A Cautionary Tale for Young Vampires

by G. D. Falksen

  Thorndyke frowned at this, which surprised Friedrich. He took another drink of water and said:

  “An interesting proposal, but I think the good Doctor Constantine is rather too busy with his own work to much worry about yours or mine.”

  “Well, to be honest—” Constantine began.

  “It is settled then,” Thorndyke said, smiling but speaking with the forceful tone of a man done with the current topic. “Now tell me.… ‘Constantine’. A peculiar name for an Englishman, is it not?”

  There was a slight, rather awkward pause.

  “My grandfather was a Greek,” Constantine said. “I inherited the name from him.”

  “To be fair, it is a perfectly decent name,” Friedrich said, before drinking more wine.

  “Oh, no doubt, no doubt,” Thorndyke quickly agreed. “And I understand that you work at the London Hospital, is that correct?”

  Constantine took a drink of wine as well and then replied, “Yes, that is correct. I have been there for.…” He shrugged and exhaled. “Well, a few years now. It feels like a lifetime some days.”

  “I can well imagine,” Thorndyke said, “in light of the sort of riffraff you must encounter. For myself, I prefer private sanatoriums for the respectable classes. They are much more pleasant to deal with, I can assure you.”

  “Perhaps,” Constantine said, “but surely the working classes are the ones who require the most assistance. The wealthy can afford private physicians. As for the poor, were it not for charitable institutions, they would be dead many times over, and often for reasons that are easily treated. As doctors, we have a sacred duty to help those in need, isn’t that right Doctor von Fuchsburg?”

  “Absolutely,” Friedrich said, refilling his glass. The wine bottle appeared to be empty. He snapped his fingers to draw the attention of a waiter. “We must make life better for people; otherwise, what’s the point of it all? Other than blatant curiosity, I suppose.”

  Constantine laughed and said, “Yes, we cannot forget the siren lure of the unknown. But knowledge may make life better for all and sundry, and that is a wonderful thing also.”

  “All and sundry?” Thorndyke asked. “I do beg your pardon, Doctor Constantine…I do beg it, truly…but are we discussing medicine or a dry goods store?”

  Constantine gave Friedrich another look. Then he slowly turned back to Thorndyke, grinning maliciously, and said:

  “Well, as you mention it.…”

  Friedrich snapped his fingers again, somewhat frantically. Dear God, he needed another drink.

  “Waiter! Another bottle!”

  * * * *

  It could have been worse.

  Friedrich reflected on this as he watched Thorndyke climb into a cab, say his farewells, and ride off into the night. At least the dinner had passed civilly, though Friedrich could not tell if Thorndyke had noticed Constantine’s snide comments or not. Not that it made any difference in the end. Thorndyke’s dismissal of Friedrich’s theories the last time they met had rather spelled the end of things, and Friedrich had no illusions about Thorndyke regarding him as a fellow professional. But if the man would not even entertain such discussions with a widely respected doctor like Constantine, it was plain to see that there was no use in further effort.

  “Doctor von Fuchsburg,” said Constantine, who stood on the steps beside him, “would you care to accompany me to the clinic?”

  Well, that was some relief. At least he had managed not to completely offend Constantine by introducing Thorndyke to him. He had expected better behavior from Thorndyke, and having seen Thorndyke in action, he would scarcely blame Constantine for dismissing him as keeping poor company.

  “Of course,” he said. “It is hardly safe for a gentleman to travel alone at this hour.”

  “Quite so,” Constantine said, hailing a passing hansom cab, “though I am more concerned about our patients having been without us for the past few hours. I hope nothing disastrous has happened in our absence.” Once they had seated themselves and given the driver instructions, he added, “I daresay that fellow Luka will be a little cross.”

  “Not to worry,” Friedrich said, as the cab rolled off into the dark street. “I have it on good intelligence that he had a dinner engagement of his own, so he is hardly in a position to complain.”

