Korbinian—the real Korbinian, her Korbinian—stood beside his corpse, peering at it with rather morbid interest. Looking up, he said to her:
“Yes, that is I. I am rather handsome, aren’t I?”
Varanus tried to respond, for she no longer cared whether she looked mad, but she could not find the words.
“You know,” Korbinian said, frowning, “I think I ought to have been consulted about this sort of thing. It’s rather insulting seeing oneself carted about in this manner. Rather insulting indeed. I should be entombed now, not wheeled out at dinnertime like a carnival amusement!”
There was blood flowing from his mouth as he spoke, and he quickly dabbed at his lips to clear it away.
“The eyes are glass, of course,” he said. “But the rest of it seems to be me. It is a chilling sight, don’t you find?”
Varanus stared at him, still unable to speak. Her mouth worked slowly, but the words refused to come.
How could Korbinian speak of such abomination so candidly? With such morbid amusement? And Varanus herself, why did she not fly into a rage and slaughter everyone in the room for the offense? She would! She must! If only she could force her hands to work—
“Mother, what is wrong?” Friedrich asked, slowly rising to his feet.
He seemed not at all bothered by the sight of his father’s corpse, but his expression was of deep concern at Varanus’s anger. When Varanus gave no reply, he looked to Ilse and asked—or rather demanded:
“Auntie, why is Mother angry? Answer me! Why is she angry?”
Varanus almost wanted to laugh at the question, for it was both comical and horrible. Of course she was angry! There sat the corpse of Korbinian—her beloved, Friedrich’s father—at the dinner table! Did Friedrich not see it?
“I do not know, Friedrich,” Ilse said coolly. “Perhaps she is having a fit of hysteria. Why don’t you sit down until she calms herself so that we may continue eating?”
“I am angry,” Varanus said, finally finding her voice, “because the corpse of my late husband, who ought to be entombed or buried at this very moment, is sitting in that chair staring at me!”
Nearby, Ekaterine added, “I find it unnerving as well, and I never met the man.”
Friedrich seemed very confused by Varanus’s answer.
“Of course Father is seated with us at table,” he said hesitantly. “He joins us for dinner most nights when he is able.” There was a long and awkward pause. “Isn’t that proper?”
Varanus slowly turned her face toward Friedrich and said:
“It is not! It is not proper for a dead body to be made to sit at the dinner table as if it were alive! And certainly not for you to place the corpse of your father on display in such a manner! Why in God’s name have you done this?”
Friedrich’s expression clouded with uncertainty. A glimmer of horror flickered in his eyes. A slow burning of doubt began to form, as if he suddenly questioned something that he had taken for granted all his life.
“Auntie,” he said, looking at Ilse again, “is Mother correct? Is there something…wrong with…with doing…this?”
He motioned toward Korbinian’s corpse.
“Don’t be absurd, Friedrich—” Ilse began.
But Friedrich cut her off:
“It isn’t right, is it?” he demanded, looming over the table, his eyes wild with realization and shock. “It is not normal, is it? This is why we haven’t had any new servants for years, isn’t it? And this is why when we had the family portraits painted, the painters were always so uncomfortable, isn’t it? Answer me! It is, isn’t it?!”
“Friedrich, sit down,” Ilse said very calmly. She took a long drink of her wine. “Now.”
There was a pause before Friedrich grimaced and said, “No, Auntie, I don’t think I will.”
“Sit!” Ilse snapped, striking her hand against the table with such force that the chinaware clattered. “Now!”
Friedrich flinched at the noise, but he did not sit.
“No!” he shouted. “No, I will not! Not until you have explained to me what is going on!”
Ilse put on a smile and looked at him with wide eyes. Suddenly the moment of anger was gone, replaced by innocence and sadness. Ilse fluttered her eyelashes and seemed almost about to cry.
“Friedrich, my darling boy,” she said, her voice quivering. “Please don’t shout at me. What have I done to make you shout at me?”
