A Cautionary Tale for Young Vampires

by G. D. Falksen

  No surprise there.

  “A pint of lager,” Luka said. Might as well try to blend in, he thought.

  When it was brought, he took his glass and drank while he waited. As the minutes wore on, he cast about for something to do to relieve the monotony. He saw a group of men playing cards at a nearby table. Crossing to them, he pulled over an empty chair and asked:

  “Room for another?”

  The men looked up at him and gave him a looking over. Shrugging, the dealer said, “If y’ave money, sit.”

  Luka sat and tossed a purse full of coins onto the table. The other men looked at one another and exchanged shrugs. One of the men next to Luka—a big fellow with noticeably bad teeth—leered at him unpleasantly, but said nothing.

  As the cards were dealt, Luka took out his pipe and began packing it with tobacco. He struck a match against his boot heel and lit the pipe, enjoying the flavor of the smoke. If there was one thing that could keep him company in a strange place, it was a good pipe.

  As he studied his hand of cards, he noticed the big fellow looking at him. Luka eyed the man.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Give us a smoke,” the man said, his words slurring in his mouth.

  Luka looked at him and gave a firm “No” before returning to his cards.

  Without another word, the big man reached out and pulled the pipe from Luka’s mouth. Luka’s first instinct was to lash out, but he kept his temper reined in and turned to face the man, eyes alight with anger.

  “Give that back to me,” he said.

  “No,” the man said. He grinned and placed the end of the pipe in his mouth. “What you gonna do about it?”

  Luka took a deep breath and smiled.

  * * * *

  Varanus followed the barman into a small office at the back of the pub. There was a table facing the door, cluttered with glasses and mugs and all manner of papers. An inkwell and a collection of pens sat beside a large ledger. There were even a few books on law and finance sitting on a little shelf. This was the abode of a serious businessman, not some common footpad. The fellow seated behind the desk was certainly a man of the streets, dressed in weathered clothes, his nose broken, scars on his hands and face. But his eyes were keen. He knew his business, and it was more than burglary and pimping.

  There were four other men in the room: big fellows with hard expressions and meaty hands. One was cleaning his fingernails with a knife. Another drank some sort of homemade alcohol from a glass beaker. None of them looked pleased at the interruption.

  “Boss,” the barman said, “these ’ere ladies say they know—”

  “We know what happened to your missing men,” Varanus said, cutting him off.

  The man behind the desk eyed her for a moment and nodded to the barman. Exhaling quickly, the barman retreated from the room and closed the door behind him. One of the ruffians in the room stood and crossed to it, standing behind Varanus and Ekaterine, barring their retreat.

  “Well,” the man behind the desk said. “Ain’t this interestin’?”

  “I take it you are Mister Jones,” Varanus said.

  “Aye, that’s me.” The man behind the desk—Jones—smirked a little. “And who are you, miss?”

  Varanus approached the desk and said, “I am Doctor Hippolyta Sauvage. I—”

  “You’re the one that runs that hospital over in Osborne Court,” he said.

  “Clinic,” Varanus corrected.

  “Whichever,” Jones said. “I don’t care. What I do care ’bout is what happened to my boys. So you say you know?”

  Varanus looked back at Ekaterine, who smiled brightly and nodded. Varanus turned back toward Jones and said:

  “Yes. I killed them.”

  The men all stopped what they were doing and stared at her. The man with the knife began laughing, but his voice slowly died out when Varanus’s expression did not change.

  “You killed ’em?” Jones asked, speaking each word in turn as if uncertain which one to emphasize. “You?”

  Varanus knew that it would be wrong of her to take all the credit.

  “My friend helped,” she said, nodding to Ekaterine.

  The men all exchanged looks. They appeared uncertain as to whether they should believe her or not. Certainly, the suggestion was absurd, but Varanus’s tone and expression.…

  The man with the knife began to laugh again. Ekaterine shot him a look and snapped:

  “Stop that! It’s becoming irritating.”

  Jones chuckled a little. His voice sounded bitter and uncertain, but his eyes kept their hard stare.

  “Why’d you kill ’em?” he asked.

  “They assaulted one of my patients,” Varanus said. “A prostitute. A girl named Sally.” She saw Jones’s eyes widen a little. Because Sally was in the London Hospital, it must have seemed that she had vanished like the ruffians. “I believe that she was formerly in your employ.”

  “Formerly?” Jones demanded. “What you mean ‘formerly’?”

  “Sally will not be serving you anymore,” Varanus said. “Nor will any of your prostitutes. What is more, I expect you and your gang to depart Spitalfields at once. You have two days to clear out.”

  Jones’s face went red with anger. He cleared his throat and rose from his seat. His mouth was twisted in a scowl, and his eyes studied Varanus’s with uncertainty.

  “I don’t know if you’re tellin’ me the truth,” he finally said. “I know I don’t believe it. But I don’t like you comin’ in here and tellin’ me my business.”

  “I expect you wish me to leave,” Varanus said, unable to conceal the disdain in her voice.

  “You ain’t leavin’,” Jones said. “You never should’ve come.”

  Jones nodded to the other men, who stood and slowly approached the two women. The man with the knife grinned at Varanus and gave his weapon a little flourish.

  Ekaterine leaned down and murmured in her ear, “I do believe this is about to get violent.”

  “This is not the time for levity,” Varanus replied. She looked at Jones and said, “You are making a mistake, Monsieur Jones. And against my better judgment, I will give you a chance to call off your dogs.”

  She placed her fists on the table and leaned forward. Had she been taller, she would have loomed over Jones. As it was, she was forced to stand on tiptoes, and she suspected the end result was more comical than intimidating.

  No matter. Intimidation was unnecessary when the threat behind it was real.

  “Kill them,” Jones said.

  Varanus stood up and turned toward Jones’s thugs. The man with the knife was closest, and he came at her first, leisurely, like he didn’t expect her to be a problem, a reasonable assumption on his part.

  As the man reached out for her with his free hand, Varanus grabbed him by the wrist and gave his arm a sharp tug. The man swore loudly as he was taken by surprise. Losing his balance, he tumbled forward toward her, and Varanus politely stepped aside and allowed him to fall face-first onto the floor.

  The man by the door grabbed Ekaterine while the other men came at Varanus. Varanus took a moment to stomp on the head of the man who had fallen to the floor—best to ensure that he was out of the fight. A moment later the two men were on her. They grabbed her by the arms and hauled her away from the desk. They were as strong as their size suggested, lifting her between them with ease so that her feet dangled above the floor.

  Varanus saw Korbinian leaning against the wall in front of her, his arms folded. He smiled at her.

  “Having a good time, liebchen?” he asked. “It’s all rather exciting, isn’t it?”

  Varanus smiled at him. What an irreverent fellow he was. Here these men were planning to brutally murder her, and he thought it fitting to make jokes.

  Using the strength of the men carrying her, Varanus pulled her body up and planted her feet against one of the men’s legs.

  “’Ere, what’s this?” the man shouted, shaking her violently to dislodge her.r />
  It did not matter. Varanus had obtained the leverage she required. She kicked out and launched herself toward the other man, while at the same time both pushing the first man away from her and pulling him along with her by the arm. She collided with her target, smashing her forehead into his nose. The man cried out in pain, dropped her, and clutched at his face. The other man, pulled by the force of Varanus’s leap, tumbled forward into her. She crouched and flipped him over her shoulder. He hit the ground hard and was still.

  Across the room, Ekaterine relaxed into the grasp of the man behind her, lulling him into complacency before snapping her head back into his chin. The man shuddered, crying out in pain and confusion, but he did not release her. After two more blows, he finally let go. Ekaterine turned in place and struck him twice in the stomach. When the man doubled over, Ekaterine threw him into the table and then onto the floor.

  Attentive to her own problems, Varanus grabbed the leg of the man who remained standing and pulled it up, tripping him and making him fall backward. She kicked him in the side of the head for good measure before turning toward Ekaterine and nodding.

