by Joy Demorra
“Yessir,” Fiddildy said dutifully.
But Nathan didn’t miss the wary look the old man shot him. Time to head this off at the pass. “And I can see I’m going to have to rely on your expertise to get us through.” Nathan kept his face perfectly neutral as he watched Fiddildy’s expression flicker through a gamut of emotions, starting with shock, skepticism, anger, and, eventually, hopeful confusion.
“Me, sir?”
“Yes, sir, you, sir.” Nathan pushed aside his teacup and gestured for Fiddildy to take a seat beside him on his right. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, he hunched over conspiratorially, smiling inwardly when Fiddildy mimicked the gesture. Nathan had always had a knack for reading people and finding all the right buttons to push. It was nice to know he hadn’t lost that too.
“Look, it’s clear to me you’ve been left here to manage someone else’s mess.” He kept his tone low though there was no one else around to hear them. “And we all know what the brass at the top are like. All shine and no spit and polish, am I right?”
Fiddildy nodded eagerly, obviously keen to align himself with anyone willing to see things from his point of view. Even if they were a ‘bloody werewolf.’
“And I’m not here to point the finger at anyone.” Nathan drew Fiddildy in and gave him a friendly tap on the chest. “But I know you know which way the wind blows.”
It was a nonsense phrase, but it did the trick.
Fiddildy sat back in his chair to glance furtively around the empty guardhouse. When he leaned forward again, he did so with his hand cupped to his mouth as he spoke in a comically loud whisper, “I didn’t want to say nothing, sir, I don’t want to speak ill of anyone…”
“No, of course not,” Nathan agreed; he hoped his frustration with the circumstances wasn’t evident on his face. Nathan had known men like Fiddildy his whole life. Officers who always felt looked down upon because of their origins or enlisted status. People who felt ignored and forgotten and had gotten so used to being overlooked they’d developed one hell of a chip on their shoulder. The thing was, Nathan knew, all they wanted was to be seen. Heard. If that happened, they’d latch on to that person like barnacle. The army was full of people like that. Some of them were great. Others were decidedly not. Nathan hoped that by giving Fiddildy an outlet and a purpose he’d turn into one of the former rather than one of the latter. It was a risk. But it was a risk Nathan was willing to take.
“If I’m honest with you, sir, things could do with a bit of a shakeup around here. There’s no discipline. And some of the new guards—” he made a face “—they don’t know the meaning of an honest day’s work.”
“Not like you do, I’m sure,” Nathan said, smiling to take the edge off his words. “Which is precisely why I’m going to need you right by my side. Right where I can see you. At all times. Eyes and ears sort of thing, understand?”
Spellbound by the lure of his own importance, Fiddildy nodded. “Yessir, right you are, sir. You can rely on old Octavius Humperdinck Fiddildy, sir.”
“Good man.” Nathan nodded in return, then paused before addressing the newcomer to the conversation. “Yes, Corporal Hobbes, what is it?”
“Um,” Hobbes said from his spot where he’d been hovering nervously at the foot of the stairs, causing Fiddildy to jump. Nathan hadn’t heard him approach either, rather felt the vibrations in the air. The lad moved with such a tremulous step that it was like being snuck up on by a rabbit. “We got the floor cleared up like you said, sir,” the corporal said, dustpan still in hand. “There was a lot more paperwork in the boxes…”
“Of course there was,” Nathan replied. The pit in his stomach widened. “Anything else?”
“Lots of empty bottles,” the young man admitted. “And some, er, postcards.” He turned pink. “Corporal Irian says they’re dealing with them, sir.”
“I’ll just bet they are,” Fiddildy muttered drolly.
Nathan pretended not to hear. “Very good, well done,” he said, smiling encouragingly and watching as the young man’s coppery skin turned an even deeper shade of red. So timid, Nathan thought, we’ll have to work on that. “Make sure the bottles get emptied down the sink before they’re pitched. After that, I want you to run out and get as much soap and boot polish as you can find. Brass polish too if they have it. If not, vinegar will have to do.”
“Yessir!” Hobbes set the dustpan aside and darted back out of sight.