“Well…I…” Friedrich stammered. Suddenly the fire had gone out of him, and his expression was contorted with guilt. “I didn’t mean.… That is to say.…”
His voice trailed off as he slowly sank back into his chair.
“Now then,” Ilse said, her voice gradually losing its helplessness and becoming demanding once again, “we shall say no more about it.”
Varanus felt herself grow flushed with anger, though likely no one noticed the almost invisible change in her skin tone. How dare Ilse speak to her son in such a way? How dare she undermine what was proper anger with false tears? Had this been how Ilse had raised the boy? Ordering him about until he finally lost his temper and then cowing him once more with guilt?
Varanus found her fingers touching the handle of one of the dinner knives. For a moment she almost felt the urge to drive it into Ilse’s heart.
“It would hurt the boy to see it happen, liebchen,” Korbinian said softly. “So do not do it.”
Varanus slowly nodded her head. He was right. And how could she act so rashly? Perhaps she merely assumed what was not true. For a young man to lose his temper and then feel guilty for it was no strange thing. It did not mean that Ilse had incited it on purpose or that she made a habit of doing so.
“Well,” Korbinian told her, “we cannot be too hasty about assuming one way or the other.…”
“Ilse,” Varanus said, “I will be retiring to my rooms. The servants may bring me my meal there.”
“I’ll come too,” Ekaterine said quickly, standing and smiling. “It’s been such an exciting evening, I daresay I couldn’t sit in a chair a moment longer.” Then she looked toward the corpse of Korbinian and said, “And lovely meeting you as well.”
What a peculiar thing for her to say, Varanus thought, though perhaps not unlike her. Ekaterine so often responded to the bizarre with further bizarreness.
“Lovely meeting you as well,” Korbinian said. He stood beside his corpse, arms folded and grinning. “Though I suspect you cannot hear me.”
“I…” Friedrich began, rising again. “I will go as well. To see that they are settled.”
“You will do no such—” Ilse began, not even bothering to look at him.
“Yes, I think he will,” Varanus said. “Ekaterine and I would appreciate the company, wouldn’t we?”
“Absolutely!” Ekaterine agreed. “He can read to us while we eat. And feed me grapes by moonlight.…”
Varanus looked at her and shook her head.
“Too much?” Ekaterine asked in Svan.
“Far too much,” Varanus replied. In German, she addressed her son, “Alistair, why don’t you and Aunt Ekaterine have the cook prepare some of that wonderful mulled cider you were telling me about. I will meet the two of you together in my rooms.”
“Yes, of course, Mother,” Friedrich said.
“This will be such fun!” Ekaterine announced. She quickly circled the table and joined Friedrich. Taking him by the arm, she led him toward the door. “I am so very looking forward to seeing your kitchens, Alist…er…Friedrich. You must tell me all about them.”
Friedrich seemed to sigh with relief as he was pulled away from the table. After a few paces he smiled at Ekaterine, the life and color slowly returning to him.
“Yes, you will much enjoy them,” he said. “They are very old and…Gothic.”
“Splendid!” Ekaterine said.
She turned her head and nodded at Varanus as Friedrich led her from the hall.
At least that was sorted.
“So,” Varanus
said, turning toward Ilse and slowly advancing on her, “this is why my husband could not be buried in France, is it? This is why he had to be returned in a lead casket? So that you could stuff him and paint him up like a hunting trophy?!”
Ilse slowly rose. Her eyes flashed with anger, but she put on a smile. After a few moments, all sign of anger had left her until nothing remained but charm and contrition.
“I am sorry that it upsets you so, Babette,” she said, speaking Varanus’s Christian name in a manner so cordial that it could only be hostile. “I assure you, no harm was intended. It is a custom—”
“It is abhorrent!” Varanus snapped.
“It is uncommon, I grant you,” Ilse said. “We simply could not let him go. He was too important to us.”
“Too important to you, you mean,” Varanus said.