  Together, they approached the table. Jones, the blood gone from his face, his eyes wide with panic, scrambled out of his seat and huddled into the corner of the room. He grabbed at the walls as if searching for some means of escape.

  “What in God’s name…?” he began.

  “Sit down, Monsieur Jones,” Varanus said. “Do not embarrass yourself.”

  Jones stammered a little before he regained control of himself. He set his face firmly, but his voice still quivered a little as he asked, “How the Hell did you do that?”

  “That is not important, Monsieur Jones,” Varanus said.

  “Ain’t possible,” Jones said, shaking his head. “Ain’t possible.”

  “I assure you, it is,” Varanus answered. “But that is immaterial. Believe me, Monsieur Jones, if I wished to, I could kill you. Your men are in no position to stop me.”

  Jones worked his tongue around the inside of his mouth for a few moments, watching Varanus and Ekaterine carefully.

  “What do you want?” he finally asked.

  “It’s very simple, Monsieur Jones,” Varanus said, walking to the edge of the table. “I want you and your gang out of my territory. Gone, never to return. And once you are gone, I expect you to spread the word to all of your associates. Two streets in every direction around Osborne Court are forbidden to you and your kind. No gangs, no thieves, no pimps, no burglars. Any member of the criminal element who violates my territory will die.”

  To better emphasize her point, Varanus climbed onto the table so that she could properly loom over Jones.

  “Any man who robs someone in the street,” she continued, “or picks a pocket, or burgles a house, or extorts money from a shopkeeper…will die. And I should like to dispel any illusions you or your associates may have about the women of the streets. They are not your property. Any man who lays a hand on one of those unfortunates or presumes to take her money will be struck down as if by the hand of God.”

  Varanus leaned over and stared into Jones’s eyes, forcing him to look away.

  “You and the other gangs have two days to leave. After that time, I will see to it that vengeance is exacted against anyone who harms the people under my watch. Do you understand?”

  “You’re mad,” Jones said.

  “Two days,” Varanus repeated. She cocked her head as the faint sound of something breaking drifted past her ears. She looked at Ekaterine and asked, “Did you hear something?”

  “Possibly,” Ekaterine said.

  She opened the door, and Varanus followed her out into the hallway and back to the taproom. Varanus found the room in something of a mess. There was broken glass on the floor, more spilled drinks than when they had arrived, a table that had been upended, and two smashed chairs. A number of men lay dazed or unconscious on the dirty floor. There was more than a little blood, but none of them had been seriously wounded, only battered and bruised. Luka sat by himself at a table in the center of the room, smoking his pipe and playing a solitary card game.

  “Luka,” Varanus said, walking toward him, “what is the meaning of this?”

  “A disagreement,” Luka replied. “A man wanted to share my pipe. I did not want him to. Some friends of his became involved in the discussion.”

  “I am pleased to see that your argument won out,” Ekaterine said, patting Luka on the shoulder.

  Luka smiled for a moment. Standing, he asked, “How went your meeting with the gentleman?”

  “He was given instructions,” Varanus said. “If he carries them out, it will be well. If he does not.…”

  “It will be war,” Luka finished for her. He smiled again. “Good.” He looked around with disdain and said, “Let us depart this place. It disagrees with me.”

  “Oh what a shame,” Ekaterine said, stepping gingerly over one of the fallen men. “And just when I was starting to enjoy the atmosphere.”

  Chapter Six

  Blackmoor, England

  A week later, Varanus stood on the railway platform at Blackmoor in the midst of a vast expanse of moorland, a sea of black and red and dull yellow broken only by a scattering of small homesteads and peaks of dark rock that jutted from the ground like clawing fingers. The land was low but rolling, with hills topped by granite tors. There were streams that trickled through the grass, pooling into bogs when they could not find a course to the sea.

  Dusk was falling. The fading sunlight covered the rolling moor in bitter orange. A few flocks of sheep were seen hurrying this way and that in the grass, but otherwise little stirred. It was as if all life had fled the approach of darkness. Even the birds were silent.