“Meanwhile, you, Fiddildy, are going to show me the castle. I’ve got a viscount to meet.”
“Right you are, sir,” Fiddildy said, rising in a rush and clearing away Nathan’s tea and untouched chocolate biscuit he’d left on the side. “I suppose the young master will want to meet you himself, right enough. He always does when new folks arrive. Course, he might not be up yet, on account of him… not being much of a daytime person…”
“Fiddildy,” Nathan sighed. “Is that your way of subtly trying to inform me that Viscount Blutstein is a vampire?”
“Nossir,” Fiddildy replied smartly as he followed Nathan out into the watery afternoon sunlight. “That’s my way of subtly trying to tell you he’s a drunk. But good guess on him being a vampire, sir.”
Making their way through the courtyard, Nathan took a moment to regard the castle properly. If Lorehaven was ugly, then Castle Eyrie was the vivid stuff of nightmares; the dark and jagged spires loomed over the seaside town like an oil painting superimposed over a pastel watercolor left out in the rain.
“It takes people like that, the first time they sees it,” Fiddildy said, correctly reading the look on Nathan’s face. “But you soon stop noticing it.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Nathan replied. Following the old man, the lieutenant led him to a tower door and up a set of stairs deeply worn from centuries of use. Like all castles, an insidious chill clung to the stone walls; the smell of damp and oil lamps permeated the air as they climbed. The corridor they emerged into, however, was pleasantly bright, the wooden floors polished to a mirror shine and the walls lined with quartz lamp sconces that pushed the shadows back far more effectively than any flame could.
“Modern,” Nathan said, both surprised and approving. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this.
“Young master’s all about modern. And the missus. Always renovating something. Newfangled this, newfangled that. Eh, get it, fangled?” Fiddildy laughed at his own joke, elbowing Nathan companionably in the ribs. “Did you see the windmills on your way in? The great ruddy eyesores out on the coast? That were him.”
“Is that what those were?” Nathan asked as he followed Fiddildy down the corridor, secretly glad of the other man’s dawdling pace. “Odd place to mill grain.”
“T’isn’t for grain. They power the wossnames… Turbines.”
Nathan’s curiosity was genuinely piqued. “Turbines for what?”
“Buggered if I know, but I’m told it’s the way of the future. Come on, this way.” He led Nathan down another nearly identical-looking corridor, and several twists and turns later, Nathan was completely and utterly lost.
“How in the Nine Circles of Hell does anyone find their way around here?”
“You get used to it.” Fiddildy pointed to one of the many suits of armor that lined this stretch of corridor. “Finding landmarks is the key. Like that one there with the white plumes in his hat.”
“You mean the headless one holding his helmet under his arm?”
“Yep. He’s a good one to remember. Nearly there, it’s the door at the very end. Knock thrice and wait.” Nathan opened his mouth to ask a question, but Fiddildy cut him off before he even got a sound out. “Don’t ask, it’s something about tradition.”
Removing his hat and tucking it under his arm, Nathan stepped forward and rapped smartly on the heavy double doors. There was a pause, and then the door snapped open.
“Captain Northland to see his Lordship,” Fiddildy informed the neatly dressed little man on the other side.
> “Ah. Please, do come in,” the manservant drawled. He waved Nathan forward with a perfunctory bow. “His Lordship is otherwise engaged, but I shall fetch him for you presently.” He vacated the room, closing the doors behind him with an unobtrusive click.
“Probably still in his coffin.” Fiddildy sniffed as he paced a leisurely circuit of the room with the familiar ease of one who’d been here before. “Figuratively speaking, of course.”
“I would hope so,” Nathan replied, distracted by the desk in front of him. On it lay a miniature model of the town as neat and pretty as a doll’s house. It was a faithful likeness from what Nathan had seen so far. But there were also what appeared to be considerable plans for expansion mapped out as well; the new streets and buildings imposing themselves onto the landscape with a rigid perpendicularity that spoke of an architect involved in a protracted love affair with their slide ruler. It was impressively ambitious. Part of him wondered if he could convince whoever had designed this to come take a look at Lorehaven when he was Counsel. And maybe his father’s study while they were at it.