She spoke angrily, but Ilse’s voice remained calm and soothing. It began to feel more and more bizarre to retort in tones of anger. Varanus was not taken in by it, but it was a clever trick to be sure. And suddenly Friedrich’s response was not so peculiar.
“It was so very hard to let him go,” Ilse said. “Growing up, Korbinian and I were as close as two people could be. For me to be away from him when he died was simply.…” Her voice quivered and tears—possibly honest this time—formed in her eyes. “It was simply unbearable. And then poor Friedrich.… I could not bear to let our…your son grow up without his father.”
“How dare she bring me into this!” Korbinian exclaimed. “It is as much a shock for me as for anyone.”
Varanus glanced at Korbinian and saw him seated in a chair next to the corpse, blood upon his lips, holding a spoon and making motions as if feeding his own dead body. But the corpse did not eat.
“Evidently I am not hungry,” Korbinian remarked.
It was so absurd and hideous a sight that Varanus had to look away lest she either laugh or scream.
“Ilse,” she said, “I grieve for your loss, just as you grieve for mine.” Better to be conciliatory while they remained under the same roof. “But I cannot tolerate this. Until my husband is buried, neither I, nor my sister-in-law, nor my son will eat at this table. Carry on as you will, but we will not set foot in the presence of that…body. Not until it is to finally lay him to rest.”
Ilse’s mouth twitched, but her smile never wavered.
“Of course,” she said. “After all, he was your husband. Not mine.”
“Yes,” Varanus said. “My husband.”
It was a lie, of course: Korbinian had been murdered before they could marry. But Ilse, to save Friedrich’s inheritance, had fabricated the story: priest, witnesses, and all. It was a secret they would both keep to preserve the memory of one man and the future of another.
“Give me one more day with him,” Ilse said. “Then we will place him in a tomb with his forefathers. It will be Christmas Eve. Fitting, don’t you think?”
Varanus forced herself to smile at the anniversary of Korbinian’s death.
“Yes,” she said. “Fitting.”
Ilse smiled at her and said, “I know that we may not always be of like mind, Babette, but I do hope that we can set all that aside for Friedrich’s sake.”
Varanus’s smile grew even brighter and more forced.
“Of course we can, Ilse,” she said. “Of course we can.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Christmas Eve
For Varanus, the day before Christmas arrived with its usual complement of festivity and remorse. She felt the pain of the anniversary of Korbinian’s death, though the long years had dulled its sting to a slow ache. And as ever, having Korbinian with her was a great comfort. He reminded her in soothing words that while dead, he was not gone. Even less gone than before, he added, as his remains were so near at hand and so well preserved. “It is almost like having two of me,” he remarked to her, as they lay in bed watching the sunrise. Varanus hit him for that, of course. But it was true, and it made her smile.
Despite Varanus’s misgivings, Ilse carried out her side of the agreement. Following breakfast, a funeral Mass was held in the castle chapel, overseen by the Bishop of Fuchsburg. Why a small town like Fuchsburg would have its own bishop—or why the bishop bore such a family resemblance to the von Fuchsburgs—was beyond Varanus’s imagination, but there it was.
After Mass, Korbinian’s body was laid to rest in a tomb in the family crypt beneath the castle. Korbinian held Varanus in his arms as they watched the coffin slide into its niche. Varanus wished to cry but found herself unable to do so. She had already shed her tears for Korbinian so many years ago. This was not his funeral; it was simply a reminder of the one that had come before it.
Throughout it all, Ilse was tearful beyond understanding. She sobbed during the Mass in a most unseemly manner, and when Korbinian was finally placed in his tomb, she fell to the ground and wept openly like a young girl mourning her lover. When Varanus had first met her, such a display might have seemed appropriate for the loss of a brother. But now, with Ilse in her forties and Korbinian already dead more than two decades, it was extravagant and uncomfortable to watch.