  Constantine chuckled and said, “I suppose we must all have our little diversions lest we become consumed by our work. And what a diversion tonight was.…”

  “Yes,” Friedrich said, making a face. “I do apologize for that ordeal, Constantine. I had expected something…better.”

  “You mean,” Constantine replied, “that you had naïvely assumed that three doctors breaking bread together might somehow find the opportunity to discuss medicine, rather than whatever in God’s name this ‘wellness’ nonsense happens to be.” He shook his head and said, “No, Friedrich—if I may use your Christian name—”

  “Of course, Michael,” Friedrich said, grinning.

  “Splendid. But you listen to me, Friedrich,” Constantine said. “You have nothing to apologize for. Indeed, Doctor Thorndyke was practically a dinner-time amusement.”

  “I am pleased you see it that way,” Friedrich said.

  “I must ask you,” Constantine said, “and tell me truly.… Is that Thorndyke fellow an actual doctor? Or is he really some music hall comedian you hired to play a joke on me?”

  Friedrich laughed at this, and Constantine joined in.

  “Yes, I can see how you might think that,” Friedrich said, rather embarrassed. “No, for all his peculiarities, Doctor Thorndyke is a man of medicine. He came highly recommended by some of the best families in New York. And he produces tremendous results.”

  Constantine shook his head and said, “Any charlatan can produce results. The true man of medicine makes discoveries that other doctors may produce as well. I do not trust ‘miracle cures’ and ‘secret techniques’, and neither should you. As often as not, they are merely shadows obscuring true medicine.”

  “Well, said easily enough,” Friedrich replied, staring out at the passing street. “But I fear a man in my position has little choice but to accept what he can. Men of science do not make a habit of regarding me as one of their own.”

  “Nor does Doctor Thorndyke, from what I observed of him,” Constantine said. “But do not be discouraged, my friend. You are a gentleman. Sturdy professionals are bound to regard your membership in their order as an intrusion from on high.”

  “Yes, so I have seen,” Friedrich said. He sighed to think of it.

  “But damn them for fools,” Constantine told him. “You are a bright young man, Friedrich. Carry on with your work and pay them no mind. If medicine truly kowtowed to the whim of the medical establishment, we should have no knowledge of inoculation and little concept of anatomy. Consider yourself fortunate that you have means enough to facilitate your work without resorting to the goodwill of your professional peers. Believe me, it is a tedious thing.”

  Friedrich laughed at this. Constantine’s response was not at all what he had expected, but he was glad of it. Still, there was always the matter of the Great Work to consider. Did he dare present it to Constantine and risk jeopardizing all this goodwill he seemed to be receiving?

  But without Thorndyke, what choice did he have?

  “Constantine,” he said, slipping his flask out of his coat pocket and taking a sip, “I wonder if I might…broach a subject with you. The principle reason for my association with Doctor Thorndyke.”

  He offered the flask to Constantine, who accepted it and took a drink. Returning the flask, Constantine said:

  “Broach away, my fine fellow. Let us be to the matter, the better for me to understand why in God’s name you would willingly associate with that man.”

  Friedrich took a deep breath. Ah, the moment of truth, when he would reveal all to Constantine, and Constantine would declare him a damned amateur spitting in the face of both God and medical science.…

  Still, i
t was a long carriage ride, and at least it was something to talk about.

  “Constantine,” Friedrich said, “I am in the midst of a grand experiment. A great undertaking of science that I hope will change the world irreversibly for the better.”

  Constantine considered this for a moment, raising first one eyebrow and then the other. Presently, he looked at Friedrich.

  “Air-borne inoculation?” he asked.

  “I—” Friedrich began. He frowned. “Um, no.… Though come to think of it, that is rather brilliant.…”

  “I know,” Constantine said a little smugly. “But your…undertaking?”

  Friedrich looked at Constantine very seriously and said, “I have undertaken to uncover the secret of age.”