  “This may be the most desolate place I have ever seen,” Varanus said softly.

  She lifted her veil to see better. With night coming and the sun behind them, she no longer had need of it. But for good measure, she still wore a pair of dark glasses to shield her sensitive eyes.

  At her side, Ekaterine said, “It reminds me of Scotland.”

  “I didn’t know you’d been there,” Varanus said.

  “I haven’t,” Ekaterine replied. “Luka went once, with Lord Iosef. He brought back a painting for me. It looked very much like this, only with mountains.”

  The scene did indeed lack mountains, Varanus thought, but not for lack of trying. Each stone-topped hill seemed to reach upward as if inspired yet unable to become a towering peak. Indeed, the very land dropped away as if intending to further this aim. The train station sat on raised ground, but within only a few feet the ground began to slope away into the Blackmoor plain.

  “I must say, this is not what I had anticipated,” Varanus said. “What has become of England’s green and pleasant land?”

  It was certainly nothing like the remainder of Yorkshire, which they had seen along their journey. That land had been lush and beautiful. Varanus looked southward, the way they had come, and could just make out the hint of a familiar, vibrant green beneath the horizon. Turning back toward Blackmoor, she was faced again with burnt umber and desolation.

  “Ought we to walk to town?” Ekaterine asked.

  “The baggage will be something of a chore,” Varanus replied. She nodded to the two trunks they had brought with them. “And my cousin did assure me that we would be met at the platform.”

  “Considering that there is little of the station but the platform, that would seem necessary,” Ekaterine said. She looked this way and that, her mouth set tightly in irritation. “This is not an auspicious beginning, I must say.”

  But Varanus had spied something dark moving along the road to town. Even at that distance, she could make out the shapes of horses pulling a carriage of some sort.

  “No fear,” she said. “They are late but approaching.”

  “And I thought that the English were punctual,” Ekaterine said.

  They waited in silence as their transportation approached. In due co
urse, a weathered black brougham pulled up to the platform. Its driver was a gangly fellow with matted black hair and side-whiskers. He wore a tall hat, a weathered suit with trousers tucked into tall boots, and a heavy overcoat with shoulder capes, all as black as his carriage, his horses, and his whiskers.

  “What a sinister display,” Ekaterine murmured. She grinned. “It’s rather exciting isn’t it?”

  “Oh, hush,” Varanus said.

  The coachman leaned down and touched the brim of his hat with his fingertips.

  “Pardon fer me lateness, Yer Graces,” he said. “I were delayed in town.”

  Varanus smelled whiskey on his breath. Delayed in town? Delayed in the pub, more likely.

  “Well, you are here now,” she said.

  “Which’a ya is the Princess Shashy’vany?” the coachman asked, climbing down from his seat.

  “Shashavani,” Varanus corrected him, emphasizing each part of the name. “And I am she.” She motioned to Ekaterine. “This is my sister-in-law. You may also address her as Lady Shashavani.”

  “Yes, Yer Grace,” the coachman said, bowing his head. “Me name is Barnabas, should me services be required durin’ yer stay. I’s coachman to th’ Earl o’ Blackmoor.”

  “Of course,” Varanus said.

  Barnabas bowed his head again and opened the door of the brougham. Varanus politely accepted his assistance in climbing inside, as did Ekaterine. There was no need for their self-reliance to offend the help. The seat inside was old and worn, but still soft enough to offer some degree of comfort. At least it was better than the coachman’s box outside. And warmer as well, Varanus wagered. Though it was only September, there was a chill in the air.

  The coachman heaved their luggage onto the roof of the brougham and climbed into his seat.

  “Not a long journey, Yer Graces,” he called down to them. “An’ ya can see the countryside along the way.”

  * * * *

  There was little to the countryside that Varanus had not already seen, but up close it proved somewhat more interesting than at a distance. The brougham drove first through the Village of Blackmoor, an ancient and weathered relic of an earlier age. A great many of the buildings were stone or brick, and much of the construction seemed to date back to the Eighteenth Century or earlier.