Varanus and Ekaterine departed as soon as it was done, mostly to be away from Ilse. Friedrich went with them, likely for the same reason, and he took them for a tour of the forest beyond the castle grounds. The sight of the snow-swept woodland calmed Varanus a little, though at the same time it compounded her sorrow. In life, Korbinian had often spoken of the Fuchsburger forest and how he longed to show it to Varanus. And while he walked with her now—his footsteps leaving no mark upon the snow—it was not quite as she had imagined.
Though mourning for Korbinian had passed decades ago, Varanus and Ekaterine had both worn black gowns for the occasion. Friedrich was in his uniform with a black sash, as he had been at Father’s funeral in Normandy. What a sight they must have made, Varanus mused, walking through a field of snowy white, the trees looming over them like alabaster pillars, with them the only marks of black and crimson against the pale serenity of winter.
“Friedrich,” she said at length.
“It’s Fried—” Friedrich began. He caught himself and smiled. “You said it correctly.”
“I am trying to remember,” Varanus told him. “Alistair is simply more familiar to me. I remembered you as Alistair for twenty-five years. It has been but two years that I’ve been expected to call you Friedrich.”
“Of course,” Friedrich said with a soft laugh. “You know, Mother, I am curious about one thing.”
“Oh?” Varanus asked.
“Yes,” Friedrich said. “Why did you name me Alistair? It makes no sense to me. It is not a German name, nor French, nor even English, is it?”
“No, it is not,” Varanus said. “It is Scottish, actually.”
“What a strange thing. Why would you give me a Scottish name?” Friedrich arched an eyebrow. “What does it even mean, for that matter?”
“It means Alexander,” Varanus told him. “I named you for your paternal grandfather, Alejandro.”
The mention of Friedrich’s grandfather caused Varanus to note—or rather remember—the curiousness of the family name. Alejandro von Fuchsburg had surely not been born of that name, but still he had assumed it upon marrying Korbinian’s mother. How strange that a gentleman of good family and much distinction had assumed his wife’s name rather than the contrary.
“If that is so,” Friedrich said, stirring Varanus from her reflection, “then why am I not named Alejandro?”
“Well, you’re not Spanish, are you?” Varanus answered. “It would be silly to give a Frenchman a Spanish name. For, you see, I had assumed you would be raised French.”
“But a Scottish name was not silly?” Friedrich asked.
“I was sixteen years old at the time,” Varanus said. “Just a foolish girl. You cannot examine my thinking at such an age.”
Friedrich smiled and kissed Varanus on the cheek, through her veil. It was a tender gesture, like one made by a little boy to his mother
.
“I do not think that you were ever foolish, Mother,” he said. “I think you were born spouting logic and natural philosophy, like Athena erupting from the head of Zeus.”
“Don’t be cheeky,” Varanus said, though she smiled at his words.
“Why not call me Alexander?” Friedrich asked. “Or Alexandre, since I was to be raised French.”
Varanus scoffed at this.
“Oh, what nonsense,” she said. “Anyone can be named Alexander, but you would have to travel to Scotland to meet another Alistair.”
Friedrich stopped where he stood and blinked several times, trying to understand this.
“But…what?” he asked.
“Like most things of significance, it is meant to be accepted and not understood,” Varanus told him.
Friedrich looked puzzled for a few moments more, before he laughed aloud and seemed to accept her advice.
They continued on a little while longer until they came to a break in the forest. The trees parted and the ground fell away revealing a sheer cliff drop overlooking the Rhine. The abruptness of it took Varanus by surprise, and she gasped a little at the sight. At her side, Ekaterine laughed in delight.
“How beautiful,” she said.
“It is, isn’t it?” Varanus mused.
Ahead of them, Friedrich stopped by the edge of the cliff and looked down at the river below them, the wind ruffling his hair. He looked up and half turned, gazing off toward Fuchsburg Castle, which sat some distance away from them along the wooded hillside. The sunlight streaming down upon Friedrich did something rather lovely with his profile and gave a fiery glow to his hair. Varanus smiled to herself, reminded of Friedrich’s father.
A Cautionary Tale for Young Vampires Page 43