“Bit of an odd sort, the young master.” Fiddildy sauntered over to stand beside Nathan, mimicking his easy parade rest. “Always working on something. He likes his sciences and all that. Y’know,” he gestured vaguely, “wossname, numbers what got confused and turned into letters.”
Nathan thought about it. “Do you mean algebra?”
“Probably,” Fiddildy shrugged. “Never was much good at it myself. The Viscount though? He’s rare good at it. Always counting something, making notes. I suppose he’s all right, to be honest. For a vampire.”
Nathan was about to open his mouth to reply when the door behind them swung open with a dramatic woosh. Walking backward into the room was a young-looking man who was talking animatedly to whoever was on the other side.
“Yes, Mrs. Collins, of course, I remember. No, I assure you I had not forgotten about our meeting. I assure you, the peonies are my top priority. Swithin? Swithin?” The man’s eyes landed on the manservant barely visible through the open doors. “Ah, there you are. Please show Mrs. Collins to the Glaucous Drawing Room, thank you. I will be there shortly.” The doors slammed shut, and he leaned against them for a moment as though he’d like to barricade himself inside. “Good Gods alive, undead, and those merely sleeping.”
Seeming to realize he wasn’t alone, his shoulders straightened, and he whirled about. The vampire—for there was no mistaking him for anything else—was tall, dark-haired, and dashingly handsome. Genetics had seen fit to gift him with exceptionally good cheekbones and the complexion of cut marble. He was dressed formally but was sans jacket, his shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal pale, slender arms. The cut of his waistcoat was daringly modern, and it gave him a slightly rakish appeal, an effect no means lessened when he smiled, the wry curl of his mouth revealing a gleaming hint of fang.
It was alarmingly attractive.
The vampire seemed to flicker for a moment, then glided toward them, arms spread wide in greeting. “Gentlemen, so sorry to keep you waiting. Fiddildy, old boy, how are you? How’s your leg?”
“Much better, thank you, sir. Only aches when it rains.”
“Ah, so only on days ending in ‘Y’ then, jolly good.” He gave Fiddildy a friendly clap on the shoulder before turning the full focus of his glittering attention on Nathan, who was suddenly desperately aware of his own heartbeat. “And this must be our new Captain. Welcome to our little island, Captain Northland. I’m the Viscount, but everyone here calls me Vlad.”
“Vlad,” Nathan echoed, still a little dazed. He grasped the other man’s hand when it was offered. A little tingle of something flowed through Nathan’s hand when they touched. The vampire’s handshake was firm and surprisingly calloused for someone who looked like they spent their time following the latest fashion trends and gambling away the family fortune at the card tables. They stood there for a second, each eyeing the other, before Nathan reluctantly dropped the Viscount’s hand.
Seemingly unbothered, the vampire gave him a tight-lipped smile, his fangs carefully hidden. “Yes, a family name, I’m afraid, but I’ve learned to be dead with it. Please, take a seat. You made good time in getting here; I hope your journey wasn’t too terrible. The weather can be a tad unpredictable.”
“No, not at all,” Nathan lied, ignoring the damp chill that still clung to his shoulders from his brief trek through the storm. His rain cloak had been about as effective against the elements as a chocolate tea kettle.
“Good, I am so very delighted to hear that.” To Nathan’s surprise, the vampire perched on the edge of his desk rather than sitting behind it. He was close enough that Nathan could smell his cologne: a subtle, warm scent with hints of spice and myrrh; it reminded him of warmer climes. “I trust they’ve made you welcome at the guardhouse already?”
Nathan felt Fiddildy stiffen nervously behind him.
“Like a house on fire,” Nathan offered. The wry glint of a smile flitted across the Viscount's face before the vampire carefully hid it away again.
The Viscount’s dark eyes flickered rapidly over him. “My, what an ambiguously phrased thing to say,” the vampire drawled.
Nathan hoped the sudden flush of warmth he felt rising in his chest wasn’t visible on his face. It has to be a glamour, he decided. Vampires were notorious for such vanities, and there was just no way someone could be that devastatingly handsome. It just wouldn’t be fair.
