revenge.”

  “Nor should you,” the Markgraf replied.

  “In spite of your status, I still feel we’re putting you in jeopardy by staying with you, and my telling you this is definitely going to, so perhaps we'd better find our own lodgings.”

  “Telling me what?” Karl-Josef interrupted. “I seemed to have developed a bit of deafness during our recent conversations.”

  Marek stifled a smile. “Of course, sir.”

  Karl-Josef resumed walking, but again stopped, this time so suddenly Marek nearly collided with him. “Gods, don’t stand so close. Someone might mistake you for my newest Piece of Fluff.”

  “Oh, surely not, sir.” Flushing, Marek backed away.

  “No, I don’t imagine so. It’s been quite a long time since I went anywhere with a pretty boy on my arm.” He took a few more steps, realized Marek wasn’t following, turned and came back to him.

  Behind them, the coach stopped.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Sir, you...like...males?” Marek barely got the words out.

  “Not any more.” Karl-Josef waved the subject away as if it were insignificant. “That was in my younger, more experimental days.” As if just seeing the look on Marek’s face, he studied his foster son’s expression. “You don’t happen to lean that way, do you?”

  “I…uh…” Marek nearly choked, face getting even redder. “I’m afraid I’ve no taste for... No, sir.”

  “I’ve always been of the school of thought that says you can’t dislike something unless you’ve experienced it.” He tapped Marek on the chest with his cane. “Ever thought of that?”

  Marek didn’t answer.

  “I’ve shocked you, haven’t I?”

  “A little, sir,” Marek replied. “I mean, Father never mentioned…”

  “Your father didn’t know.” Karl-Josef began walking again. Once more, the coachman snapped the reins and the horses moved also. “Long before your father and I met, I tried a few things I’d heard of, a certain lifestyle, found it wasn’t for me, and thereafter dedicated myself to the pursuit of females. Then I met my future wife.”

  “You’ve a wife?”

  “Most assuredly,” the Graf’s answer was mild. “Offspring, also.”

  “Where are they?”

  “My dear Margarette and I love each other madly.” Karl-Josef smiled. “Unfortunately, unless we’re in bed together, we fight like cats and dogs. Strong-minded woman, my Gretta. So, she lives at my country home with her current lover and I live in town with my mistress, or former mistress, I should say. Have you decided if you want Lisl or not?”

  “Let's talk of that another time,” Marek answered. “You’ve sons, too?”

  “Two of them. The twins are wearing their clothes, as a matter of fact. I imagine sooner or later, you’ll meet everyone. Ah, here we are.” He glanced at the entrance to a small, brightly lit building.

  There was a large picture window with the words Kaffeehaus von Kaltenbach engraved on it, the curling script highlighted with gold. Behind them the coach again stopped.

  “Wait for us,” the Graf called.

  He opened the glass-windowed door and went inside.

  Chapter 28

  “What exactly is coffee?” Marek asked, his only experience with liquids confined to mother’s milk, those beverages served at table, and of course, blood.

  “A drink made from ground roasted beans boiled in water. Came originally from Arabia, I believe, but a good portion of it is now grown in the New World. Place called Central America, wherever that is.”

  Karl-Josef removed his cape and hung it on a hook, one of several dozen set in a row by the door. He placed his tricorne on top of it.

  “It’s been around for quite a while. I’m surprised the merchants in Transylvania haven’t tried selling it to the ghidaji.”

  Marek copied his action. “I’m beginning to think those in the Motherland are very ignorant.”

  Thanks to the Prince, they hadn’t known about guns, and now coffee. A beverage isn’t such a serious thing, but what else does Europe hold of which we’ve no knowledge? That worri
ed him.

  The Graf looked around.

  “There’s an empty table.”

  He started to it, gesturing at a waiter and holding up two fingers as he passed. Around them there was the soft buzz of conversation. At one table, several students were holding a discussion with much hand waving and gestures. At another, a man sat reading a newspaper, holding it with one hand while he raised his cup with the other.

  It was all very peaceful and friendly.

  Before they were seated, the waiter was there with two delicate china cups in which dark brown liquid released fragrant steam into the air. Picking up the tiny cup, Marek took a tentative sip. It was hot, but he forced himself to swallow the scalding liquid, savoring the dark sensation as it burnt his tongue. He licked his lower lip.

  “What an odd taste, bitter with a buttery after-flavor.” He lifted the cup again. “Pleasant, though.”

  “Drink it carefully,” Karl-Josef cautioned. “It doesn’t seem to bother humans, but aventurieri can be drastically affected by it.”

  “In what way?”

  “It stimulates, can actually arouse. Works like an aphrodisiac. I generally have a cup, sometimes two, before going to bed. You’ve no idea how it re-enforces performance.”

  Coughing slightly, Marek set down the cup. He reached for the napkin the waiter had placed on the table, blotting his lips, and dabbing at the drops of coffee staining his sleeve, then regarded the tiny cup with new respect. Whether it was actually so or mere suggestion, he became aware of a vague discomfort centering around his groin. Glancing down, he was startled to discover a slight bulge in the front of his trousers.

  “I see what you mean.” His gaze met the Graf’s. “What should I do?”

  “Stop drinking that coffee so quickly, for one thing.”

  Abandoning the cup for the moment, he allowed his attention to wander to the other customers. “Are they all aventurieri? I never realized there were so many.”

  “Most of them are human.” To his surprised look, the Graf went on. “There was a time when we tried to treat them as equals, but quickly discovered that to be a mistake. Now it’s fatal to admit what we are.”