  “The secret of…age?” Constantine asked, looking at him curiously. “Which age?” After a moment he exclaimed, “Oh! Oh, I see. You mean of aging?”

  “Precisely,” Friedrich said. “I wish to discover what makes us become old and feeble and to stop it.” He snapped his fingers. “Like that!”

  And then he waited for the inevitable rebuff from Constantine, the same appalled look that he had received from every doctor he had approached about one of his mad theories.

  “An intriguing challenge,” Constantine said, after some deliberation. “I can certainly see the appeal of such an undertaking, though I question how you propose to identify a viable course of treatment from all the various possibilities within a reasonable amount of time.”

  “Pardon?” Friedrich asked, surprised by the nature of the response.

  Constantine’s reply was rather animated and enthusiastic:

  “Well, that is to say, even after dismissing the rather absurd notion of following a patient undergoing such treatment from cradle to grave—which would naturally be beyond your own lifespan and therefore demand that you develop the treatment first in order to do so.…”

  He laughed at the paradox as if it were tremendously amusing before continuing:

  “You will require an interval of at least ten years to observe a person progressing from maturity into old age to determine whether there has been any successful alteration to the process. And in addition to the question of where to begin, you must also address the matter of long-term observation. How will you maintain a group of patients who will follow your experimental process consistently for a decade or more and regularly report to you so that you may properly observe—”

  He snapped his fingers and said, “Ah, ha! This is why you have been associating with that quack Thorndyke, isn’t it?”

  “He is the only doctor I have spoken to willing to even consider my ideas,” Friedrich said.

  Not that Thorndyke had ever been overly supportive of them, but a little was better than nothing.

  Constantine shook his head and placed a hand on Friedrich’s shoulder.

  “Doctor von Fuschburg,” he said, very seriously, “if you will accept some friendly advice, disassociate yourself from that fellow at once.”

  “He is an expert in his field,” Friedrich said.

  “He’s a damned quacksalver and you know it,” Constantine retorted.

  “And he is very popular with a certain set,” Friedrich added. “A very wealthy, well-connected set. The sort of people whose support I need.”

  “Oh, but nonsense,” Constantine said. “You are a nobleman. You enjoy means and position of your own. You don’t need support from the likes of him, however many well-placed friends he has. Believe me, if this madcap enterprise of yours is meant to be, it will be accomplished through years of dedicated work by qualified men such as yourself, not with flighty gentlefolk soaking themselves in yoghurt baths and God knows what else!”

  Friedrich frowned and asked, “Do you think it can be done?”

  “Immortality courtesy of science?” Constantine asked, chuckling.

  “Yes. Can it be done?”

  “You ask as if I should know the answer to that,” Constantine said. “But, it’s an intriguing proposal. I do hope that you will share your findings with me, whatever they happen to be. It is just the sort of mad experiment I would most enjoy conferring on.”

  “Of course,” Friedrich said, more than a little delighted at the request. “Without any doubt. But surely, you will join me in this endeavor…?”

  Constantine laughed and said, “With my responsibilities? My goodness, I doubt I could even contemplate devoting the proper time and effort to such an undertaking. My duties at the Hospital scarcely leave me time enough to spend my evenings overseeing the clinic, and I don’t know how much longer I can manage even that! No, I fear I can do little more than consult with you on your work, but I will be pleased to offer you that assistance.” He smiled. “And I fear, it will be a lengthy process for you, barring divine intervention.”

  Friedrich laughed as well.

  “Yes, well,” he said, “as I shall be playing in God’s domain, I doubt very much that He will grant me much assistance. I suppose this will be my life’s work.”

  The prospect of it taking so long was almost disheartening, though he realized that it was foolish to think so.

  “Ah, but look at it this way,” Constantine said. “It may take a lifetime of work, but if you are successful, that won’t matter, will it?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “More wine, Mister Luka?” Miss Sharpe asked, gently touching the bottle with her fingers.