“I must admit, it surprised me when Howlzein told me you wished to apply for the post,” the Viscount carried on, seemingly oblivious to Nathan’s silently unfolding personal crisis. “It’s rare we get a war hero in our midst. Where was it you were stationed again?
“Bhalein, sir,” Nathan replied stiffly. He shifted self-consciously as he tried to ease the aching tension between his shoulder blades. “And Steocidell before that. I was Captain of the First Night Brigade, second division.”
“Oh, that’s right, you were on the Moonshiners.” The Viscount snapped his fingers as though he really had bothered to memorize anything about Nathan and had merely forgotten.
Nathan humored him, offering a thin smile of his own. “Yes. Something of a family tradition, you could say.”
The Night Brigade, more infamously known as the Moonshiners—both for their werewolf composition and for the amiable fermentability of humble potato, were an elite task force of the Imperial Royal Army. Tales of their exploits had become the stuff of legend ever since their formation in the late 1700s. Nathan’s father had been one of the founders, and he’d been so proud when Nathan had been offered a position in the Brigade. His brother Miles had been less enthusiastic, probably because he hadn’t been offered a post with them.
The vampire gave a droll chuckle, glancing up at Nathan from under thick lashes. His eyes were so dark as to almost be entirely black, an effect he chose to emphasize by lining them with kohl. It was a good look. Nathan tried desperately to focus on something else, anything else, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away.
“Your father is well, I trust?” the Viscount asked. “I admit I haven’t seen him at Parliament since…” He clucked his tongue thoughtfully. “Goodness, what year is it now?”
The question snapped Nathan’s attention back to the topic at hand and away from the delightfully sharp angles of the vampire’s youthful face. “Eighty-eight, sir,” Nathan supplied. And then, because you never knew with vampires, “1888.”
“Is it really? My, how time flies. Yes, I believe the last time I saw your father was some forty-odd years ago. He likes to make good use of that absentee vote, doesn’t he?”
Nathan frowned, trying to discern if the vampire was implying something or merely making idle conversation. The latter, he decided. There was nothing about the other man’s countenance to suggest otherwise. A little foppish perhaps, but nothing cruel or mean. “He doesn’t like to leave home much,” he said and was rewarded with another one of those quicksilver grins.
“Q
uite right too. I’d never go if I had my way. And I imagine his duties as the Wolf Lord keep him busy.”
“Yes,” Nathan agreed, ignoring Fiddildy’s twitch of surprise. He’d almost forgotten about the old guard. He thought back to the chaos of his father’s study as he eyed the neat and orderly piles of paperwork stacked on the side of the vampire’s desk—some of them even appeared to be color-coded. “Quite busy.”
“Ah, but listen to me ramble when I’m sure you want to get settled in.” He leaned over his desk, causing several neurons in Nathan’s brain to misfire as he reached for a heavy cast iron key Nathan had missed in his initial sweep. “Your apartment key.” The vampire righted himself and held the key out to him.
Nathan stared at it in confusion. “Apartment?”
“Oh, weren’t you aware? The post comes with its own quarters here in the castle.”
Nathan had not been aware. He’d been expecting a separate room in the barracks, near his command. Not to be living in an actual vampire castle.
“Is that agreeable?” And Gods! Even his voice was charming: a breathy, rich sound that curled with amusement like smoke over smoldering hot coals. But there was something else there too, something lingering under that perfect Imperial enunciation that sharpened the edges of his consonants into something old—something with bite.
He was old, Nathan realized. Far older than he appeared.
The Viscount tilted his head to the side as he watched Nathan, a question lingering there.
Realizing he was still staring numbly at the key in the vampire’s hand, Nathan straightened, pulling his wayward thoughts together. “No, yes, that’s… fine. Just… I’m tired,” Nathan offered with a weak, sheepish smile as he took the key. “I think the journey is catching up with me.”
“Well, let’s get you settled in properly. I’m sure Fiddildy can run back down and keep the guardhouse running for one more day without you.”
“Can do, sir,” Fiddildy said, pulling off an unexpectedly sharp salute.
“Good man.” The vampire looked expectantly down at Nathan. “Shall we?”