  Luka finished what remained of the wine in his glass and nodded.

  “Thank you, yes,” he said, holding the glass out to be refilled. He did not intend to become drunk, but a little controlled intoxication was just what the evening required. “And I must say, this meat pie is very good. You made it yourself, of course.”

  “Oh, Lord no, Mister Luka,” Miss Sharpe said, with a laugh that was only slightly affected. “There is a lovely old lady in Hawthorne Street who makes them. She knows just how I like them.”

  “And the wine?” Luka asked.

  That it was wine at all, and not some local swill, was noteworthy enough, and the quality was of a tolerable nature.

  “You can hardly be surprised at that,” Miss Sharpe said, smiling at him. “I always have a good reserve for when I entertain gentlemen.”

  Luka chuckled a little and leaned back in his chair, regarding her and the room in equal measure.

  They sat in Miss Sharpe’s boudoir, as they always did when Luka called upon her. It was fast becoming a regular habit. Miss Sharpe’s company was quite pleasant, especially as a change from his regular associates. Her fabricated self was far removed from Bates’s roughness or Cat’s vicious enthusiasm. She was charming, pleasant in speech, and dignified in poise; and the way she wore her luscious gowns—a new one each time they met, it seemed—captivated Luka’s attention in a manner that he very much enjoyed.

  Tonight she wore blue and scarlet. They were very good colors on her, Luka thought. Of course, so had been the green from three nights ago.

  “I have been hearing rumors,” Miss Sharpe said, coyly, but in a manner that had become familiar to Luka. It was her inscrutable way of conveying displeasure at something.

  “What sort of rumors?” Luka asked.

  “Well,” Miss Sharpe said, “that you have been teaching some of my girls how to…well…to fight, I suppose. Are these rumors true?”

  “Completely true,” Luka replied. “However, I would hesitate to call it ‘fighting’, as if I were teaching them to box.”

  “Then what would you call it?” Miss Sharpe asked, swirling her wine in her glass as she watched him.

  Luka shrugged and said, “Well, it is more a sort of self-defense. I am teaching them to protect themselves from men who might do them harm.”

  “Their customers?”

  “If necessary,” Luka said. “Though we both know that there are more than enough men seeking to inflict violence in this part of the city, whether money is involved or not.”

  “Girls attacking their customers,” Miss Sharpe said, s
haking her head.

  “Only if the customers attack them first,” Luka reminded.

  Miss Sharpe smirked a little and said, “I tell you, Mister Luka, I am scandalized. What ever will you do next?”

  Luka took another drink of his wine and chuckled.

  “Well,” he said, “I have considered teaching them to use firearms. After all, I might one day recruit them into my little army, and if that happens, they must be prepared.”

  “Oh, no,” Miss Sharpe said, kicking him under the table. “No, my girls are staying right here where they belong, keeping an honest roof over my head. I will not have you luring them away to become the newest members of your gang!”

  She put on a practiced expression of anger at him, which she kept for a few moments. Then, smiling mirthfully, she shook her head and said:

  “And besides.… The arming of women? It sounds so unseemly.”

  Luka chuckled and took another drink.

  “In my experience, women make formidable fighters,” he said, “when instilled with the same principles of courage and self-reliance that men are taught from birth. They are resilient, inured by nature against pain far better than men, and they possess a remarkable capacity for discipline and organization.”

  “Resilient?” Miss Sharpe laughed. Tauntingly, she said, “But Mister Luka, I thought that we women were more delicate and sensitive than men.…”

  “You are a woman who has borne a child, Miss Sharpe,” Luka replied. “After surviving such an ordeal, you cannot possibly believe fanciful stories about the frailty of woman. And what is more, as you well know, women are accustomed to blood, which men are not. And a fear of blood is something that every soldier must learn to overcome.”

  “Hardly an observation for the dinner table,” Miss Sharpe said, sipping her wine.

  Though true, it was said in jest, and Luka continued without addressing it: